Page 31 of Deceptive Vows
This ruse also gave me the excuse to spend time with Nazar without thinking too deeply about where this could go or what might be. On the surface, this was nothing. I could hold onto that lie and ignore the disconcerting feelings bubbling underneath.
“Isn’t that what a partnership is supposed to be? Fun? Enjoyable.”
It almost sounded as though he meant what he said. I knew it couldn’t be true though.
I quickly pushed the thought away. It was nonsense. All of it, including the phantom beat of my atrophied heart. Long ago, I’d decided no relationship would ever get its tentacles in me, and I certainly wouldn’t let a fake engagement throw me off.
I was Thea Kalantzis. I didn’t fall. I didn’t hope. And I sure as hell didn’t catch feelings.
Chapter Eleven
NAZAR
Thea had made me pelmeni,sourcing the meat from my home country and making it from scratch. She’d played it off as something simple, but for me, it was so much more. That small gesture shifted something in me.
And this thing we were entwined in was pretend...was. The word stuck in my throat like a thorn. Pretending shouldn’t feel like this–shouldn’t make my chest tighten when she leaned into me at dinner, shouldn’t make me want to prove worthy of the effort she’d put into making a dish from my homeland. The lines between duty and desire were blurring, and I couldn’t afford that confusion.Not with Marco’s threat looming over us, not with Pasha rushing back to New York.
Pasha’s sudden departure gnawed at me. I trusted him and my men to keep him safe, but I didn’t like him leaving without me. He’d warned me to watch my back, and I’d repeated the words back to him.
Much like my life in the Bratva, the Kalantzis family dinner swirled around us in organized chaos. Helen, Thea’s aunt, orchestrated the meal with the same precision I’d seen Thea use in her operations. The woman’s sharp eyes missed nothing, including the way I watched her niece. I caught her studying me more than once, her gaze analytical but not unkind. She reminded me of my own aunt back in Moscow—the one who’d helped raise me after my mother’s death.
“Would you like more?” Claire, one of Thea’s sisters-in-law, approached me with a bottle of vodka in hand. Her smile was warm yet appraising. It dawned on me that these women were warriors in their own unique ways, each protective of Thea.
“Spasiba,” I answered, then caught myself. “Thank you.” The slip into Russian made Claire’s eyes brighten with interest, butbefore she could ask questions, Thea’s hand found my knee under the table. A warning? A comfort? The touch sent heat through my leg either way.
All of the food was delicious. Her aunt clearly deserved her reputation for culinary skill, but it was Thea’s dish that undid me. I closed my eyes as the flavor exploded in my mouth, and for a brief moment, I was transported home. The taste carried memories of Sunday dinners with my father, his booming laugh filling our small apartment as he told stories about my mother when they were young.
“Tell us about Russia,” Anna, the other sister-in-law, leaned forward eagerly. “What made you leave?”
Thea tensed beside me, but I’d prepared myself for these questions. “Family business brought me here initially,” I answered smoothly. “But America offered opportunities I couldn’t find at home.” True enough, if you counted eliminating threats to the Bratva as “opportunities.”
That answer seemed to satisfy Anna’s question and give Thea the confidence to relax. I’d successfully navigated the first question, and that had loosed a volley of more from Claire, Anna, and Helen. Mostly, they were surface questions. Thesewomen knew my ability to answer much more than that was limited, which I appreciated.
Watching Thea with her family revealed layers I hadn’t expected. The way she rolled her eyes at her sisters-in-law’s teasing, the foods she enjoyed, the easy conversations she had with her aunt and cousins.
Her brothers watched our interactions with varying degrees of acceptance. Lucas, the oldest, watched our interactions—a forced indifference to help sell the engagement. Ari’s gaze held more suspicion, while Lex and Dimitris maintained careful neutrality. Their protective instincts ran deep, something else I understood all too well. If someone had tried to court my sister—had I been blessed with one—I would have been just as vigilant.
The promise of an evening walk with Thea lingered in my mind as we finished dinner. We’d planned to leave dinner together, and instead of going straight home, I had the car detour to the Hartigan beach about fifteen minutes from her home. We needed to discuss Pasha’s sudden departure. But more than that, I wanted time alone with her, away from the performance we put on for her family. Even ifthat time would be spent planning our next moves against Marco, at least it would be real.
“I met with Marco in the middle of the city at an old pizza building after I dropped you off.” I’d made a promise to keep them informed, and I was going to keep it. “He was testing me.”
“Oh?” The response came as we paused a moment, watching the water hit the shore.
“The only reason I didn’t call you last night was because there wasn’t any new information to relay. I gave him my recommendation that he should utilize the Nightingale Opera House. I’ll set up a shell company as a front to bring in the necessary equipment and staging to conduct the auction. He wants it ready to go right after Christmas.”
She wrapped her arms around my bicep and leaned into me. “That’s not much time.”
“No. I suspect he’ll give me the location of the women and girls soon so I can prepare the security for them to and from the auction.” I slid my hand atop hers and swept my gaze from one side of the beach to the other. “You see them, right?”
A chuckle. “The horridly obvious couple at three o’clock who look more like a comedy of errors?”
“Da,” I replied, and we began walking again. “How often do you spend time here?”
She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Not as often as I want. It’s so peaceful. My mother would come all the time. Anytime we visited, for a brief moment in time, life was good. She found peace and happiness in this place.”
“Would you tell me about her?”
We walked in silence for a few moments, and just when I thought she wouldn’t answer, she said, “She was a drug and alcohol addict and a prostitute. We had a difficult relationship. I loved her and hated her at the same time. Most of my life was spent taking care of her.” Her voice grew quieter the longer she spoke. “When we did have a place to stay, we were never there longer than a few months. She had a revolving door of abusive men.” She drew in a ragged breath. “No matter how much I loved her, it wasn’t enough to clean up. I resolved I wanted to be nothing like her.”
