15. Natalia

15

NATALIA

"There are some dumplings in there. And a little something extra for later," Yelena explains as she hands me a glass container stuffed to the brim with food.

"Bless you, Yelena." I turn to Andrey, who's waiting, all broody and unfairly good-looking, by the door. "Why don't you keep one guard and give me Yelena instead?"

I assumed everyone in Andrey's employ was a lost cause, but Yelena is an exception. The woman might very well be a saint.

He snorts. "This house can't run by itself."

I put an arm around Yelena. "You're a rich man. You can get yourself another housekeeper."

"Or you could just move in here. Save us the trouble."

I have no idea if he's joking or not. There's a glimmer in his eyes that makes me think it's a serious suggestion. But I laugh it off.

"Okay, okay, greedy guts, let's go." I turn back to Yelena. "Thanks for the amazing meal. And the knitting tips. I'll definitely try that loop you suggested."

I clamber into the back of the sleek, silver car parked out front and Andrey slides in after me. As we drive through the wrought iron gates, I peer out the window for a better view of the property.

Like its owner, it's all ridiculously pretty.

Wonder what it's like to live in a place like this.

I shake off the thought immediately. I'm happy with my apartment. What some would call "small,"' I call "cozy." What some would call "white-trash," I call "character." At the end of the day, call it what you like—it's mine.

"So, who're the lucky boys who get to guard me?"

Andrey inclines his head towards the young blond in the passenger seat. "That's Leonty."

Leonty twists around to give me a boyish smile and a wave.

"And Shura," Andrey adds. "He's in charge."

I unofficially met Shura earlier in the day. Unlike Leonty, he has "no nonsense" stamped all over his face.

"Okay, so how does this work?" I ask. "You guys camp out in your vehicle outside my apartment, watching for signs of trouble? Sort of a ‘seen but not heard' type of situation?"

Leonty chuckles, but neither Shura nor Andrey crack a smile.

"You have a couch, yes?" Shura asks brusquely.

"Um… yeah?"

"Then that's where I'll be. Leonty will man the vehicle."

My jaw snaps open. "You mean to say you're going to be hanging out inside my apartment? With me?"

Shura shrugs, completely unbothered. "I can mind my own business."

"Have you seen my apartment? You can't swing a cat in there. There's not enough room for the two of us." I turn to gape at Andrey, who, like Shura, couldn't be less concerned. "I don't want anyone in my way."

"He won't be. Shura just said he'll mind his own business."

"He'll—You—You know what? No. He's not coming into my apartment." I try to meet Shura's eye in the rearview mirror, but he's not even looking at me. "No offense or whatever. I'm sure you're a stand-up guy and everything—you know, apart from the fact that you work for a Bratva crime ring—but I still don't know you."

Andrey sighs like a long-suffering parent. "You don't have to know him . You have to trust me ."

"And what if I don't trust you?"

He clicks his tongue impatiently. "Then you're fresh out of luck, because you don't get a choice."

"Since when?"

"Since that baby came to life in your belly."

Apparently, keeping my pregnancy on the down-low doesn't extend to Andrey's men. Neither of them bats an eye, though.

"That's ridiculous. I get a say."

The aggressive silence from all three men is hugely annoying. Especially because they're all acting as though I'm the unreasonable one.

"If you're uncomfortable with the current plan, I can always have Shura turn the car around and take us back to the manor."

"Those are my choices? My place with invasive guards or your place with more of them?"

"Correct."

I scowl. "That's not fair."

He shrugs. "Life tends not to be."

"Fine," I mumble irritably. "Keep driving."

As soon as we get to my building, I jump out of the car before it's even reached a full stop and make straight for the door. I'm expecting Shura to follow me, and he does, but Andrey joins us as well.

"Didn't get a good enough snoop around last time?" I snap at him.

He smirks and says nothing, which is the most irritating thing he could possibly have said.

I open the door and trip on a pair of shoes blocking the entrance. The apartment is looking particularly shabby this evening, what with the empty coffee cups on the counter and the pile of dirty laundry I was supposed to take to the laundromat three days ago.

"It's not always like this," I mumble, trying to stow away the half-finished romance novel lying face-up on the coffee table before anyone can see just how trashy my taste in fiction is.

"Dear God," Andrey mutters in a low voice. "It's worse than I remember."

He picks his way through the mess and stops at the window, staring at the cracked, water-stained paint in the wall just above the radiator. My anxiety spikes watching him judge my living conditions, so I turn to Shura to busy myself with something else.

"You want something to drink? I've got water and… uh, actually, just water."

"Water, thank you."

When I pass the glass of water to Shura over the counter, I realize that his boss is missing. "Where's?—"

"Is that mold?" Andrey growls, his voice booming from my bedroom.

"Who said you could go in there?!" I rush into the bedroom with every intention of kicking his ass straight out of it.

He's standing in the corner of the room, squinting up at a patch of ceiling that's covered in a rather artistic constellation of black and green spots.

"Uh… my landlord said he'd take care of that."

He made said claim six months ago when I complained about it, but so far, nothing has actually been done. Not that Andrey needs to know that.

"Do I need to speak to your landlord?"

"No!" I cry quickly. "I'll do it."

He casts one last dark look at my twin bed before he goes back to the living room.

Shura has drained his glass of water and is now hovering awkwardly between the kitchen and the living room. "Everything okay, ‘Drey?"

The nickname makes me smile. Andrey is so not a "'Drey." Especially now, with that calculating scowl on his face. If I were less tired, I'd be more concerned about what he's planning.

Andrey barely glances at either one of us as he makes for the door. "No. But it will be."

He disappears without so much as a parting goodbye.

"Is he always so ominous or am I just special?" I ask. Shura's gaunt face cracks into a small, tempered smile. I'm so surprised I applaud. "Wow! You can smile."

He ignores that and leans against the counter. "You were right: there's not enough room in here to swing a cat."

"Thankfully, I don't have a cat."

He eyes the pile of books by the couch. "Surprising."

Scowling, I walk over to my lumpy orange couch and fall into it with a grateful exhale. "Tell me: do all Andrey's employees have to pass some sort of Broody, Sarcastic Asshole Test to be hired?"

"Wouldn't know." Shura meanders around the sofa. "I'm not an employee."

"What are you then?"

"His right hand vor . And his friend," he tacks on at the end.

"What's a vor ?"

"Like a lieutenant. Sort of."

"Ah." I throw him a sloppy salute. "Aye-aye to that. And he's assigned you to me, no less. I must be important then, huh?"

I'm only joking—probably because I might just burst into tears if I don't laugh—but Shura's face is serious. "You're carrying the heir of the Kuznetsov Bratva. Of course you're important."

My heart does this weird little jump. "Okay, next vocabulary question: did you just say ‘ heir' ?"

He just nods.

I shove myself upright. "Let's get one thing straight: I'm not carrying an heir ." I can barely say the word without cringing. "I'm carrying a baby . A baby who's gonna have a normal childhood and a normal life. Free of expectations and pressures and weird Russian titles from the guys who will not be following him around everywhere."

Shura crosses his arms. "It's a beautiful idea?—"

"It's not an idea; it's what's gonna happen," I insist. "' Drey might be used to throwing his weight around and getting his way with you guys. But that's not gonna happen with me. I'm done being a pushover." I stab my chest with my index finger. "This former pushover will now push back!"

His skepticism disappears behind a careful smile. "If you say so."

I can't tell if he's impressed or laughing at me. But I'm done parsing these stone-faced assholes for some semblance of human emotions. Sighing, I abandon my metaphorical soap box for my hosting cap. "You can sit down, you know."

He hesitates for a second before he perches on the opposite end of the sofa, as far away from me as he can manage.

"I hope you like rom-coms, ‘cause we're about to have a full-on marathon."

His eyes go blank. "Whatever you want."

I cue up the chickiest of chick flicks I can find, then head into the kitchen for some snacks. I have to admit, it is nice to be able to watch a movie with someone.

I don't even mind so much that he's forced to be here.

Man, I really need to make some friends.