by Roxie Rivera
The anger faded from her face. Vivian held his gaze "I don't ask you questions about your other business, but when I ask you a question about something that impacts our marriage and our relationship, I expect you to tell me the truth."
His gut clenched. Though the urge to tell her everything about Tatiana and the reason she had run and how she had escaped her father's control was strong, he refused to pull Vivian into it. There were too many innocent people who could be badly hurt by the truth, including one person that Vivian loved dearly. He wouldn't put her in the position of knowing too much and having to choose whether to keep that painful secret.
"In the future, if you ask me about a woman from my past, I will tell you the truth." He couched his answer in carefully chosen words and silently prayed she would leave the topic of Tatiana alone. There was no good that would come from dredging up that ancient history and putting so many lives at risk.
She seemed mollified by his answer. "I'll tell Niels that she's an old friend of yours."
He shook his head. "Don't tell him anything about her. She won't be coming to the show."
"But the journalist—"
"She won't be coming to the show. I'll make sure of that." He intended to put Kostya on the task of tracking her down and giving her a warning. After he helped her escape, Tatiana had sworn that she would never contact him again. He intended to hold to her to that promise.
Vivian didn't seem happy about his instruction. "Fine. If that's the way you want to handle this."
"It is." Crossing the distance between them, he clasped her sweet face between his hands and grazed his thumbs along her cheeks. "Vee, in my entire life, you are the only woman who has ever managed to melt the ice around my heart." He touched his forehead to hers. "Whatever I had in the past doesn't matter. It's us, our marriage and our family that matters to me. I love you."
"I love you," she murmured, "but don't lie to me. I can't—I won't stand for it."
"Nor should you," he agreed. Knowing that he asked so much of her, he pulled back and gazed down into her eyes. "You've given me your trust, and you've accepted all the bullshit that comes with the bad choices I made before I met you. I don't take that for granted. I know what you've sacrificed to be with me."
There was so much more he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words. Vivian caressed his jaw, and he saw understanding reflected in her sapphire eyes. He whispered his love for her before tenderly capturing her mouth. She surrendered to his seeking mouth and wordlessly forgave him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness, but he selfishly accepted it all the same.
Eventually they separated and dressed. He finished before her and went downstairs to choose a bottle of wine to take as a gift to their hosts. He had chosen his favorite Australian Shiraz from the collection in the butler's pantry when he heard heavy footsteps approaching from the adjacent dining room.
Glancing toward the doorway, he caught sight of Boychenko. By the looks of it, the blond kid had finally gotten the message from Arty about the expectations for the street soldiers. Instead of the T-shirt and jeans the kid had been wearing the last time Nikolai had seen him, Boychenko had paired a dark polo with khaki chinos and nice shoes. It was an improvement and a step in the right direction.
"Boss?"
"Yes?"
"One of your neighbors was at the back gate. The judge," Boychenko explained. "He says he needs to see you. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to let him inside so I left him in the garden with his dog."
Boy had only been on the house security detail for a short time, but he had quickly learned that Nikolai didn't like anyone who wasn't part of the family in his home. "I'll go speak with him." Gesturing toward the back of the house, he said, "Grab the keys to my Land Rover and pull it out of the garage for us."
"Yes, sir."
"And Boy?" The kid paused and looked back at him. "Artyom tells me that you're doing well on the street. You've done a good job here at the house and with Vivian." He leveled a stare at the younger man. "It's important to me that she's surrounded by people I can trust."
"I understand, boss."
He was sure the kid did. If Boy wanted to climb higher in the organization, he would earn his place much more quickly by proving himself trustworthy and willing to do whatever Nikolai asked of him. "Good."
Boy left to finish the errand he had been given, and Nikolai carried the bottle of wine across the house with him as he trailed in Boychenko's footsteps. He opened the back door and found Judge Fitz Walker crouched down under a tree and scratching between his Mastiff's ears. The dog slobbered happily while the judge, dressed in workout clothes, smiled at him. A widower who had lost his wife to a heart attack the prior winter, the man had had a rough run of luck lately including a small house fire and that dog seemed to be the only thing made him happy.
"Judge, my apologies for the wait." He approached the man but didn’t hold out his hand. Though he was cordial with the man, they weren't friendly. More importantly, he didn't want dog hair and saliva all over his hands.
"It's fine." The older man stood, his knees creaking with the movement. "Roscoe and I were walking by, and I thought I would see if you were available to chat."
"I have a few minutes." He glanced back at the house. "My wife and I are heading out for the evening." Always mindful of the balance of favors owed to him, Nikolai was only too happy to help a federal judge in any way he could. "What can I do for you?"
The judge glanced toward the grass and fidgeted with the leash attached to his patiently waiting dog. "It's my daughter. She's in trouble."
Nikolai's lips settled into a thin line. If a man with so many connections was coming to him, trouble was probably an understatement. "What sort of trouble exactly?"
"Drugs," the judge said somberly. "She's been an addict for years. We tried everything to get her clean, but nothing worked. Helen, my wife…" His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "It killed her. All the stress and the worry," he said. "It killed her."
The raw emotion in the other man's voice made him uncomfortable, but he didn't try to interrupt the judge.
"Julie's attached herself to a drug dealer. She won't come home. I think…I'm worried that they're using her."
Nikolai's jaw clenched. It wasn't unheard of for dealers to surround themselves with young women that they pimped out to their friends and business associates.
"She won't let us—me—talk to her. I've tried, but the last time I went to see her, those goons put a gun in my face."
"You should go to the police."
"I can't." The judge looked stricken. "I don't want them to see her like that. I have to work with these people."
Nikolai ran his tongue around his inner lip. "Which crew is she with?"
"I don't know."
"What's the boyfriend's name?" He expected to hear the name of one of Lalo Contreras' men but that wasn't what came out of the judge's mouth.
"Bobby Pham. He runs with a Vietnamese gang."
"Pham?" Nikolai repeated. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
The name wasn't familiar to him, and he made sure to know every dealer on the streets, from the high level kingpin wannabes like Lalo to the lowest slinger who bought dope on credit and tried to carve out a piece of action.
"What's he selling?"
"Cocaine."
Nikolai tried to make sense of that. Only the cartel and their associates were allowed to move weight around the city. The Vietnamese weren't in that circle so how the hell were they getting their hands on product?
"I'll look into it." He was going to do more than that. "Give me a few days."
The judge's face relaxed with relief. "Thank you." He hesitated. "Whatever you need—"
"I won't hesitate to ask," Nikolai assured him.
The judge nodded. His gaze skipped behind Nikolai and he smiled. "Vivian!"
"Your honor," she replied with a smile as she joined them.
"You're looking lovely this evening," Judge Walker complim
ented.
"Yes, you do," Nikolai agreed as he wound his arm around her waist. She wore a striking rust-colored dress with flowing sleeves that ended right above her elbows and a hem that flirted with her knees. The silhouette was deliberately loose and hid the early stage of her pregnancy flawlessly. But that line of buttons down the front of her bodice had his fingers itching to pluck at them.
The gold bracelets adorning her wrist jingled as she reached down to ruffle Roscoe's ears. Seeing her with the dog set his mind into motion. Maybe it was time to add a dog or two to their growing family. He thought of Yuri's great beast of a guard dog but tossed aside the idea. No, Vivian would want something gentler for their children. Gentle but fierce enough to protect his family, he amended.
"Well, I won't keep you two," the judge said and gave Roscoe's leash a tug. "Thank you for the advice on my honeysuckle. I'll let you know if it works."
"Please do." Nikolai watched the judge leave the backyard before guiding Vivian toward the idling Land Rover. Boychenko waited nearby while he got his wife situated in her seat. After closing the door, he flicked his fingers and gestured for the kid to walk around the back of the SUV with him. He stopped near the rear cargo door. "Bobby Pham?"
"Sure," Boychenko said with a nod. "He's one of Mr. Lu's nephews. He runs counterfeits for the old man. DVDs, purses, shoes. It's all good shit though. Top notch."
"Just counterfeits?"
"The last I heard," Boy confirmed.
"When you get off tonight, I want you to find out where he operates. Do it quietly."
"Sure thing, boss."
"And be careful, huh? Everyone is tense right now. Lots of trigger happy fingers, yes?"
"Right." Boychenko nodded dutifully. "I'll be careful and quiet."
Satisfied the kid could handle the task, he slid into the front seat of the SUV and handed the bottle of wine to Vivian. She studied him as he buckled up. "Everything okay?"
He glanced at her and smiled. "It will be."
But a nagging voice warned him that it was going to get a hell of a lot worse before that happened.
Chapter Three
Three mornings later, a soft buzzing sound roused me from a dead sleep. Bleary eyed, I turned onto my side and slapped at my bedside table to grab my iPhone. I squinted at the screen and groaned. It wasn’t even four a.m. yet.
I didn't recognize the number and considered letting it go to voicemail. But what if it was important? The thought that one of our friends might be in trouble spurred me to answer. "Hello?"
"Vivian."
I stiffened at the sound of my father's raspy voice. "Dad?"
"I know it's early, but I need to speak with Nikolai."
I glanced at my husband. Face down on the bed, he had one arm draped across my waist and his leg hooked across both of mine. I could feel his warm, deep breaths skittering across my skin. The sheet had fallen down around his taut backside. Last night he had come home in a rather amorous mood. By the time we were finished writhing together in bed, we had been too tired to even contemplate slipping into pajamas. We had passed out in a tangle of limbs.
"It's four in the morning, Dad."
"I know what fucking time it is," he snapped. "Put him on the goddamn phone."
Irritated, I hissed, "I don't know who you think you're talking to, but I'm not one of your grubby MC brothers. You do not call my house at four in the morning and speak to me like that. Me entiendes?"
A tense silence stretched between us. The rough, gravelly tones of his laughter filtered across the speaker. "Yeah, kiddo, I understand you. Sounds like you've finally found that backbone. They're right. You are becoming the queen."
I ignored the remark. "What do you want?"
"I need to speak with Nikolai. Now. It's important." He paused. "Please."
"Hang on." I lowered my phone and reached out to stroke the back of Nikolai's neck. "Kolya? Wake up."
He bolted upright and instantly covered my body with his own. Pressing me down onto the mattress, he protectively shielded me and the baby. "What is it? Did you hear something?"
"No." I gently caressed his face. Even in his sleep, he never truly relaxed. I worried so much about the stress he endured day after day. "Relax."
He expelled a slow breath but didn't move away from me. Dropping his head down, he nuzzled his nose against mine. "What time is it?"
"A little before four," I answered quietly. Holding up the phone, I gave it a shake. The screen lit up his face with a bluish glow. "You have a call. It's my dad."
Nikolai grunted with annoyance but took the phone from me. He rolled onto his back and tugged the sheet up around my shoulders. "Yes?"
I heard my father's voice but couldn't make out the words. The conversation was short and mostly one-sided.
"I'll call you back in a few minutes." Nikolai ended the call and placed my phone on the bedside table. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I have to go downstairs. Go back to sleep."
Downstairs. To his office that Kostya swept for bugs. To the burner phones that couldn't be traced. I grasped his hand and stopped him from leaving. "What's going on?"
He squeezed my fingers in a reassuring grip. "Nothing that you need to worry about, Vee." He planted his mouth against mine and lingered. "Get some rest. I kept you awake too late last night."
"I'm not complaining."
"Good." His hand followed the outline of my growing curves. "I intend to keep you awake again tonight."
I giggled as he tickled my sides. "Kolya! Stop!"
He placed a noisy kiss on my cheek. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you for breakfast."
I didn't have the energy to argue with him. First trimester exhaustion was still kicking my butt. I had been lucky to avoid the worst morning sickness, but I couldn't seem to get enough sleep.
From my spot in bed, I watched him disappear into the bathroom and emerge in only his pajama bottoms. He left the room quietly and closed the door behind him. Hugging my husband's pillow, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. My mind reeled with troubling thoughts. My father hadn’t contacted me since January. For him to call this early in the morning? It was very serious.
Though it would be so easy to sneak downstairs and eavesdrop, I stayed in bed. My heavy eyelids drifted together, and I surrendered to the siren call of sleep. Sometime later, I woke to the sound of a knock at the bedroom door. Sitting up, I clutched the sheet to my bare chest and glanced at the clock on Nikolai's side of the bed. It was after nine!
"Vivian Ivanovna?" Artyom's rough voice penetrated the door.
I smiled at the way he called my name in that ultra-respectful way. He used my grandfather's name instead of my father's for obvious reasons. Clearing my throat, I asked, "Yes?"
"I have your breakfast."
"Oh. Um…just a second." I carefully slipped out of bed, making sure to take my time to avoid dizziness, and found my nightgown and robe neatly draped across the foot of the bed. Nikolai.
I dressed and pulled my hair into a low ponytail. When I opened the door, I found Arty waiting patiently in the hallway. He smiled down at me. "Dobroye utro."
"Good morning."
"May I?"
"Yes." I stepped aside and let him into our bedroom. He carried the tray to the sitting area by the window that overlooked the backyard and placed it on the leather ottoman there. I sat in my favorite chair and gestured to the empty seat. "Would you like to stay?"
He glanced around the bedroom and shook his head. "I don't think the boss would like that."
"It's only breakfast."
"It's your bedroom." He grabbed the neatly folded napkin, unsnapped it and draped it across my lap. Artyom wasn't about to put either of us in a situation where wagging tongues might start rumors. With a playful smile, he took one of the pears from the tray and walked to the open doorway. Leaning against the frame, he took a bite. "There. Now we can talk."
Amused by his compromise, I perused the offerings on the tray and decided to have the yogurt sweetened with
a drizzle of honey and raspberries first. "Thank you for breakfast."
"I only made the tea. The boss put this together before he left. He told me to let you sleep in and wake you at nine."
Not at all surprised that Nikolai had arranged all of this, I ran my fingertips across the soft, lush petals of the three Madame Berkeley roses he had clipped and placed in a small vase for me. The apricot petals had a tinge of pink on the tips. "Where is Nikolai?"
"He had to leave unexpectedly."
I picked up the mug of tea and took a sip. The ginger and orange blossom flavor soothed my nausea. "Business?"
"Da."
"My father?" I noticed the slight tic in his cheek and sighed. "What's he done now?"
"It wasn't your father. It was one of his men." The tight-lipped captain warily admitted that much but I sensed he wasn’t going to tell me much more.
"It's bad?"
Arty crunched another bite of the sweet pear and nodded. My gaze was drawn to the tattoos on his hand. He lacked the five dots that Nikolai, Ivan and a handful of others had. It meant that he had never been to prison. The grinning devil on the back of his hand always freaked me out. He had the year of his birth inked onto his fingers, on the spaces between the joints and the nails. There was a typical thief's talisman on his thumb, and a scarab on his pointer finger. The asterisk on his middle finger wasn't a symbol I recognized.
Glancing away from his hand, I asked, "So I guess you're going to be my shadow today?"
"Yep." He turned the pear in his big hand and sank his teeth into the soft flesh. "You're getting a new one tomorrow. A full-timer to replace Sergei," he explained.
"Oh? Is Danny going to take over?"
"No. Danny is moving up the ladder." He made a walking motion. "The boss has decided that Ten will be responsible for you."
I blinked with shock. "Wait. Ten? As in Anton Vasiliev?"