Page 125 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
"That's a terrible idea."
"It's a brilliant idea."
"It's chaos waiting to happen."
"Exactly. When?"
I laughed, and it felt easy. "Soon. I promise."
Later that afternoon, Artem handed me a parcel wrapped in heavy brown paper.
I opened it on the kitchen island while Ivan made coffee while Gregor debriefed Fergus on the morning patrol.
Three books. First editions. Irish folklore. The exact titles I'd mentioned once, in passing, more than a month ago, when I'd told Artem about my grandmother and the stories she used to tell before Callum cut her off.
"This is too much," I said. My voice came out wrong, scraped and small.
"Nothing is too much." Artem's hand covered mine on the cover of the top book. "You wanted them. I found them."
Gregor kissed me on my lips after placing Fergus' security jacket on, and then the two of them left the kitchen to do the morning patrol.
Ivan slid a mug of coffee across the counter. The perfect temperature, the exact amount of milk, the way he'd learned to make it after weeks of what he called "coffee reconnaissance" and I called "drinking my coffee when I wasn't looking."
"He's right," Ivan said. "Nothing is too much. You want books, you get books. You want coffee, I make coffee. You want someone dead—"
"Ivan."
"I'm just saying. The offer stands."
A deep bark echoed from outside, followed by Fergus's smaller, sharper yip.
"He's terrorizing the Dobermans again," I said.
"We need five more," Ivan said. "I think the guards are frightened of him now. Yesterday one of them saluted."
Gregor appeared at the back door with Fergus trotting ahead of him. I looked up and burst out laughing so hard I had to put the book down.
Fergus strutted into the kitchen like a king inspecting his domain. Behind him, one of the estate Dobermans paused at the threshold. All eighty pounds of sleek black muscle and military training, and looked at me with exasperation.
Fergus turned and gave one sharp yip.
The Doberman sat.
I stared. "Did he just give an order?"
Gregor removed a tiny treat from his pocket and handed it to Fergus. "Clear command structure."
"You've created a monster."
"He was already a monster. I have created discipline."
"Gregor." I wiped my eyes. "Are you getting his sweaters specially made?"
“Yeah.” A pause like I was saying something wild. "I have a contact on the internet. There’s a website specializing in outerwear for small breeds. They have a very efficient shipping process."
"You're browsing dog clothing websites."
"The search history is encrypted and I do it in incognito mode."
