Page 28 of Tangled Vows

“Good evening, Clare,” he says, offering me a polite smile as he removes his dark gray hat. “I hope you find your new accommodation comfortable.”

“I do, thank you.” I return the smile, gesturing to the couch. “Can I offer you a drink? Tea, maybe?”

“Some tea, please.”

“Sure thing,” I chirp and strut to the kitchen.

“Your relocation was quite unfortunate but necessary,” he comments, seating himself. “You must understand—the location of that safe house had been compromised.”

“Was it?” I wonder, filling up the teapot with water. “Because no one actually attacked us in that house, doctor. Everything happened outside, some twenty yards from the house.”

“Well, if Kovalev and Petrov made that decision, I’m not going to question it,” he declares, his tone a tad more serious. “How have you been, Ms. Jensen? I understand your injuries were quite severe.”

“It was pretty bad for three days or so, but I feel a lot better now,” I inform, pouring steaming lemon tea into a red mug. “Thanks for your concern.”

“May I speak freely?” he requests, tossing a quick glance over at the door.

“Of course you may, doctor,” I assure, a nervous smile forming on my face. “They won’t be bothering us.”

“Thank you,” he says in a polite tone the moment I set the mug down on the table in front of him. “Why did you ask to see me, Clare? Because, I doubt it’s my charming personality that prompted you to do that.”

“Look around you,” I urge, thrusting my arms out to the side. “What do you see?”

“Furniture, cabinets, two tables...” He ceases talking and cups the top of his head before pursing his lips. “Sorry. I just understood the meaning of your question.”

“Those Bratva men may be tough, but you wouldn’t call any of them warm and welcoming, would you?” I pose the question as I sit down in an armchair near his.

He chuckles. “No. Far from it.”

“There’s something else, too,” I warn him, cheer leaving my voice. “I’m really worried about Leonid and Ivan. They seem to be willing to start a war with the Armenians over that car bombing.”

“I beg to differ, dear,” he says, speaking his mind and lifting his gaze from the mug to look over at me. “If the Armenians were indeed the ones who sabotaged Captain Kovalev’s car, he and Ivan Petrov won’t be starting a war. They’ll be ending it. That sabotage was a despicable, cowardly act.”

“I won’t argue with that,” I interject my own opinion. “You don’t seem so upset.”

“I’m not,” he claims, interlocking his fingers over his stomach. “I have witnessed wars before, Ms. Jensen. Are they brutal? Yes. Are they violent? Yes. Alas, there are times when they are necessary as well. You don’t seriously expect the Bratva and the Armenian crime syndicate to sit down and come to some sort of an arrangement, do you?”

“Well, no, but an all-out war scares the crap out of me,” I confess, my voice wobbly. “The way I see it, Leonid and Ivan must find the one responsible for that bombing and punish him. Anything else would be unnecessary.”

“Then, you haven’t fully grasped how the Bratva works, Clare,” he concludes, reaching down for his mug once more. “You also don’t know the structure of that Armenian crime syndicate. Bratva is Russian for brotherhood. When a threat looms over one of us, it looms over all of us. And the Armenian responsible for that sabotage will have a security detail—men who would protect their boss with their lives. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but many of them will die in this war.”

“So, there’s nothing we can do?” I pitch my voice higher.

He chuckles at my question and takes another sip of tea. “Ah, the innocence of youth,” he says in a gentle tone. “It never ceases to amaze me. No, Clare. I’m afraid nothing much can be done to prevent this from happening. The Armenians targeted you and a high-ranking officer. Believe me when I say that they knew the repercussions of this act. It’s only fair for them to suffer those repercussions.”

“I see,” I mutter, staring into the void. “Thanks for the information, doctor.”

“Thank you for the tea, Ms. Jensen.” He assumes his polite tone again, rising back up on his feet. “No need to get up; I’ll show myself out.”

Putting his hat back on, he turns to the front door.

I frown and prop my elbows on my thighs, a long sigh escaping me. Dr. Yuschenko does have manners—there’s no denying that. He’s also realistic, which is only natural for a man who’s spent almost his entire adult life in the Bratva. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. He offered me cold, hard facts about the impending clash of the Bratva and the Armenians. It’s those facts that terrify me. The prospect of losing Leonid or Ivan in this stupid, unnecessary war...

Chapter Fourteen

Ivan

“I need to see you and Leonid. One hour. The marina.”

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