Page 26 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Twenty

ILYA

I don’t usually spend a lot of time choosing what to wear. Things simply go with certain situations.

But this is different.

With the smells that permeate the air and set any stomach rumbling for Alina’s food she’s been making all day, and only with some help from Svetlana, who told me she was very much placed in helper mode, I stand in my towel while staring at my clothes.

Maybe I should have gone shopping, got fitted for more suits. But the ones I have are fine. The expensive ones are for meetings, where I want to impress or make an impact. The black ones that state bratva man. I have two general dinner suits and a tux.

In the end, I choose the one I wore for Demyan’s beach wedding. I haven’t worn it since, and the suit with the fine blue subtly weaved into the fabric lifts it out of the work arena and lands on the right side of an important dinner.

I choose a tie I probably shouldn’t wear with it. The thing’s whimsical, a swirl of bright colors, given to me by Alina years ago for my birthday. At the time, she wanted me to be more playful compared to the staunch air of Demyan.

I rarely wear it, as it isn’t at all appropriate for any bratva business, but I love it because of where it came from. Who it came from. It lifts the suit into a relaxed air of comfort and style.

Albert’s downstairs with Alina. I don’t think he’s left her side all day. I did ask him if he wanted to come to work with me as an attack dog on a shakedown for money owed, but he decided the kitchen and Alina were the better deal.

I head down, fixing my sapphire cuff links into place as I go. Another gift from Alina for my last birthday.

She’s nervous. She’s been in the kitchen since before I got back from the gym this morning.

Svetlana gives me a half smile as she sets up a cheese board with cured meats, olives, and some things that look like oily, wrinkled tomatoes. She places some tiny flowers around it, then she covers it and leaves it on the table.

“We’ve prepped the roast. The veggies are part done, so all it’ll take is a minute of blanching, and the potatoes are ready to go in with the roast.” Svetlana starts to load the dishwasher and clear the countertop as Alina hurries around.

Albert sits a safe distance from her with a bowl of meat scraps.

“Thanks, Svetlana,” Alina says. “I’ve got the soup ready and on a low simmer. The cream’s in the fridge?”

“Of course. All organized for how you need it. If we’d done a good Russian meal…” Svetlana purses her lips.

“This is for Ilya. The man’s Italian, so we go Italian.”

Svetlana huffs at that.

They’re so busy, and it’s clear Alina’s trying to distract herself, so I don’t interrupt. Albert takes a last bite to clear his bowl, and then he trots over to me. Together, we watch Alina .

I tease her about cooking, but she’s fucking amazing, at least during the times that Magda lets her cook.

She acts like she can’t, but she can. I’m okay at it, though a thousand times better than Demyan, who cooked a horrendous breakfast that one time.

I mean, he may be able to bake a potato or sear a steak, but I have my doubts.

His sister, though… The girl can cook. She’s wearing the frilly apron, and two cookbooks lay open, plus her iPad, and she wields a big chef knife like she holds a scalpel as she peers at one of the recipes.

Her concentration, the apron, the fucking knife are such a turn-on that my cock stirs.

Like she can feel the start of my arousal, she turns and meets my gaze. She blushes such a becoming rosy pink that it makes my knees a little weak.

“Am I late? I’m not ready!” Her eyes light up at my tie.

I hold up a hand. “Nope, I’m early. Just thought I’d check on the source of all the delicious aromas in the air, malyshka .”

Svetlana smiles like a teenager at the silly name I call Alina.

“You can wait until dinnertime,” Alina mutters. “I’ve got enough to do without having an audience, like finish cooking and getting ready, so go do something else.”

Grinning, I head out of the kitchen to the foyer, and start up the stairs, when a pitiful bark sounds behind me.

Albert looks at me sorrowfully, as if he can’t possibly take the stairs. I roll my eyes and pick him up, scratching his little belly as we go up.

“You run up these stairs and down them all the time.”

Albert huffs and whines.

“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you.”

Albert barks again and snuggles in like he hasn’t heard a word .

In my study, I set him down and pour myself a whiskey. Albert plays with his toys, chewing on a squeaky thing.

“You know,” I say to him, “Santo is coming tonight. He’s big.”

Albert stops, looks at me.

“I think he’s probably nice to dogs, but stick with me or Alina, or I’d suggest staying in my room.”

Actually, I think I’ll shut her door so he can’t see in there.

It seems smart. I may get her to lock it, put some things in my room, a dress on the bed, or something.

Not that I expect Santo to venture upstairs and into bedrooms. There’s a line between a casual tour and stepping into very private territory like bedrooms, but it’s best to be safe.

I top up my drink and sit at the desk, determined to do some work, get the info I want to discuss with Santo ready, when my phone buzzes.

Shit. It’s Demyan.

“How are things?” he asks, his voice low.

I’m guessing the kids are sleeping.

But it’s good he called. I fill him in on what’s going on with Yegorov Bratva even though Pavel and I send him daily reports. It’s a courtesy thing. I outline my plans for the following week, and then he asks about Belov.

I sigh. “Difficult. More so than I thought. The men have respect issues with me. I’m not my fucking grandfather, so I’m not fucking trustworthy. Melor, my second here, mentioned trouble they’re having with the Simonov Bratva.”

“Shit, we don’t have dealings with them. I know of them but don’t know them. We don’t cross paths. I can look into them, make some calls,” Demyan says, and I can almost hear his frown as he thinks.

“No, I appreciate it, but it’s fine.” Quickly, I outline everything Melor told me, all the things I read about the bratva, the fact that Santo has had run-ins with them, and that I plan to talk to him.

Demyan’s silent as a door clicks. “Listen to me, Ilya. You’re the most capable man I know, but you’re new at being a pakhan. Oust the troublemakers is my advice.”

“Melor doesn’t think that’s smart in this case. I tend to agree with you, but we don’t know these guys yet.”

“The solution isn’t getting into fucking bed with Santo. He’s a dangerous man to get involved with, and you’ll live to regret it.”

“I know that,” I say, barely able to keep the irritation from my voice. “I’m aware who and what people are around me.”

I stop before I say something I’ll regret.

Honestly, I feel like I need to prove myself to Demyan as much as I do to my own men. Apparently no one thinks I have it in me to be pakhan.

“Okay, I just want you to be smart in this.”

“I am.”

When we end the call, Albert gives a soft bark, and I agree with him.

I’ve been working for Demyan for so long that perhaps he’s used to me being second best. Not quite leader material.

And now that we’re equal—I’m running his bratva and my own—perhaps Demyan doesn’t believe I have what it takes to lead my own bratva. Or lead anything at all.

Demyan wouldn’t ever say that, but the idea doesn’t help. And it fucking bothers me.

I’m still brooding when Alina appears in the prettiest blue dress I’ve ever seen. With her gold jewelry and her hair piled loosely on her head, she’s the epitome of romantically sexy. It’s so utterly her that I fucking tremble.

“I put things in your room. I hope you don’t mind. Just in case… ”

“Great minds,” I say.

She smiles. “I locked my door. I figure we leave Albert in your room with the door half closed so he can come out if he wants, but he can also be safe.”

She picks him up and takes him into my room. I follow.

Alina puts him down right when Santo arrives.

I hold out my hand. “Let’s get this show on the road, malyshka .”

Santo is jovial and hawk-eyed. He hands a bottle of expensive Amarone del Valpolicella to Alina and a bottle of Jewel of Russia Ultra vodka to me. Svetlana takes them with courtesy, and I drape my arm around Alina as I invite him in.

“Welcome to our home,” I say.

I temper my affectionate behavior with her to a level I hope she’s comfortable with. A little touching, but only one brush of lips on her cheek as we move into the drawing room, where the charcuterie is set up and an open bottle of wine waits.

After pouring the wine, I hand them out and tell Santo to sit.

“You’re a lucky man, Belov,” Santo mutters, his eyes on Alina as she takes her seat next to me.

“I’m aware,” I say.

“You know, if you screw her over,” Santo adds, his voice full of lightheartedness, but his eyes flinty, “I’ll not only kill you, but I’ll be waiting in the shadows to swoop in and save her.”

I meet his gaze, holding it as my stomach clenches. He wants a response, so I don’t give him one. He can try. He’ll fail. I’m not that insecure.

“I don’t need a man to save me,” Alina assures him .

Santo smiles widely. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right man yet.”

What the actual fuck? I almost snap the wine stem I’m holding. Is this man for real?

He’s blatantly flirting with my wife in front of me. In my house.

Logically, I know he’s testing my relationship with Alina, seeing if we crack, and just as logically, I know we’re only pretending. But he doesn’t.

And testing us is way out of line.

“Some men shower their women in jewels.” Santo’s gaze slides over her. “A pitiful necklace and small earrings, plus your wedding ring, isn’t exactly a shower. Or even a sponge bath. It’s more a dry paper towel.”

His smile hits maximum wattage as a wave of scorching fury crashes into me, threatening to drown me.

I stare at him until his gaze comes to me. He raises a brow, which I take as a challenge. And I’ve had enough. He’s tested the boundaries and now he’s at the brick fucking wall.

“If you’re going to disrespect me in my own home, get the fuck out. If you’re going to disrespect my wife, I hope your affairs are in order. Because for that, I’ll kill. She deserves all your respect. All of it. So let’s call this a night, and you get the fuck out right now.”

My voice is calm, tone steel. Meaning like glass.

Santo throws back his head and laughs loudly.

“Calm down, Ilya. I’m kidding. She isn’t going to let me near her, and neither are you.

” His laughter vanishes. “But it’s good to see you stand up for what’s yours.

A lot of people don’t think you have it in you to take over from Aleksandr. They say you were raised too soft. ”

Alina’s hand squeezes my thigh as a warning to stay in control. I’m not her brother. I do lose my temper, but I tend to keep it in check. Like right now .

I want to ask who, but I know. My men. The whispers. Rumors.

And soft? My fucking asshole of a grandfather’s opinion has no standing. A woman he kicked out and cut off, left to raise a child after her husband died, was anything but soft. And my life was anything but luxurious.

I’ve lived harder than a pakhan born into the job. And that’s the truth. I fought long and hard to get to where I am with Demyan. Being his friend made it harder, not easier.

“Some rumors,” I say, “are not to be believed.”

Santo meets my gaze. “Most aren’t.”

After that, we snack and drink and talk, the topics light and polite, with occasional veerings into politics or current events.

Then we sit to eat, and the food’s sublime.

“Alina,” I say, kissing her hand, “you outdid yourself.”

“What restaurant did you get the delivery from? I might steal the chef.” Santo eats another piece of the mouth-melting lamb.

Alina takes a sip of wine. “I cooked it from scratch. Apart from the bread. And Svetlana helped with the chocolate mousse we’ll have for dessert. And… thank you for the compliment.”

Santo sits back like he’s seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time.

It isn’t so much that she can cook, but the fact that she’s clearly smart, multitalented, and able to do all this is a game changer.

He’s seeing that she’s not just a pretty face.

Not just Demyan’s sister. But my wife. She’s special.

Throughout dinner, she held up her end of the conversation. She doesn’t take an interest in the bratva and deliberately so, but she understands it. Of course she does. It’s her world.

But she also hits him up for considering a donation to the dog shelter as a tax write-off for him.

When he says he likes cats over dogs, that he appreciates their independence, she says, “Did you know a lot of dog shelters have cats, too?”

“I’ll think about it.” Santo nods to himself.

She can also talk about pop culture to deeper current affairs to the latest book that’s got critics in knots. The best places she’s found cannoli. Even a good Irish pub.

She’s a catch, and he’s seeing it for the first time in all the glory that’s Alina.

His eyes meet mine, and he nods.

I’ve apparently passed his fucking test. I’m no pakhan like Demyan, but the moment isn’t lost, nor is the warmth inside.

We move from dinner to dessert and cheese and fruit. It’s a slow, long, meandering four hours, and Albert pokes his nose around the corner exactly once. But when Santo lets out a burst of laughter, he scurries backward and disappears.

Finally, dinner is done, and just the cheese remnants and fruit remain.

“Such a delicious feast,” he says to Alina. “Are you sure you don’t want to divorce him for me?”

“Never,” I say emphatically. Then I stand. “Are you ready to talk business?”

Santo stands, too. “Lead the way.”