Page 27 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

ALINA

I take a quiet, slow breath of relief. Finally, I can relax.

I spot only a nose that sniffs the air, low to the ground near the door.

“Albert, you’re safe now.”

He shuffles in, and I pick him up and feed him a small piece of cheese. I probably shouldn’t, but he looks so pitiful while eyeing the cheese. I get doggy kisses for it.

I’m so glad dinner’s over and that they’ve gone upstairs. There’s something about Santo that creeps me out. I don’t know if it’s just that I’m not used to a man looking at me like how he does, like he’s picturing me naked, like he’ll see me naked because women don’t say no to him.

Given his size, I can see some being too scared to say no. Oh, there’ll be the ones who are into him, but no way was I letting Isla here tonight, not with the off chance he may make her his newest target.

But then again, maybe it’s not how he looks at me.

Maybe it’s the stories of what Santo’s done to people. Mafia and bratva don’t have good reputations, but there are some who seem to relish the sadistic side, the violence, the pain a little more than the rest.

He seems like a guy who doesn’t consider a thing as off the table.

I shudder at the thought of a guy like that setting his eyes on Isla.

And the way he flirted? Right in front of Ilya?

“What the heck was that, Albert?”

I carry Albert and my wineglass to the kitchen to put things away. Svetlana’s done an incredible job, but I sent her off to bed when the dessert came out. I set Albert down to put the last things in containers to put in the fridge.

Albert gives a whine of outrage and pushes his little wet nose at my hand so I’ll pet him and feed him a scrap of lamb. I’m going to need to stop. Otherwise, poor Albert’s going to resemble a barrel.

But flirting like Santo did is wrong. Although, I have to admit, seeing Ilya stand up for me, ready to take the giant down, was really fucking hot. Swoon-worthy hot.

There are times I forget how lethal he is, but then he makes a threat I feel down to my toes, a threat that’s more a warning and a promise, and something I know Ilya would do.

It shouldn’t be a turn-on. But it is.

Max would have chosen a different path?—

I stop, the guilt flooding. Max wasn’t Ilya. And Ilya isn’t Max. So why does Ilya’s threat turn me on? Or maybe it isn’t just Ilya making promises of pain and retribution on my behalf, for my virtue. Maybe it’s him .

Maybe?

I know it is.

This attraction keeps rearing up more and more lately. Like an addiction I can’t control, and I need bigger hits. Honestly, it worries me.

When we had our conversation and I admitted I wanted him, too, and he told me he’d wait until I was ready, forever if he had to… That comforted me. But it also rang false, because it’s not him needing to wait until I’m ready. It’s me.

Being ready, not being inundated with guilt for wanting someone with a growing need while Max is gone…

Have I grieved enough? Is this wrong to find myself waking up emotionally and sexually? Should I be lingering in the darkness with Max longer?

He’d say no. But that’s Max. Selfless, unlike me.

Because if I allow myself, I will let the terrible truth in.

I got Max killed.

Me.

Me.

Me.

I’m a terrible person. I can blame birth, I guess, but that doesn’t mean I should have stayed linked to my family. My birth is me. Every part of me is bratva, whether I want it or not.

And I don’t.

I loathe it. The pain. The death. The danger.

I despise that we’re all at risk from some vengeful bullet, from a vindictive enemy of an enemy to my brother and now to Ilya. Or someone who wants what they have.

And that threat is real.

It’s something I had to sign up for.

But Max?

No.

His only crime was falling for me.

I should have run with him, married him in a quiet ceremony somewhere, insisted we keep it on the down-low, not bring any attention to my name.

I’m more than aware my brother wouldn’t have let the wedding happen without hyped-up security, something I didn’t want—I didn’t want any security—and now Max is dead because of my last name.

So the guilt’s complex. It’s not just moving on; it’s everything around that. And I’m finding this attraction harder and harder to deny, to control, to talk myself out of.

Being this close to Ilya all the time’s difficult because I know him. Know his heart, and now I’m beginning to ache for it and him.

Worse, our dynamic has changed.

Albert barks, and I wrap up bits and pieces for him as treats, things dogs can eat. The bone from the lamb, scraps. A few of the steamed vegetables that don’t fit inside the containers.

I miss my friend.

I miss the late-night chats and card games, our movie marathons on the couch, fighting over popcorn or chips. The movies started after Max’s murder as Ilya’s way of getting my mind off things, something I appreciated.

But I miss the ease of us, the easy chats and teasing, the fact I could always say anything and everything to him that was on my mind. I want all that back, even though I play my part in hiding.

Because now I censor myself. And he does, too. He stays in his office, spends more time at Demyan’s or out in the field. Even Demyan never spent that much time out there. That’s what his people are for.

So yes, Ilya’s avoiding me as much as I am him.

And I hate it.

How can we move forward if I lose my friend? And how do I get my friend back if I take a step forward? I don’t know. That’s the thing. This territory is fresh and new and uncharted.

What if I cross the line and screw up the friendship? Or just destroy it by being a mess ?

I sigh heavily as I finish clearing up and clean the table for Svetlana. When I’m done, still lacking anything close to an answer, I pick up Albert, who gives me doggy kisses like he’s trying to soothe me, and take him upstairs.

And it works. He makes me feel better.

As I pass Ilya’s office, I can hear him and Santo talking through the mostly closed door. We hurry along and up the next set of stairs to my room, where Albert immediately jumps on my bed and curls up. I stroke his silky fur when my phone on the side table starts vibrating.

Rolling over, I pick it up and hit answer, putting it on speaker.

My brother’s voice fills the room. “Where are you?”

Straight to the point. That’s always been him. My heart and stomach both clench tightly.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Pavel said you were out, but I called Vin, head of security. He mentioned you haven’t been home in a while,” he says, softening his voice. “Is everything okay?”

Shit. I still haven’t told him about staying with Ilya, and I’ve no idea what Ilya’s said to him, so I stumble through the story, telling him I was lonely and having nightmares.

“So,” I conclude, “I’m staying at Ilya’s new place.”

“You’re with Ilya?” he asks after a long pause.

I swallow. “His new place is huge. I have an entire floor and the bonus of company. I miss you, Erin, the kids. And since he’s here so much, it made sense, you know? I can’t rattle around on my own, and we’re good friends.”

“I see.” He has the tone of a brother who doesn’t see at all.

“Just until you and Erin get back, of course.”

“So you’re not okay.” The alarm in his voice is real. “There’s a difference between loneliness and a few bad dreams and running away until we get back. I didn’t know things were so bad. We’ll come back immediately.”

“No.” I force a laugh. “I just meant I’ll come back then.”

“All you have to do is say the word, and we’ll cancel?—”

“No,” I say again, blurting it out way too loudly. “I’m fine. Really, I am. Just lonely, you know? Company is nice, and I got used to the late-night chats with Ilya. So finish your trip and have fun. I promise if I need you back here, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay,” Demyan agrees, sounding unsure. But at least he doesn’t sound suspicious. “But I worry about you. We all do. Just so you know, if you ever need me, I’m here. Erin too.”

“I love you, too,” I say softly, meaning it. “Thanks, Demyan.”

I ignore the stab of guilt that’s like pinpricks in my chest, because I do love him. I appreciate his offer, but I don’t want them back early.

“Hey,” Demyan says casually, “Ilya mentioned someone earlier, a Santo Barone. I knew him at school. Have you seen him around Ilya at all?”

Shit, shit. Shit .

“Nope,” I say, aiming for innocence. “Why?”

“It’s not important,” Demyan mutters. “But if you do ever run into him, understand he’s bad news and keep the fuck away, okay?”

“Okay.”

But his negative opinion of the man worries me. And it tells me my gut is right.

Santo is a bad guy.

Demyan rings off.

I let Albert come up and snuggle against me, and I hug him.

I hope Ilya knows what he’s doing.