Page 5 of In Her Blood
Otto knew he’d need to care about all of that soon, because he doubted the pakhan would let Lina stay in her more modest, unassuming home halfway across the city. This house was the only other viable option. Mikhail couldn’t afford to let his only heir live truly independently, on her own anywhere, let alone the hard streets of Chicago. Otto knew that mattered to Lina. He was even fairly sure he understood.
In the moment, as he watched her sink into herself, alone in a crowded room for the third time that day, he struggled to care about anything other than her pain. It was hard enough, losinga mother. Being forcibly surrounded by smiles, laughter, and the encompassing rumble of relaxed conversation, as though everyone had gathered for nothing more than some Sunday brunch? That was a disrespect neither Lina nor her late mother deserved.
“How’s your girl?” a low voice rumbled at his shoulder.
Otto shifted his gaze to sweep it across the room until he could see Kirill in his periphery, just for a moment. Kirill was the same age as him at thirty-six, two inches shorter than his six-foot-three, and had opted to bulk himself up more in the gym over the years. He had also learned to read Otto nearly as well as Otto’s own father, as frustrating as that sometimes was. Otto grunted and reversed the direction of his visual sweep. “Heartbroken, how else?”
“Right, of course.” Kirill turned to lean against the wall beside him. “Rumor has it Pakhan’s having her brought back to the main house. Thought you’d wanna know.”
Otto felt the scowl dip his lips. “I assumed.”
Kirill sighed. “Pyotr’s pretty much been living like a prince around here lately, so … that’s bound to be a situation, you know?”
“Da.”
Kirill grunted. “You don’t have to do that shit with me.”
“What, I have tobeRussian to speak it?” The banter was familiar, which was also why Otto knew it only agitated Kirill because of what his use of the language actually represented. But Lina’s head had dropped while he’d been looking away, and something in Otto’s chest pinched like it tended to when she cried. He didn’t have it in him to be polite.
“What if you get reassigned?” Kirill asked, jarring Otto back to the moment with the ludicrous question.
Otto shot his friend a glare. “Why the fuck would I get reassigned? I do my job.”
Kirill’s lips twitched as if he thought something in Otto’s answer was funny, just for a second. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Try not to pass out when I tell you this, my friend—but Lina’s twenty-six. Single. Pakhan’s not gonna want to leavethatbargaining chip on the table, if you catch my drift.” He tilted his head toward the socializing group. “There might be mixed feelings in the clan about her Italian heritage, but if Pakhan offers her up we both know that offer comes with perks none of those assholes would turn down.”
Every muscle in Otto’s body tightened and a growl built in his chest. His rational brain recognized the logic in Kirill’s words, yet still he wanted to rip the man’s tongue from his mouth for speaking them.
Kirill continued. “And whoever she’s given to,thatguy probably won’t appreciate having you hovering over his new trophy wife.” He lowered his voice as a shadow of a smirk tipped his lips. “Especially with how you look at her.”
Otto drew a hard breath, knowing better than to fall for the obvious trap in that final statement, and shoved from the wall. “Fuck off with that bullshit.” Before Kirill could argue, Otto strode forward, finally cutting through the edge of the throng and making his way to the table where Lina sat.
He still didn’t get there fast enough to intercept Pyotr, and the curl on Pyotr’s lips was all he needed to know the lowwords the brat spoke were not kind, supportive, or laced with empathy.
Lina’s spine stiffened and she leaned bodily away, her head turned so that Otto’s view became a veritable wall of half-braided, light brown hair.
Pyotr chuckled and waved an arm in a lazy gesture. “Don’t be so upset. How was I supposed to know you’d be moving back in?” He shrugged, his grin broadening. “You know, if you actuallymingledonce in a while, maybe you’d find—”
Lina was on her feet in a flash, her palm striking her cousin’s face and the unmistakable sound of the slap echoing through the room.
Ill-placed pride lanced Otto’s chest and he held himself back, just out of reach. Somewhere equidistant beyond Pyotr, he noted Grisha hovering. Watching.
Pyotr took one step backward, staring wide-eyed at Lina. “You— Did you—”
“Mymother,” Lina said on a strained, broken gasp that sucked that feeling of pride right out of Otto’s chest, “justdied. I’m so very sorry if I don’t feel like laughing it up right now, you insensitive prick!”
In the silence, the distinctivethudof steel impacting hardwood exactly one time resonated on the air. And Otto knew well it was the only warning Lina would get.
He closed the distance between them and laid a hand on her shoulder, leaning down to speak quietly into her ear. “Let me take you home, Lina.” While the house she might prefer still counted as such.
She drew a shuddering breath and dipped her head in a short nod.
That was all the adjustment he needed to see the tears that still sparkled in her lashes, and the tracks that stained her cheeks. Otto locked his jaw to keep from saying something he’d regret, tightened his hold on her shoulder, and allowed himself a split-second to lift a warning glare in Pyotr’s direction. It was out of line, arguably, but if anyone had gone too far here it was her fucking cousin.
The cousin Lina had comforted during his own time of loss and pain.
Pyotr had the sense to take another step back and avert his eyes.
Otto steered Lina away, keeping her tucked against his side with a single arm. No one tried to stop them.
