Page 34 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)
Maxim
R usset goes alone.
That’s what Uncle Dima said, but it’s the fucking stupidest idea he’s yet to come up with.
Especially since she already looks terrified and she’s only standing outside of Fujimori’s.
Her eyes are wide, taking in the storefront that I’ve seen hundreds of times. A big giant window on the left. An awning covers only the red door, the color popping against the faded dusty blue of the outside.
There are a few people inside and a hostess to the right of the doorway.
“Go in and head straight back,” I tell her.
She swings her head toward me, eyes bugging out. The same expression’s been on her face every time I speak to her and it’s irritating the hell out of me. She needs to stop looking at me like that. Like she can’t figure out what I’m doing or saying.
I haven’t punished her, but she tenses occasionally like she’s expecting it.
And there will be hell to pay. For the fear she put me through. The anger at how she called Elijah instead of me, her own husband.
I dimly understand her reasoning, but it’s not good enough.
She went into Marissa’s bar with a death wish.
When she marched into that place, she marched away from me. She never once stopped to think about us. About me and what it would’ve been like to see her ripped apart by bullets.
She faced wave after wave of them, never flinching once. Even Dad and Dima were taken aback by the cold, detached killer facing down Marissa’s stronghold without a single worry.
But it scared the living hell out of me.
Because in order to do something like that you have to become a shell. To no longer care.
She didn’t shake or flinch when I found her staring down at that piece of shit Davison. She appeared like a god, looking down at someone not worth her time, and showed no fear when he raised his gun at her.
He’s a shit-shot. She had the actual audacity to say that to me.
She’ll be lucky if I let her out of the house for the next twelve months.
If she complained about a gilded cage before, she has no idea what’s about to come.
She thought she could walk away from me. Put herself in danger like it was nothing?
It’s taken everything in me to bottle the seething rage swirling inside me.
And now I have to stand outside Fujimori’s while she goes in alone.
I know Ren won’t hurt her. That’s not how she operates, but it infuriates me how Dad doesn’t put up a fight against her terms.
I took Russet home after she slept for over twelve hours at the warehouse. Her body slumped over the table. Everything itched in me to lay her down, to take her home and tuck her into bed.
Dad said after everything she’d done, the least she deserved was a crick in the neck.
He’s right, but I felt like shit, watching her sleep. Letting her wake up to find Lev Zimin hovering over her, ready to unleash whatever justice he thought necessary.
He took it easy on her; I hope she realizes that.
There’s a part of me that thinks she doesn’t care. Or at least she wouldn’t if Daisy’s daughter wasn’t in the picture.
I’ll never forget entering that room. There’s sexual kinks and then there’s. . . whatever that was.
I never expected the first time I saw Daisy, I’d encounter her on the floor, a protective arm against her swollen belly. She could barely breathe, blood seeping from whipped skin.
Thank fuck I’d already killed Davison. How could he stand there and allow that to happen?
Dima’s already putting out phone calls, inquiring about the man Marissa pimped Daisy out to. He’ll be dealt with accordingly and trust me—it’ll be slow and painful.
If Daisy endured pain throughout her life, I know it pales in comparison to the final twenty-four hours of it. She arrived at the hospital, her body scarred and bloody. The doctor cut her open to get her daughter out.
The baby is fragile. A tiny little thing. But she’s alive and fierce if her introduction into the world is anything to go by.
I forced Russet into the shower, picked out her clothes and made her eat something. Every word out of her mouth was a demand to see the baby .
I wanted to say no. To tell her to shut the fuck up and stand in the corner until her meeting with Ren.
But this woman—this aggravating woman—shot down every motherfucker that stood between her and Daisy, just so this tiny baby had a shot at life.
So I took Russet to the hospital. It wasn’t for her. Or even Daisy. It was for this little creature, newly arrived in the world.
Russet’s face crumpled, her cheeks shining pink with trapped emotion.
I can’t understand the depth of what she’s feeling, but I’d be lying if staring at the tiny thing didn’t pull on my own heartstrings.
Unfortunately for me, the muscle in my chest is raw. The whole thing’s been trampled on and chewed up because like a fucking idiot I gave it away to my wife.
“Go,” I tell Russet.
Her brow quirks and she casts a sad eye toward me. I show nothing, nodding to Fujimori’s.
“Look on the upside,” Elijah says. “The foods great.”
Roma elbows him. We’re standing across the street at the curb, a black SUV parked. Ren said no dinner guests. She didn’t say anything about stalkers.
Even Roma agreed to come. He keeps his hands shoved into his pockets and sad longing stretches across his face. But he’s right beside me, my twin brother.
He nods reassuringly to Russet, who glances at me one more time.
I remain as I always have—the stone-faced bastard. I jerk my head at the restaurant telling her to go.
She crosses the street, the bell over the door chiming.
“Hold steady, brother.” Elijah’s in his three-piece suit. He’s even got a pocket square, the fucking wanker.
I won’t forget any time soon, how she called him before going into Marissa’s. How she trusted Elijah to call the Ghost. How they were her two preferred allies instead of me.
“This is fucking dumb and you know it.” I shove my hands in my pockets.
Russet stands in the entryway and I don’t have to see her face to know her awe. Her head swivels. She speaks to the hostess and then on steady feet walks forward.
Ren’s favorite booth is too far back to see. It’s tucked away, near the kitchen.
“It’s fine, she’s got this,” Roma murmurs.
It’s not Russet I’m worried about. “Who the fuck knows what’s going on with your girlfriend.”
Roma’s shoulders tighten. As far as I know, they haven’t spoken once in the past three years.
But he’s here all the same and I’m willing to bet it’s not just so he can keep an eye on Russet.
We stand by the curb. The hostess has a clear view of us since she stands by the window. She never once looks our way. She wipes off menus. Speaks to waiters. Smiles and waves goodbye at a customer.
I glance at my watch. It’s taking too long.
“Calm down, it’s only been twenty minutes,” Roma says.
“Too fucking long.” I pace, my legs moving but my eyes remain on the door.
Roma frowns. “We’ve got movement.”
It takes me a second to recognize her. “Is that?”
Lennie Akatov wears a dress and a pair of sneakers on her feet.
She ambles down the street, a canvas tote bag over her shoulder.
There’s not even a guard nearby. The family restaurant insists on being a neutral ground, but I find it hard to believe Boris Akatov is letting his daughter, adult or not, walk around by herself.
Sensing us, her eyes roam from her sneakers to across the street. She comes to a complete stop, pausing for a second outside Fujimori’s, eyes wide.
Then she steps inside.
A burst of delight takes over the hostess’ face. She points, not bothering to show Lennie to a table.
She knows her way around.
Abe, the grandson of the original owner, swaggers out from the kitchen, arms out. He grabs her to his side and Roma claps a hand on Elijah’s shoulder.
“We cannot burn down Fujimori’s,” he warns.
Elijah’s deathly still. A prickle of heat zaps the back of my neck as I carefully watch him.
His eyes linger on Lennie through the window, his gaze following her long after she’s disappeared into the back of the restaurant.
Roma shares a look with me, multiple questions running between us. What is she doing here? What would happen if Elijah burned down Fujimori’s?
I shrug.
As odd as it is, my concern lies somewhere else.
Why did Ren call Russet in for a meeting?