Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(89)

“Be my guest.”

I can feel her eyes daggering into my back as I make my way over the bar, but I need to be fully focused on what’s in front of me. On who is in front of me.

Anthony gets to his feet when I’m still half a restaurant away. By the time I reach him, his expression

bleeds contrition.

He looks worse for the wear. He’s lost weight in the last few months, making his nose and eyes more prominent, gaunt, mildly horrifying.

“Baby—”

“Don’t!” I hiss, slamming my hand down on the bar counter. “How dare you show up like this? After all this time? After the way you left things?”

He swallows. His throat bobs with the effort. “I have to explain myself.”

“I don’t care about your godforsaken explanation, Anthony. Nothing can justify what you did to me.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me. I was never your wife, so I sure as hell am not your ‘baby.’”

A part of me actually expects him to deny it. To say it was some misunderstanding.

When he doesn’t, staring instead down at his feet, I feel my anger rise.

“You know what? Fuck you, Anthony. Did you really think a Campari Orange was all it would take to get back in my life? I’m married now.” I stick my giant diamond ring in his face. “It’s too damn late.”

“Yeah… I know.”

That makes me stop short. “You know what?”

He nods and raises his eyes back to mine. “The word on the street is that Don Orlov took a wife.”

I feel my chest tighten. Something about the way he says it makes me feel vulnerable. Like there are unseen eyes locked onto me. “What—what word on the street? What does that mean?”

“Look, I just need an hour of your time, baby—”

Hearing him call me “baby” again is too much. I turn away from him and start striding away. It takes all my willpower to stop my hands from trembling.

“Paige!” he calls after me, but I ignore him. I can feel him at my side, trying to overtake me. He manages to jump in front of me right before I reach my table.

“Please,” he begs. “Give me half an hour.”

“I have nothing more to say to you, Anthony. And even if you have something to say to me, I wouldn’t believe a word of it. Crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of and leave me the hell alone.”

“If you would just give me a minute to explain, then I could—”

“I think we’re done here,” Nikita interjects, materializing between us. Her expression is cold and violent, and I marvel again at how much she looks like Misha sometimes. She gives Anthony a once-over, disgust curling her lip. “Paige is clearly not interested in talking to you, and I loathe men who can’t take a hint. Now, get out of my sight before I get really annoyed.”

He gapes at her, his mouth hanging open. I wait for him to argue. For his ever-present temper to spark and turn this into an even bigger scene. Then our security converges around us in a wall of black-suited muscle, and Anthony seems to realize that uttering another word will only work against him.

He throws me one last pleading look, but I stare blankly back at him. Without another word, he skulks off with his shoulders slumped. He pushes through the restaurant doors and disappears.

“Well,” Nikita says after a moment, “that was a surprisingly entertaining lunch.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Why?” she asks. “I’ve always enjoyed a side of drama with my pasta. Shall we head off?”

I hate that Anthony’s surprise appearance has Nikita in a better mood than my company could have done. But I don’t have the energy to try anymore. I’m ready to go home.

I nod silently and follow her outside to the street where our car is parked. I scan the area, but I don’t see any sign of Anthony lurking around.

I take a deep breath once I’m in the car, but I’m still rattled.

“You okay?” Nikita asks.

“Not really.”

“I’m assuming that’s the first time you’ve seen him since he disappeared on you?”

“Correct.”

“Why do you think he showed up today?”

I bite my tongue and shake my head. “I have no idea.”

It’s the first time I’ve lied to Nikita. I’m just hoping she can’t smell it on me. Because I do have an idea of why he’s resurfaced. A very good idea.

I think it has everything to do with the ring on my finger.





66

MISHA

“Something isn’t right here,” Konstantin muses.

“Obviously not. Yan sold his soul for a measly million dollars,” I say, gesturing to the paper trail of betrayal Yan left in his wake. “I expected him to be smarter. Especially with his life on the line.”

“It’s more than that,” Konstantin says, picking up another stack of papers. “The attacks on the safehouses. The missing money man. I have a feeling they might be connected.”

“You think Yan was the rat?”

“One of several, maybe.”

It’s rare to see Konstantin without a smile. But for the last hour, the two of us have been sitting here, trying to figure out what we might be missing. It has put an uncharacteristic frown on his face.