Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I feel like I’m losing my mind. Merrick sticks around for another drink but he must realize how much this is panicking me and he doesn’t bring Valentin up again. No Russian goons come storming in through the door to throw money at me, and my phone doesn’t vibrate with a message from the freaking Pakhan or whatever he is, but the whole time I’m worried I’m one wrong step from Valentin drawing that gun again and pulling the trigger this time.
The next morning, still thinking about my Russian problem, I come downstairs to find Mom unpacking grocery bags.
“What’s all this?” I ask, staring in surprise. The branding is from a nearby high-end health food place, the exact sort of store we can’t afford.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” She frowns at me and holds up a package of organic blueberries. “Where is all of this from? How can we afford it?”
I start to tell her I don’t know but that’s not true.
“Tips have been good at work, Mama,” I say instead, not sure why I’m lying. Probably because of what she said after Valentin left here the other night.
How she begged me not to get involved with him.
She’s dealing with grief and poverty right now, and I don’t want to add more stress.
And it’s not like I’m completely lying. Tips have been good.
Just not health-food-store good.
“This is too much,” she scolds. “There are bills we can cover. Other expenses to take care of.” She shakes her head and tuts as she puts away a bundle of organic carrots.
“Make me something nice tonight, how about that?” I say sweetly. I walk over and give her a hug. “You deserve something nice for once, yeah?”
Mama softens. “It’s still too much.”
“I won’t do it again, okay?”
“Promise me you won’t.” She turns and kisses my cheek. “But how about I cook some lamadjo, huh? Would you like that?”
“Don’t tease me, Mama, you know I would.”
“Perfect.” She pushes me away. “Now get out of my kitchen.”
“Make me some coffee too?”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling and humming to herself as she puts away the rest of the groceries, and I can’t help but smile too.
I haven’t seen Mama happy in a while.
But my good mood fades as I head back to my room.
Thanks to Valentin, I had to lie to my mother for a second time. I don’t like lying to her, especially not to cover for some Russian criminal asshole that can’t take a hint. Anger starts to swell in me, and by the time I’m done taking a shower, I’m basically fuming.
That bastard. He had no right to do that, no right to treat us like we’re a charity case. I don’t even care how desperately we need what he can provide—I still despise him for treating me like I can be bought.
Like my only value is in what I bring to a marriage.
I close my bedroom door, grab my phone and call him. It rings twice before Valentin picks up. It sounds like he’s out somewhere—I can hear voices in the background speaking quietly.
“Hello, malishka. Did you get my present?”
“I knew you sent those groceries.”
“Should I pretend like I didn’t? We can play that game, if you wish.”
I glare at myself in the mirror. Have a freaking spine, Karine. “I’m calling to tell you to stop it, okay? Stop sending me things. No more bills, no more groceries, and definitely no more thugs with fifty-dollar bills.”
“Don’t tell me my men were too rowdy,” he says, his voice going dark. “I will handle them if they embarrassed you.”
“No, it’s not like that,” I say quickly, remembering the fear in Sergei’s eyes when I told him off. “They were completely fine. You are the problem, not them.”
He grunts and his tone relaxes. “You can’t fault me for wanting to take care of what’s mine.”
I could scream. I really, really could scream. “I told you already. I’m not yours, and I never will be yours.”
“And I told you, malishka—”
“Enough,” I say, cutting him off, so mad I can’t sit still. I’m stomping around my room, and I don’t care if my mother can hear my footsteps. “I don’t want to see you ever again, Valentin. I had to lie to my mother twice to explain your little gifts. Don’t come here, don’t send anything, and don’t try to give me money. I want you out of my life. I want you gone. Do you understand me? I know what you are. Pakhan of the Bratva, whatever the hell that is. You’re a criminal. You’re dangerous. I don’t want to get involved with a man like you, so just leave me alone.”
There’s silence on the other end. I’m fuming and breathing hard, and I wonder if I just went too far.
I’m practically showing my throat to a cobra and begging him to bite.