Page 18 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Thirteen

ALINA

Last night when I got home, Ilya was drunk. I only know that because I’ve seen him drunk before. I’ve been drunk with him, too. But this was me on the outside looking in, and he was merry, delighted to see me, and… My stomach whooshes.

It hits me hard.

I stretch and get up to take a shower. When I’m dressed for the day in jeans and the shelter T-shirt, the scent of bacon reaches me. I pull my hair back into a ponytail, take the stairs quickly down to the ground floor, and weave my way to the kitchen.

Redoing the place would be fun. Isla loves that sort of thing, too. But I’m not sure the Belov Bratva would recover from a total Alina- and Isla-style makeover.

Perhaps making it light, more modern, but with gravitas, and having some rooms as a shrine or homage to the man who ruled from here may work.

Or maybe just leave the downstairs as is and redo the study as a mix of Ilya and his grandfather? —

“Oh.” I stop as I step into the airy, spacious, modern kitchen.

Svetlana isn’t here.

Instead, it’s Ilya in a frilly apron, flipping bacon with a spatula.

“Did you do this?”

“No, I made Svetlana leave, and I’m just modeling the latest in aprons. You like?”

I giggle. I can’t help it. “I do. Very you, Ilya, but I thought you’d be in bed, nursing your headache.”

Why am I talking about bed? It puts some startling images in my head, like how he looks naked.

He’s got a good body, muscular, fit, strong.

I’ve often seen his well-worn gym bag, so he works out.

In fact, I’ve heard Demyan complain that Ilya has a problem when it comes to working out, and Ilya’s ribbed Demyan, accusing him of being weak.

So yes, I think I’d like to see him?—

No. No, I wouldn’t.

“…Russian,” he says, but I didn’t catch what he said before that. “It only hurt a bit. But…that’s what the bacon, the scrambled eggs, and home fries are for.”

“The pancakes, too?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I might feel hungry. I’ve been up since before dawn because I went to the gym. But…maybe one of the men, or Svetlana, might be hungry.”

He puts fruit and yogurt on a placemat and a boiled egg in a cup. He also has a piece of whole wheat cut into soldiers and a bowl of granola and macadamia milk in a jug.

Then he adds a small bowl. “Cinnamon.”

“You remembered.”

“Down to your preferred milk.”

I straighten the cutlery. “I never had any doubt.”

I’ve never liked huge breakfasts, and this for me is borderline, but it’s what I like in the morning if I need fuel for the day.

I sit, and he adds a cup of green tea and a cup of coffee next to my mat. He pours himself a coffee and an OJ and then sits, tucking into his heart attack on a plate.

We eat for a few minutes in silence, then he points at my shirt with his fork.

“Explain.”

Heat rushes up into my cheeks, making them burn. “I passed a dog shelter on my way home yesterday and spent the day volunteering. Is that bad?”

“Why would it be?”

“It’s not a real career?”

“It could be if you wanted it, Alina. I’m glad you did something you liked. How’s the granola? Svetlana and I made the mix.”

“You and her?”

He grins and pops a bite of bacon into his mouth. “Okay,” he says in Russian, “I told her the things you like in it, and she made it. It’s the same thing.”

I bite down on my smile. “What brought the feast on? I’m also fine with toast or an apple.”

“I’m not having you waste away.” He forks up some eggs with a shrug. “I just wanted to show you again how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me. It means a lot.”

I set my spoon down and put my hands around the tea. “You do remember this arrangement benefits me, too, right? If Santo went and figured out I lied about being engaged, you know he’d never stop hassling me.”

“Still,” Ilya says, “I know how hard all this has been for you.”

He means the physical wedding.

I take a sip of tea .

“So, I want to make sure you know I'm appreciative of you and this.”

He’s the nicest man. I appreciate him, too, especially since he’s just so matter-of-fact.

A hangover means a lot of food to refuel, but he also went out of his way to not just make a spread, but to make me things I like. After I sprinkle in berries and spoon on some yoghurt and a little cinnamon, I take another bite of probably the most delicious granola I’ve ever had.

As good as Magda’s anyway.

“I appreciate you, too.”

We eat a little more, the companionable silence lovely, a thing I’ve always liked in the morning as it sometimes takes me time to wake fully.

Max was very much a revved-to-the-nines-in-the-morning person, and he’d be up and ready, fully loaded for the day with a whole lot to say.

But he learned to temper it, just as I learned to talk more.

So this… This is nice.

A throwback to when I was a kid.

When we’re done, he starts to clean the plates. I go to help him, but he just gives me a look, so I sit and drink my coffee.

“Are you going to go back to the shelter?”

“I think so.” I stop. This isn’t Demyan or my father. This is Ilya. “Yes. I loved it, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had…purpose. A place to breathe and be.”

And it’s true. When I was there, the sadness in me wasn’t for me, it was for the poor animals. It was nice to do something for them, something proactive, even if it was just petting them.

For a moment, Ilya looks surprised, but then he shakes his head.

“I can be useful. ”

“I know. I just…for a moment, I was thinking, here’s this girl who doesn’t have to do anything, but then I remembered it’s you, malyshka . A woman who likes to be helpful, someone with a good heart.”

“Oh, please, I’m no saint.”

He laughs. “Thank goodness. But you’re an amazing, compassionate woman who has always had a soft spot for animals.”

“How do you know?” I demand.

He rolls his eyes. “’Daddy, can I have a pet?’”

He points the dishcloth at me, and though I could remind him there are two dishwashers in here, I think he takes pride in doing them himself.

For a moment, I marvel at that. A new pakhan, strong, powerful, with a lot to prove to the testosterone-filled men and soldiers surrounding him, and he’s wearing a frilly apron and washing dishes.

To me, it’s more masculine than running around barking orders.

To me, it’s perfectly Ilya.

“And ‘Oh, Ilya, look at that puppy. Isn’t he adorable?’” He chuckles and goes back to the dishes. “That puppy was a huge rottweiler with snarling teeth and a lot of bloodlust and drool.”

“He was cute. He showed me his belly for a rub.”

“Only you, Alina.”

Heat rises, Ilya’s praise making me tingle all over, making my heart thump and my blood pound.

It scares me. I know the way I look at him is changing, has changed, no matter how much I try and stop it. And it terrifies me about what it means.

I’m in a barrel, careening over an edge, and I can’t slow it. I can’t stop it from picking up more and more weight, which makes it go faster, and when it plummets off that edge …

Anxiety pools in my stomach, making me a little sick.

I drain my coffee. “There are dogs to get to, Ilya,” I mutter. “I have to go. I promised the manager, Eva, I’d be there this morning.”

“The driver’s waiting. Demyan will kill me extra hard if you don’t ride with him.”

I wave and run out of the room, pretending I’m late.

I’m such a coward.

Thing is, it’s not a complete lie , I tell myself as I grab my bag and head out.

My driver’s smoking with one of the maids, who glances at me and rushes off. I really don’t care what they do, but I guess, as I’m now lady of the house, I’m meant to care?

“Hi, Gus,” I say as he puts out his cigarette and opens the door. “To that shelter where you picked me up yesterday, please.”

He salutes.

Some days, he really doesn’t have much to do, unless Demyan or someone commandeers him, so I don’t feel bad getting him to take me to the shelter.

Maybe I should call Isla to talk to her about all this, but she already thinks I’m withdrawing. I’m not, though. And she thinks Ilya’s into me, and he’s told me emphatically that he’s not.

Did he feel something from that kiss at the wedding? Truly feel something like I did?

I drag my thoughts from that and back to the shelter.

I know what my heart wants.

For Ilya to let me get a dog.

When I arrive, I take a breath and step inside. A little girl and her mom are there, with a young dog who’s eagerly dancing around them both.

“This is my new puppy.” The little girl beams up at me as she’s handed the leash. “Her name is Petal. ”

“His,” says her mother. “She’s a he.”

“His name is Petal.”

Petal wasn’t here yesterday, but I bend down for a doggy kiss from the scrappy dog. He’s cute and friendly and darts anxious looks at his new human. I’m guessing he wants to get out of the shelter and into his new forever home.

When they leave, the little girl with her dog on a leash and the mother with an armful of toys, food, puppy pads, and papers, I smile at Eva.

“You came back!”

“I said I would.”

“You did, Alina,” Eva says wryly. “You’d be shocked at the number of people who come in and say they’ll be back and never return.

Don’t get me wrong, even a day of volunteering helps, but…

consistency is key with the dogs. Petal was lucky.

He got dumped on us this morning, and those two fell in love. ”

I frown. “Do people actually just say they’ll come back and not return?”

“Yup,” she says, writing something on the computer, the keyboard clacking.

“For some, one day is a shining act of so-called selflessness. They dine on it for months. Trust me, I’ve seen it.

They’re just selfish, and that cancels their desire to help.

Some want to and can’t because it’s too much with work.

And for some, it’s just too much. They can’t stand animals suffering. ”

“In here, they have a chance,” I say.

“It’s a life, but a forever home is better.”

“Well, if I say I’ll be back, I’ll be back,” I say with a smile, my heart hurting for all the times these dogs gave their heart and trust to someone who never came back. “I like it here, and I understand them, and I just want to help make their lives better however I can.”

“It’s hard, heartbreaking work.” She sighs. “Money’s important, and that’s hard to come by. And, when we have it, it’s not just pouring in money into one spot, but it’s supplies, making sure they have the vet bills covered, upkeep and a happy life. It all costs money.”

“The roof overhead is just one thing, huh?”

“You got it,” Ava says. “And remember heartbreaking? You’re here to help find their forever homes, help with the bonding.

And it hurts when they move to a good home.

Hurts worse when they don’t. And then you have to make sure that if they end up staying here, then their lives are as best as they can be. ”

“You’re not scaring me off,” I say as I hold up my chin and set back my shoulders and offer my fiercest smile.

She looks me up and down and shakes her head. “Didn’t say you would be. Come on, the dogs are waiting.”

Eva opens one of the big cages, and the dogs in there come tumbling out. She plays with them, petting them, all while subtly checking them over.

“We do have vets who come through as volunteers, especially student vets, but it’d be nice to have one who worked here.”

I hate that with all the money and opportunities, I never pushed to do something worthwhile, but I’d never have been allowed. Not by my father. I was a bratva daughter, and this fake marriage would be something he’d delight in. Me matched to another bratva.

But now I can do something for myself, and maybe being a vet isn’t in my kit of things Alina can do, but I can do this. I can help. And I have to believe every small bit helps.

“You have the look on your face most of the dedicated workers get,” Eva says softly as she clips some leashes on the group of dogs and hands half of them to me.

Jane and a guy, whose name I forget, are tending to the other dogs, including Albert, who is patient and well-behaved.

They’re watching the shelter, and I guess I’m going for a walk with Eva and the members of the kennel cage.

She hands me a bag. “Flyers. We either put them up or hand them out.”

I nod, take my dogs, and open the door. The dogs start barking and pulling me out, Eva’s laughter in the air behind me. But soon, we’re walking at a fast pace, and it’s easy, handing the flyers to those who stop to pet the dogs.

When we get to the dog park, we enter the enclosed area.

We unleash the dogs, and it’s clear this is a time for our dogs, as others move out of the way.

Eva glances at me. “We come in the mornings, then after lunch, and once more in the late afternoon so everyone in the shelter gets a run. Others might have their dogs in here, but mostly, people know us and let us have the run of this section for twenty minutes, which is nice.”

“Don’t they all want to make friends?”

“It’s better one-on-one and leashed, just in case there’s a behavior issue, either in our dogs or in someone else’s, that surprises us. Usually it’s an aggressive bark. People know their dogs. But sometimes we don’t know ours as well as we think. We can’t. Some of their stories are hidden from us.

“There’s a difference knowing a dog came from the streets or an abusive household and knowing exactly what happened.”

I nod, watching two of our dogs wrestle, and when I glance at Eva, her eyes are locked on them, a whistle in her hand.

“Do you have an animal behaviorist?”

She laughs. “There are times I can barely cover rent and essentials for our four-legged friends. I work hard getting donations, but they only go so far. I’d love to have a team.

A dedicated vet, a clinic for the poorer people to bring their pets to without the options of going bankrupt or euthanasia.

” She cuts her eyes to me a moment. “Am I scaring you off yet?”

“Not at all.” I move forward to pet a dog that rushes up to me. “To be honest, I might be one of the selfish ones. Being at the shelter makes me feel more relaxed and comfortable than I have for a long time.”

“Everyone has reasons.”

I smile, but the sadness inside weighs me down.

“Don’t get me wrong. I come from a place of privilege, but I think I like it at the shelter because dogs don’t judge or expect anything from you, just love and attention and a kind hand, and that’s both…

a little frightening, as I can see how some might abuse that, and it's also freeing.”

“You know what, Alina?” she says. “I think you’re going to do just great.”

I hope so. I really do.

In just one small place in my life, I’d like to succeed and have a taste of uncomplicated happiness and accomplishment.

A place to breathe and not lose myself in the growing knots and feelings for Ilya.