Rectangular windows were in even intervals along the front face of the building, ornate golden wrought iron covering most of the glass so you couldn’t see inside. But the metalwork was so delicate and beautiful that it was almost prettier to look at than the open sky itself.

  Arlo opened the door for me, and I stepped inside, the warmth of the restaurant and the sights and smells bombarding me in the best ways. Traditional Russian music played softly overhead, and the scent of savory and sweet food filled my nose every time I inhaled.

  An older gentleman came forward, his smile big and adding even more wrinkles to his face. He looked more like a grandfather than anything else, especially with his thick cable-knit cardigan over his white button-down shirt. He had a full head of white hair, his eyes so blue and light they almost seemed transparent.

  The older man and Arlo started speaking Russian, but I never felt left out even though I couldn't understand them, not with Arlo’s hand still resting on the small of my back, his body pressed close to mine. After a long moment the older man turned to me and introduced himself as Akim, welcoming me to his restaurant. He kept a respectful distance, and I wondered if it was the way his gaze lowered to where Arlo’s hand rested possessively around my waist.

  We were led through the restaurant, and I took in the vibrant red booths on either side of us. A row of four-seater square tables was lined in the center of the room and between the booths. There were only a few people dining, and I assumed the lateness and that it was well past a normal dinnertime was the reason. But I liked that it was more intimate. I didn’t think I’d feel as comfortable if the restaurant had been packed.

  I was transfixed by the decor, at the very traditional and culturally aesthetic Russian theme. A gold Russian imperial eagle was front and center on the wall, vibrant colors splashed along the wings and spread out through the wall. A red and gold chandelier hung from the ceiling and cast an ambient, soft glow through the interior.

  We were led to a booth in the back, and once at the table, the older gentleman asked me in a heavily accented voice if I cared for him to take my coat. Once it was off and hanging on the wall beside us, I slid into the booth across from Arlo. I felt nervous over this dinner date, or maybe it wasn’t the date at all but everything I’d admitted to him this morning and the fact that he’d been acting off all day.

  I hadn’t realized I'd been so tense, but the fact that this was a date made me feel anxious even when it shouldn’t, especially given all the things Arlo and I had done just the night before and the personal things I'd shared with him. But for some reason tonight felt more intimate than when he’d had his face buried between my thighs.

  It was that thought, and the memory that followed, that caused a rush of all the feelings he evoked inside of me, which in turn had my body heating. I glanced up at Arlo and saw the way his eyes became hooded, as if he knew exactly where my mind had gone. Then again, my body betrayed me and how he made me feel at every turn.

  And then the time flowed so seamlessly, so easily, that I let myself fall into just enjoying myself. The hours passed as we ate all the Russian foods and talked about all the wonderful things.

  We didn’t order from menus in the traditional sense, but instead the chef created dishes for us, and everything I tried was delicious and totally new to me. I sampled pelmeni—flavorful Russian dumplings. Then there was borscht—beet soup. I had a special fondness for the pirozhki, which was baked bread stuffed with meat, mushrooms, rice, and onions. This was all eaten between sips of vodka and incredible conversation with the only person who had ever made me feel comfortable. I forgot all about the weirdness that had come from Arlo all day. I forgot about all my problems and the shit that followed closely at my heels… the things I was running from.

  It all felt so… normal.

  By the time we had desserts—yes, plural—I was satiated and full and didn’t think I’d ever smiled as much. My cheeks hurt, and my face felt hot from the vodka and smiling. I glanced around and realized we’d been here for so long, lost in just enjoying each other’s company, that the restaurant had pretty much emptied. Meaning it was literally Arlo and me.

  I leaned back in the booth and just stared at him, feeling my heart flutter strangely in my chest. I could have blamed the alcohol for the heat in me, or the way I couldn't stop blushing and grinning. But that wasn’t the truth.

  I was falling for my Russian, and I didn't want to stop, not even if the ground rushed up to greet me painfully. Not even if it killed me in the end.

  “Tonight was wonderful. Thank you.” His smile was slow and very satisfied. “I have never had such a great time.” It was the sad truth, but one I owned.

  “I’ll have to make sure you experience so many wonderful times that it’ll take away all the bad ones.”

  My throat tightened with emotions I didn’t—shouldn't—think too hard on.

  I didn’t know what to say, but even if I found words to convey how he made me feel, the sound of the front door opening and the gust of chilled air rushing into the restaurant that made its way to our table would’ve cut me off.

  I lazily glanced toward it, wondering who was coming to eat so late. It had to be going on midnight by now. My heart lodged in my throat, and I straightened, sensing Arlo taking full attention of my sudden shift in demeanor.

  I glanced over at him to see this hardness come into his eyes as he glanced at who’d just entered. Leonid.

  He had two barely legal women on either side of him, and when he noticed us, my breathing became shallow. It was the familiar dread I felt when I knew I was in the company of someone truly evil. His cold, dead eyes slid over to me, and he grinned slowly. I’d barely had any interaction with this man, only the small “interview” we’d done before I waitressed at his bar. But as I looked into the visage of evil itself, I knew without a doubt Arlo had been right.

  This man was bad and dark to his very soul, and he’d do anything to get his way.

  The next few minutes happened in slow motion. I could see the way Arlo’s entire body grew taut when Leonid walked past our table, but his expression was surprisingly stoic, as if he was masking his true feelings even if his body reacted on its own. Leonid only gave Arlo a moment's glance before his focus was right back on me. I didn’t miss how he curled his hands around the women's waists even harder, so hard I didn't miss the slight winces that covered their perfectly made-up faces.

  The way he raked his gaze up and down my body made me feel dirty, like a barrel of oil had been spilled on me and I’d never get it off. My skin felt itchy, prickly, the urge to scratch, to tear it off almost too strong to ignore. And just before he walked out of our sight, he winked at me as if it was a promise of what was to come.

  “I think I want to go now,” I said softly as soon as we were alone again.

  Arlo said nothing as he paid our bill and helped me into my coat before leading me outside. His big palm was warm and steady against the small of my back. Once I was seated in the passenger seat, he crouched on his haunches, surprising me. His hand on my thigh was hot and heavy, and it gave me the sense of being safe. Because I knew these hands had killed so many.

  “Do you kill people for a living?” I whispered the words, not sure why I was asking him that right here and now. But they spilled from me like a wound opening up and bleeding out.

  Arlo didn’t speak for so long I was afraid I’d ruined the night, that he’d never answer. Things had been so off today after confiding in him; then they felt right again during dinner, as if whatever he’d been thinking had drifted away and he was able to relax.

  “I think you already know the answer to that,” came his reply.

  I nodded slowly. Yes, I did know the answer, and it didn’t send fear through me, didn’t have me looking at him in a different light. “And you’ll kill someone who means to hurt me.” I didn’t phrase it as a question because I knew he’d killed the drunk for me, to keep me safe, to make sure it never happened again. So I knew the answer already, yet I wanted him to verify, to tell me again… to show me I was as twisted as he was, because I wanted that confirmation.

  He stroked my cheek so softly, so gently that it went against the very makeup of who he was, of who I saw him to be on the outside. A part of me knew this man was good—not inherently, not down to his soul, yet he was gentle to me, kind even. He treated me better than anyone else ever had.

  “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” Back and forth, his thumb on my cheek was lulling.

  Long moments we just stayed there, this strange, comfortable sensation filling me. It was as if this was where I had always been meant to be.

  “I forgot something inside. I’ll be right back.” His voice sounded off, too low and calm… too restrained. He handed me the keys to the car. “Start it and stay warm. Keep the doors locked, although no one will bother you.” He said it with such certainty and conviction I couldn’t help but believe him.

  He looked at me for a long second and then reached out to cup my face. I instinctively leaned into his touch and let my eyes close.

  “Everything will be okay.” I opened my eyes, not sure what he was talking about, because so much was not okay. “I’ll make sure of it.” His stare was hard. “You believe me?”

  I was nodding before I even realized I’d done the act. My body already knew without a doubt this man’s word was true. He leaned in and kissed me passionately, fully. He ruined me in the best of ways. And when he broke the kiss and stood, shutting the door and looking through the tinted glass as if he saw right into my soul, I knew it all so clearly my breath shuddered out of me.

  I’d always be safe with him, and that should have terrified me, because it just meant Arlo was even more dangerous than the monsters that were after me.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Arlo

  Not taking out Leonid just moments before, as he’d been far too close to Galina—as he’d looked at her as if he was undressing her with his eyes—had taken every single ounce of my fucking willpower.

  I didn’t want to leave her in the car, even though I knew she was safe. No one would fuck with her in this part of town. No one would dare even look in her direction, knowing she was with me. This part of Desolation was heavy Bratva territory. Which meant crime that didn’t have to do with the Russians was damn near zero.

  I stepped back into Vasyli’s, seeing Akim speaking in a low voice with the bartender.

  Akim glanced over his shoulder to see who’d entered, and at the look on my face, the silent command I gave him, he nodded slowly and walked over to the front doors, sliding the lock in place and tipping his chin toward the back, indicating to the bartender it was time to leave. Although he didn’t know why I was here, I made my expression pretty fucking clear.

  Shit was going down, and if he didn’t want to be in the crosshairs, it was time to make himself scarce.

  After meeting Dmitry and Nikolai at Butcher and Son and fully hearing their plan where their father was concerned, I hadn’t needed to think about what had to be done. There was no choice in the matter. I’d planned on taking Leonid out even before speaking with his sons. The how just hadn't been planned yet.

  Leonid had to be taken out in order to keep Galina safe. I didn’t give a shit about the Petrov family’s internal power struggle or what they had going on behind the scenes with the Italians. My only concern was making sure the woman who was mine, who I’d protect with my life, was never put in harm's way. Especially because of me.

  Dmitry had told me his father came to Vasyli’s every week at the same time and always took the private back room for his meal. After his meal—and a couple of forced sexual acts from the women he brought with him—he’d go back to his apartment, which was heavily guarded and had too many witnesses, and do unspeakable things to the females until they limped home the next morning, bruised and sore and destitute in ways they’d never imagined.

  But here, at Vasyli’s, he was unguarded, too arrogant in feeling he was safe in this part of the city. And that was true for the most part. But not tonight.

  I hadn’t wanted Galina to go anywhere near Leonid, because it would rack up my rage even higher. I hated having her near him, but this was the quickest, most convenient route to get this shit done with Leonid. I didn’t want to wait, and neither did Dmitry or Nikolai. Waiting would just make the risk of Leonid finding out even greater… if he didn’t already know. Not much got past the sadistic bastard.

  At the thought of taking down Leonid, I felt a satisfaction fill me. I’d make sure it was the most bloody, brutal killing possible. He didn’t deserve any less.

  My anger rose so fast and high I was choking on it. The memory of Leonid looking at her, the fire in his eyes as he no doubt thought of all the ways he’d break Galina, had me curling my hands tightly into fists. I remembered the way she’d trusted me with the truth of her past—one I’d handle for her whether she wanted me to or not, one I’d take out once this was all said and done.

  I’d hunt down the motherfuckers who thought to degrade and hurt her. I’d make them cry and beg for death before I gave them the final blow. I’d make sure Galina never had to live in fear again.

  The bartender made himself fucking scarce like a fire had been lit under his ass. Akim disappeared as well. The heavy weight of silence was now the only thing that I let filter through my conscience. I had several guns strapped to my body, all concealed yet easily accessible. But that’s not what I’d be using tonight.

  Tonight, and just for Leonid, reserved for fuckers who personally wronged me, or in this case, the only important thing in my life that they wronged and threatened—Galina—I’d use my fucking hands. I’d make this intimate.

  I wanted to see—feel—the blood flow out of Leonid’s body as he looked into my eyes. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw before he took his final breath. Just thinking about it got me off.

  I could hear a few raised whispers coming from the kitchen, the clang and bang of pots and pans before total silence once again surrounded me. I made my way toward the back where the private room was, my heart a steady, calm beat in my chest, the thirst for blood surrounding me like a lover’s caress.

  The door Leonid was behind was shut, and I stopped in front of it, hearing the sound of a soft female cry on the other side, followed by the unmistakable clank of silverware hitting a plate. I knew the sick shit Leonid liked, how he got off on a woman’s tears.

  I unsheathed one of my knives and curled my fingers tightly around the hilt, the weight substantial, the blade sharp enough it would go through flesh seamlessly. With my other hand, I reached for the door handle and silently opened it, the hinges greased, everything still so silent aside from the unobstructed noises now coming from the room.

  The interior had the same setup as the main restaurant with the Russian aesthetics, but there was only one white-linen-covered table set in the center topped with plates filled with different items. No one had heard the door open, not with the sound of one woman weeping and the other making the unmistakable sounds of giving head.

  Leonid sat facing the door—never presenting his back and being vulnerable. His head was tipped toward the ceiling, his eyes closed, and one hand tangled in the hair of the woman giving him the blowjob. His hold was so tight in the strands that his knuckles were white, and there was no doubt the female had to feel that pain all the way down her spine.

  I turned my attention to the other woman, who sat at the other end of the table, her wide eyes trained on me, her face tear-streaked, a bruise already marring her cheek. Blood had trickled out of her nose, and she hadn’t bothered wiping it away, a crimson trail, a visual of the kind of pleasure Leonid got off on.

  “Sosi eto, gryaznaya shlyukha.” Suck it, dirty whore. To emphasize what he wanted, he lifted his hips with enough force the girl gagged, clawing at his thighs. She pulled back enough to suck in a lungful of air before she was right back to sucking his dick.

  Leonid opened his eyes and righted his head, and our gazes locked. He wasn’t surprised to see me here; that much was clear by the lack of emotion on his face, but then again, that's what I wanted. I wouldn't kill him unknowingly. I wanted him to know his life was ending tonight. It would give me even more pleasure.

  He grinned slowly and pushed the woman away, her small body becoming unsteady before she righted herself and hurried to the other side of the room. He tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped it up, all the while staring at me.

  In Russian, he said, “She’s a poor substitute to the mouth I really want sucking my dick.” He reached out and picked up an olive, popping it into his mouth before chewing it and washing it down with a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. He made a show of looking behind me. “I don’t see that sweet piece of virgin ass to give me that visual, but”—he lifted his hand and tapped his finger on his temple—“I have her image seared right here. Makes fucking these sluts more fun.”

  I kept myself calm, didn’t show any reaction. I didn’t need to let my rage—which was paramount and tangible right now—control me. That's what he wanted. Leonid wanted me to let unused emotions make me sloppy.

  “Ubiraysya.” The girls scurried fast as fuck out of the room, and once we were alone, I reached behind me and closed the door with a soft click, never taking my focus off him.

  “Care to join me for a drink?” He picked up the vodka bottle and tipped it in my direction. “Seeing as one of us is going to die tonight…”

  “I didn’t come here for a drink.”

  He took a long swig and watched me before swallowing and setting the bottle back down. “No, you didn’t.” A long, terse moment of silence passed, one where I felt things start to escalate. “My sons think I don’t know betrayal when I can smell it like a hound chasing a rabbit.”

  I kept my face emotionless.

  “The little bastards were always a disappointment. I blame their weak whore of a mother.” His smile was like the flash of a shark’s teeth. “You came here because of the girl.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking from the shift of his weight. “Yeah, you came here because of the girl.” He chuckled low and deep, and I knew I’d let my mask slip by the way he laughed harder and tipped the vodka bottle in my direction. “Not the sharing type, huh?” He shrugged. “I was never one to get attached. I like to keep my options open, and with so much willing pussy available, it’s a buyer’s market.”