Chapter Eighteen

Brooke

"W hat's for dinner, Mom?" Karina called out over her music.

"Why don't you come and help me and find out?" I smiled at her annoyed grunt which belonged on a girl much older than seven years old.

"Mom," she whined.

"Karina," I called back, still smiling. She wasn't as sullen as she'd been a few days ago, but she hadn't given up on the idea of having her father around. Whoever he was and wherever he may be. If she carried on like this, I might have to give in to her demands for a puppy that she'd been asking for since the age of five. That would make me an absolutely terrible mother, but it was the only thing likely to get her to forget about her father. A puppy… or a weekend away with her most favorite uncle in the world.

She gave such a dramatic sigh it drowned out her pop music. "Is it something good or something healthy?"

"Why can't it be both?" I was proud of the home chef I'd become since becoming a mom. I specialized in making fun food healthy.

She wandered into the kitchen and peered into the saucepan.

"You still wanting to go away with Uncle Ryan and Auntie Ella?"

"Really?" her eyes shone with excitement.

"Sure, sweetheart. I think you're big enough for a weekend vacation with your cousins."

She flung her arms around me, "You're the best Mommy ever!"

I only hoped I didn't regret my decision. I was going to worry about her every moment she was away.

A few seconds later, the door to the den closed, muffling her music.

I turned my attention to dinner, which gave me too much time to think about my most recent conversation with Ilya. He'd sworn he hadn't sent anyone after me, and even though I was still furious, I believed him. I wasn't foolish enough to think that couldn't or wouldn't change, but for now I believed him, which only left me more afraid of who had sent the man.

The front door opened, followed by a familiar groan. "My god it smells like heaven in here. Will you marry me?"

I laughed. "You know I would, Lara, but you don't like women."

"I'll keep you in batteries and vibrators if you cook like this for me at least five times a week." The sound of her heels hitting the wooden floor told me she was headed my way. "You're making jambalaya. What's wrong?"

That was the benefit and the disadvantage of having a friend who knew you so well, they knew your comfort dishes. "Who says anything is wrong?" I turned a questioning gaze over my shoulder.

Lara glared at me with her hands fisted on her hips. "You sprang for andouille sausage, so it's serious. Tell me what's going on." It wasn't a request but a demand, and to bring that point home, she pulled a fresh bottle of Bourdeaux from her bag and fetched a corkscrew from the drawer. "You talk and I'll pour."

"You ever heard of the bratva?"

"Of course. The Russian mob. What about them?" She stopped fiddling with the wine bottle. "Is Ruben getting you mixed up with the bratva?"

"Yes. And no." I inhaled deeply, turning to add the rice to the pot to give myself time to think. "Rumor has it that Ilya is in the organization, and not just in , but a big wig or whatever." I'd read a few dozen articles over the past few days and was amazed at how many different ways journalists and bloggers had found to insinuate his mob ties, without coming right out and saying it.

"Makes sense, actually." Lara said as she pulled out two wine glasses. I couldn't believe her casual attitude.

"What? You knew?"

She shook her head, smiling as she poured the red wine. "No, but back in the day I heard some rumblings about the Russian mafia and Ilya's father, but I just chalked it up to good ol' American xenophobia because he was rich and Russian."

My heart rate increased. "You think this is more than just rumors?" I gripped the countertop until my finger joints ached. "If he's in the mob, then what does that mean for me and Karina," I whispered, my voice low and shaky. "She's been asking about her father more and more lately. He still doesn't know I have a child, let alone that she could be his. But I'm scared that the longer I work with him the sooner he'll find out."

"I can't tell you what to do, Brooke. You have to figure this out for yourself." She flashed a sad smile and rolled her eyes. "But what I told you before still holds, maybe even more now. You have to be the one to tell Ilya about Karina before someone else does."

"I can't. Not now." If there was even a hint of truth to the rumors of his connections, then I couldn't put Karina at risk. "His lifestyle is too dangerous. Lara, a man stopped me on the street and threatened me and Karina if I didn't tell Ilya I was wrong about his money."

Her eyes went wide with shock. "What? When?"

"Two days ago." I told her everything I could remember. "And then Ilya showed up and swore it wasn't him and then promised to keep me safe." I had no idea how he would do that, and I didn't want to know.

"Have you told any of this to Ryan yet?"

"Are you crazy? Ryan already hates Ilya, and he's law enforcement. He's unable to be objective about Ilya and I don't want anything to happen to him." I'd seen enough mob movies to know that meddling lawmen rarely did well, especially the well-intentioned ones.

"Brooke, I love you, but you're keeping a lot of secrets from the people who need to know these things. I don't want to see it bite you in the ass."

I took a long, slow sip of the deep red wine to savor it and then I took another, bigger sip until my limbs began to relax. "Honestly, I think I'm doomed either way and I'm too scared to say anything to either of them." I took another sip, which turned into a gulp while I waited for some of the stress in my body to seep out. My mind went back to the night we'd been at the bar and Lara and Dmitri were getting on like a house on fire. As far as I knew, my friend hadn't taken things further, but it was clear they were into each other. "Do you know something?"

Her pink cheeks were the first clue. "Why would I know anything?"

"Come on, Lara. I know you and Dmitri have been talking." I suspected, but I had no proof other than the way she wildly flirted with him at the bar.

"I don't know anything. We don't talk about you and Ilya. It's just a casual friendship."

"Interesting."

"No," she pointed a finger at me, "it isn't interesting. It's not intriguing. It's just a friendship."

"Yeah, sure. Okay. Whatever you say, Lara." We stared at each other for a long time, the same way we used to in order to figure out which of us would approach the cool kids when we were assigned to work on group projects.

"Okay, fine, it's a little interesting. I guess." She rolled her eyes, smiling and blushing. "But he doesn't talk about business, and I don't ask. It's a strange friendship, it's early days, but right now it works."

I couldn't ask her to risk whatever was going on with Dmitri by pumping him for information that he wasn't likely to give her anyway. "Then I guess I'll have to figure out how to deal with this mess."

"Time to pull on your big girl panties. Remember at high school and college when we wished we were older and didn't have to deal with rich kid cliques?"

I gave a hollow laugh, "Right about now I'd choose bitchy Tina and her gang, over what's going on in my life."

"Sometimes adulting sucks."

"Couldn't agree more," I said, and finished my wine. "Just a few weeks ago my life was simple. Filled with dance rehearsals and bake sales with a heaping side of spreadsheets. Now it's mobsters, baby daddies, and henchmen."

Lara laughed. "Look at you with all the hip lingo."

"At least I have that going for me." I thought back on all those days when I wished for a little excitement in my life, a little bit of adventure, and I laughed. Now, I craved the simplicity I used to have. "More wine, please."

Lara refilled our glasses, and the more wine that disappeared, the better I felt, at least until I thought about it again.