Mine to Keep

by Rhenna Morgan

  Hmm. That did sound like a normal barbecue. They probably had those fancy IPA or imported beers and ate steaks instead of on-sale, pre-made patties from Walmart, though.

  Rather than follow them in, the two men lingered outside on the patio. Which was kind of insane, because the kitchen that greeted them was big enough to house a whole football team without anyone touching shoulders. Warm taupe walls reached to at least a ten-foot ceiling and the granite countertops were thicker than any she’d ever seen before. The room was broken into two halves—a cooking area with an island in the center and a breakfast counter to one side with barstools tucked beneath it, and a dining area with a bay window that overlooked the backyard. A farmhouse table sat centered in the middle of the space.

  A rotund woman just a few inches shorter than Roman stood near the island surrounded by stainless steel appliances more appropriate for a five-star restaurant than a house. She looked up from whatever she was stirring, a wisp of gray hair falling from her tight bun. She locked onto Bonnie first, then Cassie behind her, and finally on Roman. The sharp declaration that followed held a Russian accent even thicker than Roman’s. “You brought guests.”

  Heat blanketed her back a second before Roman’s hand settled on her shoulder. He answered back with just as bold of a reply, but every word was in Russian.

  The woman’s shrewd gaze cut to Roman’s hand and up to Bonnie’s face. A tiny smile tugged one corner of her mouth, a fact Bonnie was pretty sure rarely happened given the deeply etched frown lines on her forehead. She gave her attention back to Roman. “As you say. Now introduce us.”

  Bonnie murmured to Cassie. “I don’t get it. What did he say?”

  “Beats me,” she whispered back. “I only know the sexy stuff and the dirty words so far.”

  Roman shifted to her side and motioned to the woman. “Bonnie, this is Olga. She came with Sergei from Russia and manages his kitchen.”

  “Yeah, I kinda gathered that from the accent and the chef’s clothes.” Bonnie hustled forward and held out her hand over the counter-height bar that separated them. “I’m Bonnie Drummond.”

  For a moment, Olga stared at Bonnie’s outstretched hand like she’d offered a pig’s foot instead of a handshake. She got herself in gear pretty quick, though, and returned the gesture. “Welcome to our home. You will stay for dinner. Tonight, we have gumbo.”

  Oh, she’d picked that up the second she walked in the back door. Any native Louisianan could pick that dish up on scent alone. And what was it with people telling her what to do instead of asking? Maybe it was a Russian thing. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to do that. I’ll head home just as soon as Roman gives me the all clear.”

  “You will stay,” Roman said, his tone a little lighter than Olga’s, but still formed as a directive. He shifted his focus to Cassie behind her. “I have calls to make. You will not leave without your guards.”

  Cassie gave him a mock salute and an even sassier, “Yes, sir!”

  He looked to Bonnie and held out his hand. “Give me your phone and your address.”

  “My phone?”

  “It’s a security thing,” Cassie said, moving in closer. “First order of business is shutting down tracking options. Trust me. Been there. Done that.”

  “But what if my dad or Kev try to call me?”

  “Then I will answer,” Roman said. “You will not.”

  “Geesh.” Sighing, Bonnie motioned to the bag still in Roman’s hand. “Side pocket.”

  Roman lifted it like it weighed nothing, snatched the ancient device she’d bought secondhand from a bar customer and stuffed it in his coat pocket. “What else do you have?”

  “Come again?”

  “Other electronics. What else do you have?”

  She dipped her head toward the bag. “Just my laptop, but I’ve got the location services turned off already. So it’s good.”

  Ignoring her completely, he unzipped the backpack and slid the shiny Mac free. “Better not to assume. I will check it. Now your address.”

  “Is please in your vocabulary?”

  He cocked that infernal eyebrow again.

  “Fine.” Actually, not fine. But at the moment she couldn’t figure out an alternative for wiggling out of the situation she’d created by calling Cassie for help. At least not without looking like a complete asshole. “St. Ann’s apartments. Corner of North Prieur and St. Ann Street.”

  “Which unit?”

  “104C.”

  A whole lot of calculation seemed to move behind his eyes. Whether he was plotting the physical location in his head, or just committing the information to memory was anyone’s guess. He jerked a hard nod. “You will stay. You will eat. You will be safe.”

  With that, he turned and stalked toward the wide arched opening at the far end of the kitchen.

  “Anyone ever told you you’re bossy?” she said to his back.

  Olga and Cassie both cackled in unison, but it was Cassie who answered. “Get used to it. They’re all like that. But you really don’t want to pass up Olga’s gumbo. Nothing bad comes out of her kitchen, but she’s taken to Cajun food like nobody’s business.”

  Setting dishes out on the table, Olga huffed out a sound somewhere between agreement and appreciation.

  “You’re here!” A young boy a little over four feet tall scampered into the room, his dirty blond hair a little shaggier than most boys his age. He hurried to Cassie, wrapped her in a hug for all of a heartbeat, then stepped back and beamed a huge smile up at her. “I aced my math test so Mom said we get to go to that new ice cream place after dinner.”

  “The one where they super-freeze it on the metal table and roll it up like straws?” Cassie said.

  “Yeah. The Freezing Cow.”

  “You’re not going anywhere if you don’t show good manners,” said the woman who’d strolled into the kitchen behind him. Dressed in an oversized ballet pink sweater, skinny jeans and white Keds, she looked like she’d hopped out of a Gap clothing ad. Especially, with her dark hair cut in one of those stylish pixie’s that somehow managed to look messily perfect.

  Smiling, she steered her son toward Bonnie. “Sorry. Ice cream seems to trump general politeness in this house. I’m Evette Petrovyh, but most people call me Evie. This is my son, Emerson.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Emerson said, offering his hand just as nice as could be.

  Bonnie shook his outstretched hand. “I’m Bonnie.”

  “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “We don’t have any Bonnies at school.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t met many either,” she said. “Not exactly a go-to name unless your dad has a thing for Triumph Bonnevilles.”

  Emerson’s eyes got super wide. “You’re named after a motorcycle? That’s cool!”

  Okay, the kid got points for knowing motorcycles. Though, only a boy would think it was cool to be named after one. “Emerson’s a killer name, too. Sounds super smart.”

  “Okay,” Olga said from her place at the stove. She turned, wiped her hands on a towel and motioned to the small table now set for dinner. “Dinner is ready. Everyone sit.” Her gaze cut to Bonnie and a wry smile tipped her lips. “Please.”

  Evie volleyed a confused looked between Bonnie and Olga. “Did I miss something?”

  Cassie shook her head, latched onto Bonnie’s arm and guided her to the table. “Just Bonnie getting a dose of Russian bossiness and her calling Roman on it.”

  “Oh, that,” Evie said like such behavior was a run-of-the-mill occurrence. She pulled out a chair on the far side of the table, sat and zeroed in on Bonnie. “Good for you pushing back. Those guys mean well, but sometimes they’ve got the sensitivity of a gorilla.”

  Olga made her rounds, spooning out generous portions into china bowls that were probably the same vintage as the house.

  “So, you’re still at
the television station, Bonnie?” Evie asked, buttering up her cornbread.

  Wow.

  Cassie wasn’t kidding about Olga’s gumbo. It was the bomb. A perfect blend of spices with a ton of andouille sausage, chicken and shrimp. She nodded and swallowed down the bite in her mouth. “Yeah. Just during the day on weekends, though. I’ve got another job running the Dusty Dog.”

  Emerson giggled at that. “What’s the Dusty Dog?”

  “A pub over in Tremé,” Evie answered before Bonnie could. “Me and some friends used to go there for karaoke before you were born.” She turned her gaze to Bonnie. “They got a new owner right?”

  Bonnie wasn’t sure what startled her more. The fact that this classy chick actually knew about any pubs in Tremé, or that she’d actually stepped foot in the Dog. “Um, yeah. About a year ago. Nearly ran it in the ground in the first three months, but its rebounding now.”

  “Probably because he hired you to manage it,” Cassie said.

  Evie nodded sagely, spooned up a bite of gumbo and blew across the spoon. “Food and bars are tricky businesses. My friend Dorothy’s made it through recessions, floods and murder, but it’s been sketchy at times.”

  “Where’s she work?” Bonnie said.

  “Dorothy’s Diner over in Mid-City.”

  “No shit?” she said before she could check herself. She winced as soon as her comment hit air and looked to Emerson. “Sorry, kid.”

  Emerson grinned back at her. “You’re not gonna teach me anything new. You should hear Mom when she gets on a rant.”

  “Hey, there,” Evie scolded playfully. “Don’t be ratting me out with company.” Still smiling, she dipped her head toward Bonnie. “I like your earrings and your bracelets. I’m a jewelry fan, too. Where’d you get ’em?”

  Heat rolled up her neck and across her cheeks. The turquoise and carnelian beaded pieces she’d put on this morning were some of the first designs she’d done. Definitely nowhere near as intricate as the wire designs she’d been trying to fashion in the last month. “I made ’em.” She wriggled her right wrist where her mom’s silver bracelet hung alone. “All except this one. This was my mom’s.”

  “You make your own jewelry?” Cassie put her spoon down and straightened toward Bonnie. “You never told me that.”

  Bonnie shrugged. “I don’t wear as much at the station. I do good to come up with outfits that won’t make the HR lady fire me. Figure it’s better not to push it with homemade fashion.”

  “Ever thought about making more for a side hustle?” Evie asked.

  She had actually. Had even had people at the bar ask her for custom pieces more times than she could count. But every time she started to dig in and give it a shot, fear got the better of her. “It’s not real jewelry. At least nothing anyone would pay for.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Evie said. “I’ve talked to a few ladies over at the Farmer’s Market, and they make a killing on the weekends with tourists. None of their stuff looks nearly as nice or creative as what you’ve got on.”

  Boy, Roman hadn’t been wrong calling these people treasures. She’d expected them to be distant or painfully polite at best—not friendly and personable.

  Yeah, don’t go getting any ideas. This is a one-and-done deal. It’s not like they’re gonna be coming for tea at your place. I mean, where would they sit? On the floor?

  Too soon, her bowl was empty. If she hadn’t already felt like a street urchin crashing a glitzy restaurant, she’d have asked for seconds and licked the bowl clean both times.

  Quick muted footsteps traveling down a stairway sounded through the wide opening to her right, followed by clipped heel-strikes on the hardwood floors.

  Roman appeared a moment later and strode toward the table, her laptop pinched between his fingers. His gaze lingered on Bonnie all of a second, something she couldn’t quite identify registering in his expression before he addressed Evie. “I’m taking Sergei’s car and picking him and Kir up at the airport. We’ll be home after we’re done with business.”

  Evie touched his forearm, not the least bit intimidated by his all-business demeanor or the way he towered over her. “Better you than Mikey picking them up. He ended up at the wrong terminal last time and I don’t need my man cranky when he gets home.” She nodded in Bonnie’s direction. “Don’t worry about Bonnie. We’ll take her with us to get ice cream after dinner.”

  “With your guards,” Roman said.

  Rolling her eyes, Evie waved him off. “Like you need to lecture me on that score. Of course we’re taking the guys.”

  Roman smiled and held Bonnie’s laptop up between them. “I could not detect any tracking software and, as you said, location services are off. What do you use it for?”

  Bonnie shrugged. “Not much really. Mostly just surfing the net and checking my email.”

  For a good two or three seconds, he just stared back at her as though considering his next step, but finally dipped his head in a short nod and slid it in front of her. “Do not let it out of your sight and do not reenable GPS.”

  The lecturing tone would have pissed her off on any other day, but something he’d said to Evie derailed her irritation. “Hold up. I thought you were gonna check my place so I can go home. I don’t wanna crash Emerson’s ice cream thing.”

  The weird expression moved across his face again—somewhere between exasperation and bemusement. “If it becomes necessary, yes, I will check your apartment.” He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a gleaming new iPhone. “Until then, you will use this for any calls you need to make. Mine and Cassie’s numbers are already in it.”

  Bonnie stared at the device pinched between his fingers. “You’re giving me a phone?”

  “I’m loaning you a phone. For your safety. Yours will stay with me. If you need information off it, text me and I will send it to you.”

  “You know,” Cassie said, finishing up a bite of cornbread. “You might as well take it. You’ve already learned how far arguing goes.”

  Boy, that was the truth.

  She gently took the shiny gadget and the screen lit up as soon as she turned it toward her face. Not a single scratch marred the surface. “Do I need a degree to run this thing?”

  “You figured out the computer I gave you,” Cassie answered. “Pretty sure you can handle a few screen swipes and flipping through contacts.”

  A freaking iPhone.

  And he’d handed it over as casually as a toothpick.

  She swiped the screen and a host of apps flashed back at her. Her brain picked that second to finally filter through all of Roman’s comments. “Hold up. What do you mean ‘if it becomes necessary’ to search my apartment. Have you learned something about Kev and Dad?”

  His mouth twitched as though sorely tempted to smile. “I mean, whether or not a visit to your apartment will be necessary depends on what happens after I pick up my brothers.”

  “And what is it you’re doing after you pick them up?”

  This time he did smile, the edge behind the slight tilt of his lips both thrilling and terrifying. He stepped back from the table, buttoned his jacket, and started toward the door. The gravity of his answer as he left rang heavy as a gavel. “I’ve located where Pauley Mitchell lives. The three of us will be paying him a visit.”

  Chapter Four

  A family full of drinkers, thieves and con artists.

  Roman leaned against the fender of Sergei’s BMW and watched for his pakhan’s arrival through the terminal’s glass walls. While Kir hadn’t had sufficient time for a complete background check before boarding in Houston, he’d found enough about Bonnie’s family to paint a very shaded picture. A mother with a string of petty theft arrests who’d crashed her car into a tree while intoxicated and high. A father with even more arrests—most tied to brawls and public intoxication—and a brother with a questionable hacker-for-
hire reputation.

  But for Bonnie? Not a thing out of place. Steady grades in high school until she dropped out mid-semester her senior year. A GED completed two years ago, but no college records. Meager tax returns filed. Zero dings on her limited credit and a bank account with steady deposits.

  Of course, the withdrawals against her account had been steady, too. No doubt to cover her father’s debts.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t factor how Bonnie fit into it all. Either she was legitimately a straight shooter in a family of thieves and cons, or she was equally shady and the best hustler he’d ever seen.

  He uncrossed his arms from his chest, jammed his hands into his pockets and forced his shoulders to relax. No, she wasn’t a hustler. Genuine fear, the likes of what he’d seen in her eyes when he and Cassie had first arrived and again when she’d surveyed Sergei’s estate, was impossible to feign. He’d forced that fear onto more souls than he could count. Watched as each of them acknowledged their death was at hand and that he would be the last face they looked upon.

  He was the enforcer.

  The reaper without benefit of a scythe or a hood.

  On the other side of the glass wall, two figures emerged from the crowd, both clad in suits and striding unerringly toward the exit.

  His brothers.

  As ever, Kir was a light and affable presence next to Sergei’s dark menace, but both of them stood out from everyone else. Commanded those milling in their paths to part without a single word or look shared.

  They were the only two people in this country who knew the extent of the crimes Roman had committed. Of the evil he was truly capable of.

  And they accepted him anyway.

  For that and for the families they’d built and shared with him, he’d kill or die for either of them.

  They exited the building, and Roman straightened from the car. He opened the back door for Sergei as they approached. “A good flight?”

  “As good as commercial travel can be.” Sergei slid into the backseat. “I’ve grown accustomed to Trevor’s charters.”