Page 138 of Sinister Promise

A new era for the Ivanovs was coming.

And yet…all I could think about…all I wanted to do… was get back to Alina.

The last thing I wanted to do this morning was leave my bed. I could have stayed there forever, just savoring her warmth cuddled up against my body while the soft cadence of her breathing surrounded me.

It had been a few weeks since those fake cops had tried to use her to get to me.

The bruise on her cheek had faded but the memory of the traumatizing event hadn't.

It still was a battle within me to leave her side each day.

Never again would I allow her to be put in danger.

Hopefully the message of that pussy “detective's” badly mutilated body found in a ditch right outside the precinct had sent a very clear message.

Don't. Fuck. With. Us.

It would only be a matter of time before we learned the hidden leader's identity.

Then we would strike.

Gregor had reluctantly agreed to bring in Roman for just that reason.

I'd gone with him and Damien to inspect the new dock warehouses we had purchased to receive arms under the radar.

We were headed back to the city and I was already anticipating all the decadent things I had planned for mynew wife when I spotted a JoAnn Fabrics coming up on the right.

I leaned forward from the back seat and tapped Damien, who was driving, on the shoulder. "Do me a favor and pull in there."

Damien raised an eyebrow as he realized where I was pointing. "Are you serious?"

"Just do it."

Gregor turned to stare at me from the passenger seat. "I'm sorry, are we cutting into your craft time?"

I threw off my seat belt as our Range Rover pulled into the parking lot. "Fuck off."

Alina and I were visiting her grandmother at the end of the week, and I wanted to bring her some yarn and a few other supplies. Her grandmother was a sweet woman. Neither of them deserved the bullshit her father put them through.

I was more than happy to be the one to step in and spoil them both rotten.

Like my brothers, my life had a new focus beyond blood and money.

And it felt good.

A rush of cool air hit us as the metal doors slid open.

The store was brightly lit with an aggressive number of fake flowers at the entrance.

All eyes turned to stare as three towering, tattooed Russians invaded the pastel paradise of suburban crafting.

Several women grabbed their young children and pulled them out of our path as we walked deeper into the store.

After passing wedding favors, fabrics, and somethingthat looked like an entire aisle dedicated to something called scrapbooking, I found the yarn.

Damien shook his head. "Fuck. Who knew there were so many colors of fucking yarn."

I smacked his chest and gestured to the horrified women scurrying out of the aisle. "Watch your fucking language around the women. Have some respect."

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