Page 84 of Scarlet Vows

But I recognize the pakhan’s name, Abram Simonov. I start searching my computer. There…I knew I’d seen the name recently.

Abram is someone Santo Barone’s had a few run-ins with.

I call Santo, and to my surprise, he picks up himself.

“It’s Ilya Belov,” I say.

“And how’s your fiancée?”

Rolling my eyes, I keep my voice neutral. “Wife. And she’s good. I wanted to arrange a meeting.”

“Yes?” His interest rings clear.

“I’ve got some things I’d like to talk to you about.”

“I’ll come to you. We’ll make an evening of it. Discuss this business, and I can see your home, something I’ve been wanting to do.”

“I’ll let you know when?—”

“Tomorrow night sounds good,” Santo says. “I’m a sucker for a home-cooked meal and new business talks. I’ll bring wine and vodka. Besides, it’ll be nice to catch up with Alina again.”

I grit my teeth. I bet it will. Asshole.

But I don’t say that. “How is seven?”

“I’ll see you then.”

I pace,waiting for Alina to get back from her volunteer work. I know I’m pushing it. I’ve got meetings with a supplier for Belov Bratva interests, and then Pavel and I have two meetings with two different allies this afternoon. But I think I have time.

Fuck it. I’ll make time.

I need to talk to Alina. I’m concerned for her, but not by Santo’s steamrolling of the dinner. I suspect that’s just him. I’m concerned how playing wife in ways that count, loving, devoted, a role she wanted with Max, will affect her.

The door opens, and a bark carries up the stairs, pulling at my heart and making me smile.

I hurry down to meet them, and there’s a moment where she takes me in. Really takes me in. My suit is the mostexpensive one I own. I rarely wear it. Italian, handmade, worth a fortune, but I’d spend five times what I did for the suit if it meant I could see that look on her face.

Naked appreciation. Lustful hunger.

She likes it.

She likes me in it.

Things start to get hard.

I shift my thoughts to the matter at hand and get right to the point. “Alina, we need to talk.”

Any lust vanishes. Maybe it was a figment of my needy imagination anyway.

I go to the living room, Albert pressing against me as I walk.

She follows. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

With my gaze on a wall of books, I sigh, then I face her. “Things with the Belov Bratva haven’t been going well,” I say in Russian. “So I called Santo.”

“Are you giving me to?—”

“What?Nyet.” I highly doubt her words were serious, but that’s how I take them. “Never. I thought he might be able to help me make a big move to prove my loyalty to my men.”