Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(90)

“The missing money man—what’s his name?”

“Jimmy Garner. He has a reputation as a con man.”

“Most of them do. Which is why the money men rarely handle anything too sensitive. You can’t be a rat when you don’t have real information.”

“But you get close enough to the important places to be able to pick up information if you’re paying attention,” he says. “It might be just the currency he needed to curry the favor of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

I hate when he has a point. “There’s no trace of him yet?”

“Not yet. For all we know, he could be lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“If he was, we’d have a body.”

Konstantin nods. “I’ll put more men on it.”

“No. We don’t have the resources to waste on one little roach. Not when Petyr is closing in on us. I can’t afford our forces to be divided. Not when we’re this close.” I shove the papers away from me and curse under my breath. “And now, I have to deal with a fucking wedding on top of it all.”

“I’m surprised you agreed to another wedding.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I admit. “It would be a show of power and make a statement about Paige. But now…”

“Is Aunt Nessa getting a little too attached to your wifey?” Konstantin asks in a voice that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

Sometimes, I forget that Konstantin has known me his entire life. He’s a lot more perceptive than he appears.

“It’s not a bad thing if they get along, you know,” he continues. “Most men would be thrilled.”

“I’m not most men.”

Konstantin rolls his eyes. “It’s also okay to admit that you have feelings for her.”

“Jesus,” I growl, getting to my feet. “Let me know once the next merger goes through.”

“When did it become all business with you?” he pokes. “We’re family first, Misha. Or have you forgotten that?”

“Why the fuck is everyone on my back lately?” I growl. “It’s like you all have forgotten what we’re working towards. I’m this close to burying Petyr Ivanov. That should mean something. To all of you.”

“Burying Petyr won’t bring Maksim back,” Konstantin says softly. “It won’t give Cyrille her husband back. Or Ilya his father.”

“No, but maybe we’ll all be able to sleep better at night.”

“Misha—”

“Let me know when there’s something to know,” I snarl before heading out of my office.

The thought of sitting down with this much frustration boiling up inside of me is unbearable. So it’s no real surprise that I end up in the gym, slamming my fists into a punching bag hard enough I threaten to rock it right off its hinges.

WHAM.

WHAM.

WHAM.

Each blow feels good. It’s a rare pleasure to feel something battered beneath my knuckles. So much in this life lately has been immaterial. Grasping at ghosts. Sparring with my words. Fuck, I just want to hit something.

I’m so riled up that I don’t see Paige standing in the doorway until I turn to grab some water.

“When did you get back?” I ask, sweat pouring down my face, though my voice is calm and measured.

“A little while ago.” She walks into the gym and gazes out of the windows that overlook the pool and

the greenhouse. “This room is almost pretty enough to make me consider working out one day.”

The moment she says it, I imagine her dressed in nothing but leggings and a tiny little sports bra. I imagine wrestling her to her knees, stripping that sweat-soaked clothing off of her, devouring the sweetness between her thighs until the mirrors ripple with the motion of our violent crashing-together.

I crush the empty bottle of water and throw it aggressively into the trash.

I want to know how the lunch went about as much as I wish I didn’t care. Why the fuck do I care so much?

“Are you okay?” she asks tentatively. “You seem… on edge.”

“I’m fine.”

She floats closer to me like she’s testing the limits, expecting to fall through a trapdoor in the floor if she ventures beyond some invisible boundary. “It’s okay to not be fine sometimes, you know.

Especially with everything going on.”

“I’ve got it all under control.”

She turns to the punching bag, which is still swinging from my vigorous workout. “Why didn’t you tell me about Petyr and Maksim?” she asks as she runs a finger down the old, cracked leather. “They were friends. Close friends, based on what Nikita told me.”

“Great. So she’s started shooting her mouth off, too?” I hiss. “As if I don’t have enough rats to worry about.”

She stiffens immediately. “I’ll go. You’re clearly not in the mood to talk.”

“From now on, you only leave this house with me or Konstantin accompanying you,” I call after her as she’s leaving.

She’s right. I’m not in the mood to talk. So why can’t I seem to stop? I’m baiting her for no fucking reason.

Because you’d rather her be with you, says a nasty voice in my head. Because you can’t bear to see her go. Because every time she does, she takes a little part of you with her.