Page 131 of Twisted Pact
“We’re not finished,” he promises.
“I know.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with a decision I’m not ready to make.
36
Alexei
I check the beef stroganoff one more time before turning down the heat.
“Are you sure about this?” Mila asks from the doorway. She’s changed into a soft sweater that shows the gentle curve of her growing belly, and the sight makes my heart flutter. “Entertaining your brother and his wife when you’ve barely slept in days seems like a lot.”
I’ve been back and forth between the estate and Moscow for three days, coordinating with Dmitri and coming up with plans for when Novikov makes his move.
We both know it’s coming. The only question is how many people we’ll lose in the process.
“It’s what I need.” I stir the sauce—my grandmother’s recipe. “You’re part of this family now. Really part of it. I want you to feel that.”
She walks over and wraps her arms around my waist from behind. The simple contact grounds me after days of tactical planning and threat assessment.
“Besides,” I add, “when’s the last time any of us just sat around a table and acted like normal people?”
“Do any of us qualify as normal people?”
“Fair point.” I chuckle.
The doorbell rings at seven. Dmitri’s punctuality hasn’t changed since childhood, even when he’s bringing his wife to dinner instead of showing up for weapons training.
I find them on the front steps. Dmitri looks like he hasn’t slept, with dark circles and a sharp-edged alertness that comes from never letting his guard down. Katya is beside him, her platinum blonde hair pulled back and her ice-blue eyes taking in everything around the estate entrance.
I greet them with a nod. “Thanks for coming. I know the timing is… well, thanks.”
Mila appears beside me, and I watch the women assess each other. Katya’s trained eye takes in everything—Mila’s posture, her confidence, and the subtle way she stands slightly behind me.
“Mila,” I gesture toward my sister-in-law, “this is Katya.”
“It’s wonderful to see you again.” Mila extends her hand. “Alexei talks about you so much. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”
Katya shakes it with a firm grip, studying Mila’s face. “All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly about how you can kill a man with a salad fork.”
Katya’s mouth quirks upward. “Only a proper metal one. Plastic is not as effective.”
Dmitri shakes his head and snorts, probably because he knows damn well the woman could kill someone with a plastic spoon if she had to.
We move into the dining room, where I’ve set the table with actual China instead of the everyday dishes.
“Grandmother’s wedding set,” I explain. “Seemed appropriate.”
Dmitri raises an eyebrow. The formal place settings are clearly overkill. His mind is elsewhere, probably running through all the ways Novikov could hit us right now while we’re playing house.
“This smells incredible,” Katya comments as I serve the stroganoff. “Where did you learn to cook, and why haven’t you taught your brother?”
“Necessity. Our father believed in self-sufficiency. Dmitri has always been fine with microwave meals.”
“Self-sufficiency,” Dmitri mutters, checking his phone for the third time since they arrived. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.”
