by Roxie Rivera
Nikolai shrugged. "I have a feeling."
"Do you want a son first?" Personally, I wasn't concerned about the sex. Boy or girl, we would likely have our hands full. From what I knew of Nikolai's early years, he had been an absolute hellion as a little boy. I hadn't been much better.
"A daughter would be easier," he said, his mouth slanting with a smile as he touched the image of our baby kicking its legs.
"Easier? How?"
"It would be easier to keep her out of this life. My father, your father and me? We aren't the best role models for a little boy."
"Don't say that." I cupped his cheek and turned his face. Nikolai projected so much strength and confidence, but the prospect of fatherhood seemed to unsettle him. "If anyone in the world can help him understand why he shouldn't make the same mistakes, it's you."
Nikolai swallowed. "I'm trying so hard to build something for our children, Vee. Something real. Something legitimate. Something that will make them proud of me."
"I know you are." I didn't have all the nitty gritty details, but I believed he would find a way.
"I'm sorry I missed this." Nikolai leaned over and kissed me. The citrus burst that accompanied his mouth left me wanting more. Pulling back, he brushed his knuckles across my cheek. "Did you hear the heartbeat? Dima said that was his favorite part of going with Benny for her appointments."
"I did. It was very strong."
"That's good." Regret darkened his eyes. "Next time."
I nodded and captured his mouth in a tender kiss. "Next time."
Nikolai's cell phone beeped and vibrated. He leaned across the counter to grab it and the small glass bottle of maple syrup. "Eat."
I drizzled the sticky sweet syrup on my French toast and glanced at his phone. "Who is it?"
"Artyom." He tapped at the screen. "He wants to know if it's okay to come inside."
Nikolai walked around the corner of the island and retrieved a pair of kitchen shears from a drawer. He clipped the top ultrasound photo free and pushed the rest of the strip toward me. I carefully tucked them into the pocket of my robe and watched him place the small image of our baby into his wallet.
I was taking my first bite when the three-fingered captain strode into our kitchen with Ilya a few steps behind him. I didn't know Ilya very well. He hadn't spent much time around Samovar while I was waitressing there. When he was there, he flirted outrageously with every other female employee but me. Ilya still made a point of standing far away from me and never being alone in a room with me. With his reputation as a Lothario, I suspected he didn't want to give Nikolai even the smallest reason to question his behavior.
"Good morning." I greeted the men who smiled and nodded at me. "There's coffee or tea if you'd like some."
Ilya took me up on the offer but Artyom strode closer. He removed the leather messenger bag he wore across his body, placed it on the counter, opened it up and retrieved five thick envelopes and one thin one. "I ran into Besian last night. He asked me to come over to his club and pick this up. He didn't want to hold it in his safe any longer."
"He doesn't owe me any money." Frowning, Nikolai extended his hand but Artyom shook his head.
"No, boss. These are Vivian's."
Nikolai froze. "Vivian's?"
Red-faced, I pulled the pile of envelopes toward me all while cursing Besian for being such a jerk. I could just imagine the mischievous laugh he had gotten out of this one. "Thank you, Arty."
Nikolai picked up one of the thick envelopes and thumbed through the stack of hundred dollar bills inside it. Seemingly taken aback, he asked, "Is there something you need to tell me?"
I sipped my tea and shrugged. "It was just a little bet on the soccer game yesterday and the fights you and Besian hosted earlier in the month."
"A little bet? This one maybe." He tapped the thin envelope. "But this one? Vivian, there's probably fifteen grand in that envelope."
"Sixteen-five," Arty corrected as he fixed a cup of coffee. "There's more in the bag. Apparently she got every single fight in the bracket right."
After digging through the bag and producing even more envelopes, Nikolai stared at me with a look of utter shock slacking his face. I realized I wasn't getting out of this uncomfortable situation. "Look, Papa used to bet a lot. Sometimes he would take me with him to see Afrim Barisha. I sort of, you know, learned how to place smart bets."
"Smart bets? Vivian, there's probably two hundred thousand dollars in this bag!"
The number left me dizzy. I couldn't believe three thousand hard-earned dollars had earned me that type of return. It was better than the stock market for sure. "Sergei had really good odds, and I had a pretty good feeling about Kelly so I pulled some money out of my emergency fund and…well…" I pointed to the bag. "That happened."
Staring at the piles of money on the counter, he asked, "How often are you placing bets?"
"It's not often. I've done this less than a five times in the last four years. I only did it when I needed the money for something unexpected." I drew a tiny "X" over my heart. "Swear."
"How did I not know about this?" Nikolai sounded both extremely annoyed and uncommonly confounded.
"She's betting under the old man's name," Arty answered very unhelpfully.
"Is that true? You're betting under your grandfather's old account?""
I glared at Arty and then nodded contritely at Nikolai. "Basically."
"Basically?"
"Well I wasn't going to put my name on the Albanian's books!"
"How did this start? When did this start?"
Exhaling with frustration, I put down my fork. "Look, when I was a freshman in college, I needed some quick cash for art supplies. There was this girl in my dorm who dated one of the running backs at A&M so I knew he had this leg thing going on so I sort of scraped together my tips for the week and went to see Besian about placing a bet on the Saturday game."
"You went to one of his clubs?" Now Nikolai was aghast.
"No. Not one of those clubs." That was a bit of news that would have gotten straight back to Nikolai. "No, I waited on him during the lunch rush and just sort of, you know, casually asked about placing a bet. He took my money and came back with my winnings during the Monday dinner service."
My husband's eyes narrowed. "Those big tips weren’t always tips."
"No."
"Vivian!"
"What? I paid taxes on the winnings because they came to me as tips. It's fine."
"It's not fine." He gestured to the bag in front of us. "You can't pay taxes on this."
I bit my lip. "I know. That's sort of why I hadn't gone to pick up my winnings yet."
"Jesus Christ, Vivian." He shook his head and huffed. "When were you going to tell me about this?"
"I was waiting for the right time." I nervously glanced at Arty and Ilya who were both looking anywhere but our direction. "That's not exactly a conversation starter that comes up easily. You've been busy lately."
He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. I assumed he was thinking about the way he had totally screwed up yesterday by forgetting about our doctor's appointment. He couldn’t get too angry with me, not after I had forgiven him for his mistake.
He lowered his hand and captured my gaze. I gulped at the sight of his serious expression. "No more bets, Vivian. This is the last one."
"Okay."
"I mean it, Vee. You can't get mixed up in this. You have to be spotless." Touching the envelopes, he added, "Gambling is all fun and games when you're on a hot streak, but it's easy to get burned, solnyshka. Think about your friend Kelly and all the trouble his father's gambling caused. We can't have any weaknesses for our enemies to exploit."
When he put it like that, the full weight of my action registered. "I understand."
He caressed my face and smiled. "I’m not angry with you. Honestly I'm rather impressed and a little jealous." He claimed my lips with a sweet, soft kiss that assured me he really wasn't upset. "Now—what do you want to do with th
is?"
"Well, um, that's the thing." I wrung my hands. "I sort of planned to use the money to buy Sergei from you. I figured that if I picked most of the right winners I would have enough to clear his debt."
Nikolai's face slackened with shock. "How did you know about his debt to the family?"
"I heard it somewhere."
"Somewhere?" he repeated dubiously.
"Yes."
I could tell he wanted to push for an answer but didn't. He had to know there were only a handful of possibilities. "Why?"
I frowned at him. "Why? Because Bianca loves him and she's earned the right to some happiness. Because Sergei didn't choose this life. Because it's not right that you own someone like that."
Nikolai's jaw hardened and he broke our shared gaze. I had hit a sore spot with that last remark, but I wasn't going to apologize. The way Sergei had been bought and sold by different branches of the Russian mob was beyond wrong. Before he had made a deal to save his family, he had been a man with a bright future. I wanted him to have that chance again.
"The debt has already been paid," Nikolai finally said.
"Nikolai," I said sadly. "Did you take money from Bianca?"
He avoided my stare. "We swapped for a piece of land I own."
"And you didn't tell me?"
His gaze flicked to the two men staring out the window and pretending not to listen to our conversation. "It was business, Vivian. That's all. It's done." He touched the bag of cash. "You'll have to find someone else to save with this." He started piling the envelopes back into the bag. The thin one he handed to me. "Do you want this one?"
Not at all satisfied with the abrupt end to the conversation I nevertheless nodded. "Sure. I could use some spending cash."
He frowned. "Vivian, if you need money, you only have to ask."
My lips parted, but I changed my mind. This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with Arty and Ilya in the audience. We had already said too much. Instead, I replied, "I know."
Brow furrowed, Nikolai studied me for a moment. He turned his attention to Arty and Ilya. With a jerk of his head toward the door, the men silently took their order and left the kitchen. When we were alone, he reached for my hand. "Vee, what's wrong?" I hesitated, and he tipped my chin up. His thumb grazed my skin in the gentlest stroke. "Baby, tell me."
"I don't like asking you for money." I blurted out the words before I lost my nerve. "It makes me feel—"
"Like a child asking her father for an allowance?" he correctly guessed.
"That's an ugly way of putting it, but yes." Swallowing anxiously, I tried to explain myself better. "I don't have a problem using our household credit card when I'm buying groceries or shopping for us, but I'm used to having a job and having my own money. Sure, I made a nice chunk of cash from the show in January, but after gallery fees and taxes? I plow all of that back into supplies, framing, running my website, paying for Lena's PR services, the giclée print runs…"
"So there's nothing left for you to spend on things you want," he finished for me. His thumb traveled along my lip. "Vee, why didn't you tell me this earlier? We've been married for nearly six months. You should have said something."
"What could I say? You don't want me to work outside the home, and my paintings aren't producing enough profit."
"Yet," he said. "Your paintings aren't producing much profit yet but you are doing better than breaking even. You have money to invest in your business. That's a huge thing."
"I guess."
"It is." The slow caress of his thumb soothed my nerves and made this awkward conversation feel less daunting. "What do you think we should do about this? I'm open to any suggestion except you getting a job."
I rolled my eyes at him. "You are so old school."
"Yes," he agreed without hesitation. "I am what I am, Vivian. We had this discussion before we married. I explained my reasons for wanting you to work from home as a painter. Those haven't changed. If anything, I have more reasons." His other hand moved to my stomach. "It's hard enough to keep you guarded here at the house and your studio. Once the baby comes?"
"I actually like being home. I'm not like Lena. A high-powered career was never something I wanted. I always just wanted to raise children, keep a nice home and paint beautiful things." I ran my fingers through his hair and played with his earlobe. "You've given me that, and I love you for it."
He turned his head and kissed my palm. "What if we agree that you get a certain amount of discretionary income every month? It's yours to do with as you please. You can pull it out as cash at the bank or swipe the household card. You won't have to ask for money." He put a finger to my mouth when I started to argue. As if he could read my mind, he said, "It's not an allowance. We'll call it your salary for running our household."
It wasn't a perfect solution but it was palatable. I nipped at his finger, and his hand lowered. "I can live with that. But what does a household manager earn?"
"I have no idea. I suppose the fairest thing would be to go through my expenses for the last year. You should have the same amount of discretionary income."
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "Kolya, do you have any idea how much money you spend every month? It's outrageous!"
Now he was the one rolling his eyes. "Hardly."
Not wanting to argue with him about his expenditures, I asked, "What if we just match my income from waitressing?"
"No. That's not even close to fair. You'll need more than that."
"How? I don't have rent, utilities, food or insurance costs anymore. A hundred bucks a week is fine."
Nikolai smirked. "You are a terrible negotiator, Vee. You're supposed to negotiate up, not down, rybka." He waved his hand. "We'll argue about this when we get back from London, all right? But I think you're worth far, far more than a hundred dollars a week."
Eyes narrowed and mouth quirked, I admitted, "I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not."
"It's a compliment." He stood up and planted his hands on the arms of my chair. Nuzzling our noses together, he whispered, "You are more precious than rubies."
I laughed softly. "I never figured you for the type to use Proverbs to flirt."
"This isn't flirting." He pressed his forehead to mine. "It's the absolute truth."
Currents of warmth raced through me. "You're really good at that."
"At what?" He playfully avoided kissing me.
"Making my knees week and my belly tremble," I murmured before finally succeeding in capturing his mouth. The doorbell chime interrupted our loving kiss. Reluctantly, we parted.
Nikolai rested his chin atop my head. "I'll go see who that is. Finish your breakfast."
I hadn't taken two bites of the French toast before I heard Ivan's incredibly loud and always jovial voice echoing through the house. I grinned at the sound. Of all of Nikolai's friends, Ivan was my absolute favorite. He had a way of making everyone smile and laugh. It was so easy for me to understand why Erin utterly adored her great big beast of a husband.
Polishing off my breakfast, I glanced at the doorway at the sound of approaching footsteps. Nikolai entered the kitchen first and Ivan wasn't far behind. The strange man trailing Ivan surprised me, but I managed to hide my shock.
He was a big guy, almost as tall as Sergei and with shoulders as wide as Ivan's. He had a brawler's build and the rough, mean look of a man who was used to using his fists to solve problems. The black polo shirt he wore brought out the reddish-brown tint to his hair. He had a short beard and so many tattoos. I suspected if I counted them up they would rival the number on Nikolai's body.
A quick inventory of his tattoos told me most of his story, but that tiger on his left arm interested me. It wasn't gang-related or prison work. It was expensive and gorgeously drawn. I didn't have to guess who had put that one on his skin: Tomi.
"Vee, this is Ten. He is your new bodyguard." Nikolai made a quick introduction and seemed completely oblivious to my discomfort at the idea of a man
with Anton Vasiliev's reputation guarding me. This was a man who had just spent six years doing hard time. That was something I could deal with, but the infamous stories about The Shadow's propensity for violence worried me. The last thing I needed was a bodyguard who would fly off the handle at every slight, real or imagined.
"I see." I didn't want to be rude to Ten because this weird situation wasn't his fault. I had a feeling Nikolai had used his position to basically force him into taking my guard detail. Smiling warmly, I extended my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Ten."
The tall Russian's gaze dropped to my hand but he didn't move. "Yeah."
Surprised by his coldness, I tried not to let it show. "Right. Okay."
Nikolai exchanged a look with Ivan and stepped forward. "It will take time for the two of you to get comfortable."
A million years maybe…
"Ten, come with me." Nikolai gestured for my new bodyguard to follow him and picked up the leather messenger bag. "I'll show you the house."
Ten didn't offer me a second glance as he followed Nikolai out of the kitchen. Ivan plucked one of the Santa Rosa plums from the wooden bowl on the countertop. They were freshly picked from the trees out back. No doubt Nikolai had been out in the garden early this morning.
Ivan carried the stone fruit to the sink, rinsed and dried it before selecting a paring knife from the wooden block. Leaning back against the counter, he started to carve small slices. "Would you like a piece?"
"I'm good." Tapping my fork against my plate, I asked, "So…Ten?"
"I've known him since we were both kids. What you just saw isn't the real Ten. He just got popped from the pen and needs time to adjust. He's rough around the edges but he's a good guy." Ivan popped a plum slice into his mouth.
"Good guy? He was in prison for armed robbery."
Ivan swallowed and issued a harsh laugh. "Sweetheart, if we start comparing rap sheets, you aren't going to be very happy when we get to Nikolai's."
With a melodramatic glare, I tossed my cloth napkin at him, and Ivan laughingly dodged it. "I can see why Erin was so annoyed with you earlier this week."
His smile faded. "She was angry enough to call you?"
I nodded. "She didn't say what had her so riled up, but she was really frustrated with you."