Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(28)

“Marriage is a big deal, cousin,” he says with a kind of seriousness I don’t hear from him very often.

“I’m aware. Hence the legal paperwork.”

Konstantin looks wary, but he rises and turns towards the door. He’s moving slowly, and I know there’s more he wants to say. He’s holding back.

Just as he reaches the door, he summons his courage and spins back around. “You don’t have to marry her.”

“Of course I do,” I snap. “She’s pregnant with my baby.”

He hesitates, but keeps his mouth shut this time. He backs towards the door. “If you say so. I’ll give Yan a call now.”

“Good.”

He’s almost out of the room when he leans back through the doorway. “For fuck’s sake,” I snarl,

“you’re like herpes. Just when I think I’ve gotten rid of you, you flare up again.”

For a change, he doesn’t take the bait. “Have you told the family yet?”

I wince. I’m surprised he didn’t ask the question sooner. “No. Not yet.”

“Uh-oh, naughty boy,” he tsks. “When will you?”

“When I decide the time is right.”

Konstantin sighs and quietly leaves the room. Finally—silence.

“You’re really getting married?”

My attorney, Yan Carsten, asks the question with the same disbelief and pity he’d use to ask a terminal cancer patient if they’re really sick.

He is the kind of lawyer that gives the entire profession its well-deserved reputation. He’d sell his grandmother if he found a half-compelling reason to do it. But he’s an absolute shark when tethered to the right cause. It’s why I keep him on the payroll.

Maksim inherited Yan when our father died. If he didn’t see fit to fire him or lock him in a cage and throw away the key, then he’s good enough for me, too.

“I am,” I answer.

Yan runs a hand over his balding head and smacks his lips together. They are perpetually dry and bleeding. I’ve learned to tolerate the smacking.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d see the day.”

I cock my head to the side. I’m not sure Yan and I are close enough to justify a comment like that.

He seems to realize the same thing, because he smacks his lips again. “Your father and Maksim seemed to believe that you weren’t the marrying type. That’s all I mean.”

The casual way he mentions Maksim is another thing that’s always rankled. Apparently, he missed the memo: Maksim’s name is only to be mentioned when absolutely necessary. Throwing it around in casual conversation feels blasphemous.

“Whether they believed it or not is immaterial. I’m getting married, and I intend to include my wife in my legal documents.”

“Which are you thinking, specifically?”

“Bank accounts, life insurance policies, and my will.”

“I see.” He nods, making note of it all on the yellow legal pad he brought with him. “And may I ask when you met the lucky bride-to-be?”

“Recently.”

“Ah…”

I frown. “Is there a problem?”

He hesitates, picking at his lip before answering. “Forgive me, Don Orlov. It’s my job to ask the difficult questions.”

“It’s your job to do what I order you to do,” I tell him. “But let’s be generous and go with your definition for now. Ask what you want to ask.”

Yan’s tightly pulled forehead stretches a little tighter. “Can you be certain of the character of your fiancée?”

“Do you take me for a fool, Yan?”

His perfectly orchestrated smile doesn’t falter. “No one could ever accuse you of being a fool, Don Orlov. I just want to make sure that the woman you are going to include in your will won’t take advantage of your great generosity.”

“You’re asking me if my future wife may be a gold-digger?”

He shrugs. “Gold-diggers come in all different forms, Don Orlov. Some may even have golden halos hanging over their pretty little heads. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re angels.”

I glance at the envelope that Konstantin handed me only an hour ago, then back at the idiot seated across from me. “Make the changes, Yan. And be grateful that I don’t rip you limb from limb for

insulting my bride.”

“As you wish, sir,” he says with a sweeping bow of his head.

He gets to his feet and heads to the door. Before he ducks out, he turns and gives me a smile that exposes his dazzling white veneers.

“And may I just say: congratulations, Don Orlov. What wonderful news this is.”





20

MISHA

The banging at my door is insistent and testing my already thin patience. It doesn’t help that I know there is only one person in this house foolish enough not only to bother me when my office door is closed, but to do so with quick, repeated knocks.

Irritated, I press the button underneath my desk. It releases the magnetic lock that allows the wooden door to slide free.

Paige squeezes through when it’s only a quarter open, a huge cardboard box wedged between her shaking arms and her heaving chest.

“What the hell is this?” She drops the box unceremoniously at her feet. It lands with a dull thud that doesn’t match the fervor she’s worked herself into.