Chapter Twenty-four

Celia

When I wake up, the air in the entire house has changed. There are no workers outside even though I don’t think they’re finished yet.

As I eat breakfast or rather brunch on the balcony, I spot men patrolling the grounds. Men who weren't there yesterday.

While I’m getting dressed for the day, I get a text from Milos, telling me his family has arrived. He'll be out of the house until dinner when he’ll be bringing them back with him. He asks me to wear something demure, no skin.

I bite my tongue against the drive to be a smart-ass and remind myself he’s stressed. I don't want to add to it and simply tell him, okay. Milos hadn't liked the fake nails and made me take them off. The problem was after all the preparation, they look awful. I decide to get a manicure to see if it can be hidden. Or if worse comes to worse, they could do shorter nails and cover them with nail polish.

Not wanting to go by myself, I text Carina but she can't go because she's with a client. I send Peter a text I want to leave to get my nails done in twenty minutes. When I'm done there, I want to check up on the progress of the rescue. Weird, Peter is taking forever to respond. Whatever, I'm going, he’d better not argue with me.

Downstairs I find Peter pacing the foyer.

“I believe it best to remain home today,” he says.

“Why?” I said I wasn't going to fight with Milos. He isn't Milos.

His jaw clenches tight. “Milos’s uncle brings negative attention. I can keep you safe here.”

I shake my head. “What the hell does his uncle have to do with me? Is Milos okay? Is he safe?” Fear is clogging my throat as my stomach twists. “If something is going on with Milos, you’d better tell me, damn it.”

For the first time ever, Peter’s face betrays conflict. “Of course, Milos is always safe. It's fine. Everything is fine.”

Relief almost sends me to my knees. “Quit stressing me out, Peter. I'll be out for less than two hours, come on.”

In the SUV on the way there, it's clear both Peter and the driver are tense. Frustration is building in me; I wish people would tell me what’s going on.

The nail appointment doesn't go the way I hoped. I had to tell the nail technician twice they were too long. I tried to be polite about it—if it weren’t for Milos already hating them once, I never would have said a word. She got annoyed I didn't like it and was bitchy after that. Because of how rude she was I didn’t give as large of a tip as I did last time, and she got even ruder.

So when I’m walking out of the nail place I’m out of sorts and teary-eyed. Being called a rich bitch didn’t feel fair. I only tipped ten dollars instead of the twenty last time, why was she— Sergei? Wiping my eyes, I call out to him but he keeps his back turned and walks away.

Peter appears. “What's the matter?”

“I thought I saw my friend. I guess I was wrong. He'd never walk away like that.” Maybe I missed something through the tears.

I shrug as I get into the SUV. That's weird though, because Sergei is one of a kind. His hair is a distinct white blond, and at six foot three and built like a brick wall, I've never seen another man who looks like him before. The whole time I'm speaking with the contractor on the progress, which is a few days behind, I can't stop thinking about it.

Without thinking I walk away from the contractor to call him. For only the second time ever he doesn't answer, and that's what clinches it. How was it for four years every single time I called him or texted him, he always answered immediately? That alone doesn't make any sense. He got up and walked out of class? How about I never saw him studying for any classes we didn't have together?

Holy fucking shit. I call him again. He answers. “You were my security, weren't you?”

It isn't Sergei. “You did not think I would allow you to go unprotected, did you, kotyonok? While he managed to fail the one time you needed him most, there were other times your safety was ensured because of Sergei. Now that you are aware, he will be at your side.” The bastard isn't in the slightest apologetic.

“Be a good girl and get your ass home.” The fucker ends the call.

Asshole.

The poor contractor is staring at me, very confused. I apologize and tell him to take the time needed. I’d rather it be done right then fast. With a nod, I leave.

I tell Peter I need to get something at my mother's house. He isn’t happy but doesn’t argue. Once we pull into the driveway he asks how long I’ll be and if I need help carrying anything. I shake my head as I keep walking.

The moment I’m inside, I bolt the door. I text Peter that I'm not leaving until I talk to Sergei.

There is no call or text from Milos or Peter. But exactly seventeen minutes after I sit down to wait, Sergei is knocking on the door.

When I open it, he's in the same black suit I saw him in earlier. I've seen him in a suit before. But now he's in all black like Milos. He's a different Sergei, not just because of the suit, but because I see the menace in his body—that tightly coiled strength, ready to spring to life when needed.

I step back and wave to the couch. “Sit.”

Sighing, he sits down. “It isn't a big deal, Celia. You needed protection. So I was there.”

“Talk, I want to know everything. All of it,” I demand.

He shakes his head. “You're going to be mad either way. On one hand, you're going to be mad at me for killing all those people. Even though I was simply doing what Milos told me to do. Which means Milos will be mad at me for making you mad. On the other hand, you will be mad at me for not telling you, which will make Milos mad at me for not giving you what you want. I don’t know. He didn’t specify what I could tell you.”

It’s the Sergei of old talking at a thousand words a minute, too fast for me to catch on. And I see it for the tactic it is—confuse me until I drop it. “Stop it.” I’m firm. “Tell me every fucking thing.”

A frown flashes. “I'm thinking. If I just make you mad for telling you, then Milos will never even think of punishing me or you'll get mad at him. If any of this upsets you, then we pay for it. So there you have it.”

He’s giving me a headache. “Just tell me about all the killing you did.”

Sergei is offended as only he can be. “I only killed people who didn't do what they were told. Everyone got a warning first. It's not like they didn't know the consequences of their actions or rather lack of actions. Those professors each got multiple warnings.”

Oh my god, professors? I had wondered—two suicides by faculty in a semester, when there hadn't been any in years. Than a professor was shot in a mugging. Muggings didn't happen in the small college town. “Whittier, Charles and Smith. You killed them because they failed me.”

“No, you failed because they didn't do their job of accommodating your dyslexia. If you had failed because you didn't know your subject or something, that's one thing. No one would have gotten so much as a bruise. They were warned, you failed, so they paid the way they should have.” Sergei’s brown eyes darken to almost black. His whole demeanor changes. And now he's a killer, an enforcer, someone to be feared. Bratva.

How the hell could he have hidden who he was so well for years and I never saw it? Had no idea it was there below the surface. I am the idiot Carlo called me. The too trusting dumbass Milos needed to protect from the world. I'd befriended a killer, lived day in and out with someone who had no problem… “Wait, what other people besides the professors did you kill?”

A shrug of his shoulders. “There were a few guys who didn't get the message you weren't available.”

I’m confused. “What? Men hit on me? I don't remember any men hitting on me.”

“You were completely oblivious. I thought Milos was exaggerating. But he wasn't, you had no idea. Most went quietly, those that didn't…” Another shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh my god, how many?” I don’t want to know but I need to know.

“Like five, two overdoses of heroin. Only one more suicide. The rest were disappeared because the suicide thing was becoming too much.” He’s too casual.

“Like five or was it five?” I refuse to let him keep the truth from me.

He sighs. “Seven. It was seven.”

This is insane. So many people are dead because of me. “I cannot fucking believe this. I'm going to kill him with my bare hands. How could he—”

Sergei is offended again. “Of those seven, five had already date raped their way through campus, so don't blame Milos. You didn't see them for what they were. Even when you didn't see them, they were there.”

“That's exactly what I was just thinking of you. I was dumb enough that I didn't see you for the killer you are. Four years you were my friend. For more than three years we lived together. I thought you were my bestie. But no, you were a hired gun, there to kill if you thought I needed it. I am so angry right now. I can't see straight.” Running a hand over my forehead, I fight against the headache threatening to form.

“I was your friend. I'm still your friend, Celia. Yeah, at first I was happier about being able to be out than babysitting you. I thought I was going to babysit a vapid girl Milos wanted kept pure. He picked me because he knew I was gay and didn't have to worry about me making a move on you. But that wasn't it. You were pure but it didn't have a thing to do with sex. You were sweet, funny and you had so much more fire than I expected. While you saw the bad in the world, you didn't see it in people. You wanted to believe so badly there was good in people without realizing the world was shit because the people in it were shit.”

I shake my head. I hate the way it sounds like I'm some sort of wide-eyed sweet idiot, but I can't argue with him. Because he was right. It's what I was just thinking of myself.

“If you don't want me to be your security, I understand.” He's up, moving toward the door.

“Wait. No, I do want you. I just…” I sigh heavily. “This is a lot to take in. I feel like I woke up and my whole life is a lie constructed by Milos and I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Sergei is back. “He only did it to protect you. There is nothing Milos wouldn't do for you—wouldn't let you do. Hell, even me because of you. I could set fire to his favorite restaurant, Kotyonok, and he might slug me. But that would be it. He knows if he hurt me, you'd roast his ass. Milos would do anything to keep you happy.”

“Back up, he has a restaurant called Kotyonok?” Why hadn't Milos said anything?

It’s clear he’s wondering why I’m asking. “Yeah, he started it a few years ago. It's his favorite restaurant now. He does most of his business from there. It used to be the restaurant his father created and named after his mom. Ah, okay. Now I get it. I wondered about the name of the place. I never heard him call you that until today.”

“But you're saying you could set it on fire and he wouldn't care because of me?” Now I think I'm ready to ask the real question.

Tilting his head, he studies me. “Yeah, because if he so much as bruised me you'd be upset. I mean, I'm not going to take advantage or anything. Because if he thought I did, he'd still kill me then just fill the house with kittens until you were happy again. It's why he ordered Aleksander that I'm untouchable if something happened to him.”

I knew it. “What if something happened to him? What's going on? Is someone trying to kill him?”

He freezes, realizing what he said. “No, of course not. I mean, no more than usual.” Another freeze. His shrug isn’t as nonchalant as he was going for. “He's the head of the Bratva in Chicago, for fuck’s sake. He doesn't get and maintain his place without becoming a target. The usual asshole motorcycle club and a few Chechens and Serbians. They don't really want to kill him anyway, because there's still Aleksander and Nikita. As well our army here, who would hunt them down until their mothers and children were dead. That doesn't even take into consideration his brothers in Philadelphia—”

I put a hand over his mouth. “I know what you're doing. Stop it. I know Milos. He's tense in a way he's never been. Peter being my guard instead of his. I'm not an idiot. With Peter at his side since he was a kid, that means he trusts Peter above all others to protect what he values most, which is apparently me. All this talk of protecting me. Tell me what is going on or I swear to God, I will do something so massively insane. Milos will be pissed at the both of us.”

“Then do it, because there is nothing to tell.” Sergei is cold. It's back, the Bratva mask of indifference—of try it and he'll kill you.

Sighing, I shake my head. “Fine. Whatever. I want to go see this restaurant.”

I'm up and headed for the door.

Sergei opens the door. “What? Why?”

“Hello, it's my namesake. I want to go see it.” I don't bother waiting for the door of the SUV to be opened and climb inside. Keeping my thoughts off my face isn't easy. I'm not an idiot and I'm not going to be treated like one.

During the drive to the restaurant Sergei is quiet. His eyes meeting Peter’s in Peter’s mirror. Peter pulls his phone from his pocket and tells someone we’re coming, to prepare a table for me. Interesting. They seem to hold back on telling Milos. Good.

The place we stop in front of screams money. If I hadn't come with Sergei and Peter, there is no way I would have tried walking through the door. My namesake or not. I can't keep my mouth open as I take everything in. Holy freaking crap. The place is amazing. There is a wall of water with the mosaic tile of a saint holding a cat. Below that is a fire feature where the long flames of the fire are a bright yellow.

The staff jumps if my eyes so much as land on them. Peter and Sergei sandwich me and freak when I lose them as I spot the stairs and go up.

“Calm down, I want to check out the office to see where Milos spends most of his time. Sergei, can you please get me some water with lemon?”

Sergei looks to Peter, Peter nods.

The upstairs is even nicer. It's clear this is the VIP area as there are fewer tables. I gasp, my tattoo. On a feature wall of white marble is a large black cat silhouette in obsidian with yellow eyes. I would swear the eyes are yellow diamonds the size of a quarter, but that would be crazy…right? There’s no way those are diamonds. I don’t want to know if they are or not.

“Are the stairs the only way up here?” I ask.

Peter shakes his head. “Nyet, there are elevators there.” He points them out.

This place is exactly what I thought it would be. Not the refined atmosphere, but the setup. Since the building was built in the early ’20s, it would have exactly the kind of false panels and hiding places the twenties required.

“Where's my water?” I wonder as I start back toward the steps.

Peter stops me. “This is a better place for you to eat, safer up here. Stay, I'll check on your water.”

I'm in the office in a flash. It takes less than ninety seconds to find it. When we were kids me and Carina spent hours with the kids of mafia men looking for the secret hiding spots in all the houses and businesses we visited. I hear Peter and Sergei.

“Where the fuck did she go? I knew this was a bad idea.” Peter growls low in his throat. “What the fuck did she say?”

“She warned me she was going to do something so bad Milos would be angry as hell at the both of us. He's going to fucking kill me.” Sergei moans.

“What? If you knew that, why didn’t you say? Why is she upset? The fucking order is do and say nothing to upset her.” More growling from Peter.

“If I had told her it would have upset her. Milos would have gutted me like a fish for telling her that his uncle wants him dead to take over Chicago.”

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the wall. No. Oh no. Milos was fighting a war within his family. This was different than the MC and Serbians and Chechens. Family was always different, far deadlier. All at once my chest is so tight, I can barely breathe. It takes a minute for me to realize they're gone.

Slowly, quietly, I step out of the passageway that would take me down and out of the building. I force a calming breath. It’s fine. Milos is smarter than any man I've ever encountered. He thinks five moves ahead. It’s why he’s so worried about me. His fear is they would exploit his new weakness, which they would think is me as his fiancée.

I fight the urge to give in to fear and break into tears. I'm not afraid for me. I meant what I told the FBI agents—I trusted in Milos to keep me safe. It was Milos I feared for, as he would keep me safe over himself. No, I could take anything except losing him.

The sound of Peter and Sergei arguing reaches me from outside the office. They're moving further away. Crap. I don't want them telling Milos.

I nearly run for the stairs after them. “Excuse me. Where are you guys going?” I nearly shout.

“Where were you?” Peter’s eyes go wide.

“Bathroom.” I shrug. “Why?”

“I checked the bathroom.” His eyes narrow.

“I heard you but I didn't say anything. It was too rude.” I give another shrug. “You know what? I came, I saw, I want to go home.” Then I walk out of the restaurant without looking back at them.