Page 69 of Silken Chains
Oh, my sweet girl, if only that were true.
“Well, sometimes the adults…” I kneel down to her level, searching for words that could bridge our worlds, “they have to make tough choices, just like kids do.”
“That’s okay, Laura.” She nods solemnly. “Sometimes, I’m not sure…” she pauses, her face scrunching in thought, “why Yuri is sad, but I give him the biggest hugs.”
I don’t know who Yuri is, but I nod slightly, biting back my curiosity. “Maybe later you can tell me about Yuri.”
Eli just nods, her little face beaming up again.
“Eli, darling, can you help me pick?” I gesture toward the dresses in my hands, bending down to show her.
She points eagerly at the McQueen dress, her small hand barely steady. “This one!” She beams. “It’s the same color as mine!” And she twirls again, her dress fanning out around her.
“Perfect choice.” I feel a flicker of excitement, a shared moment of kinship, as I head for the dressing room.
“Hurry up, Laura!” Eli’s tone shifts, her inner general taking charge. “Dedushka is waiting.”
“Dedushka?” I ask. “What does it mean?”
“Dedushka means grandfather,” she educates me with a proud puff of her chest. “Grandfather can’t wait to meet you.”
And just like that, the warmth fizzles out, replaced by a cold sense of dread.
I am so fuckitty-fucked.
Chapter 25
Victor
GRIGORI’S HUNCHED across from us, thinking he’s the big shot with his backup goons spread around. They’re eyeing us like we’re some Sunday school boys they can push over.
Big mistake.
Misha and Ari flank me, muscles tensed, ready to leap into action. We’re not just big; we’re a damn fortress, and these clowns are about to find out.
Vasiliev’s crew plays it cautious, never bunching up their top dogs in one spot—clever, but not clever enough. Here I am, arms crossed, looking every bit the brute I am known to be. My fists itch for a fight, hidden but ready. I’ve got a rep that makes grown men piss their pants, and though they’ve got numbers, we’ve got the might.
“Listen up, Grigori…” I lean in, my gaze boring into him like a drill. My hand casually rests on the table, inches from the concealed gun underneath. “You and your merry band of fuckups better start singing a different tune. We’re not here for pleasantries.” I sit back, my eyes cold. “I’m here to give you a choice. Return what you stole, or brace for the storm.”
Grigori’s sneer stretches across his face like he’s king of the world, his goons forming a half-moon barrier around us. The tension in the air is thick, like we’re on the edge of a knife.
I see him shift uncomfortably in his chair.
“Fucking kidding me?” Grigori spits, his voice oozing contempt. “You three think you own us? Vasiliev rules these streets, Morozov, not your pathetic excuse of a family.”
“The Morozovs don’t fuck around,” I sneer, my gaze sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Six decades, our family’s ruled these shit-stained streets. Our legacy’s built on blood, iron, loyalty. Everyone and their mother know we’ve got the biggest, baddest army around.”
I glance around, scanning Grigori’s men with a mocking grin. “Ari here,” I nod toward the giant by my side, “could take your pathetic crew down solo. No sweat.”
Grigori’s jaw clenches, a vein throbbing at his temple. He knows he’s cornered, but he’s not the type to go down without a fight.
“Morozov,” he snarls, his voice rough like gravel, “you think you can just walk in here and dictate terms?”
My reply is a cold smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I don’t think, Grigori. I know.”
He’s a beast of a man, muscle-bound and battle-hardened, but in this moment, there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It’s a subtle crack in his armor, but it’s all I need.
Misha, standing like a silent ghost at my back, lets out a soft, derisive snort. Ari, the human equivalent of a war machine, stares at Grigori with a look that could curdle blood.
