Page 17 of Power's Fall
Montana had picked the locks on the closets the moment Masha was gone.
That had been the jumping-off point for the first fight.
Montana and Vadisk had an argument—admittedly a very quiet argument—while standing next to the sink at the wet bar, the water running to help distort their voices.
Vadisk didn’t want Montana to do things like open locked doors, in case they were alarmed.
Montana argued that they needed to know what was in those rooms, and that they couldn’t sweep for electronic surveillance from outside a locked door.
Vadisk pointed out that if there were cameras in those rooms, the fact that one of the first things they did was enter an off-limits room would make them seem suspicious.
And that was just the first of the men’s arguments.
They’d argued about how to sweep for bugs—both of them had brought surveillance-checking equipment, Montana’s having been tucked into her camera gear case, while Vadisk’s was actually hidden inside the casing of his laptop.
They’d argued about the landline phone—unplug it or leave it plugged in.
Dahlia had used the phone to quickly order food from the restaurant in the main hotel just in case one of them snapped it in half or cut the line.
The chime of the doorbell when the food arrived had ratcheted both men up to a paranoia and threat level of eleven out of ten. When she’d headed for the stairs to go down and get their food, Montana had grabbed her, pressing her to the wall.
When she politely pinched the shit out of Montana’s ear and loudly proclaimed that was probably the room service she’d ordered, he’d let her go with a yelp of surprise. Though it was sweet and a little sexy, his first instinct was to make himself a human shield. Sweet, a little sexy, and annoying as hell.
Vadisk had insisted on answering the door and inspected the food before carrying it to the kitchen.
She’d eaten alone at the outdoor teak table, leaving the guys’ food in the kitchen, still under the silver domes.
That was an hour ago. She’d finished dinner and come back upstairs to sprawl out on one of the long, low couches.
They were still at it, inspecting every picture frame and piece of molding, scanning endlessly with handheld devices, and then arguing about whatever it was they were doing.
Dahlia’s husbands were on her last. Fucking. Nerve.
She loved to plan and prepare but knew that traveling—even living and existing in a world full of so many different people, places, and expectations—required one to be both flexible and calm when things changed.
If Vadisk and Montana were this worked up over the physical security of the villa, the rest of this trip was going to be very difficult.
Pushing to her feet, Dahlia went to the wet bar, mentally thanking whoever had stocked it. There were separate beer and wine fridges under the counter and a built-in ice maker. Wine glasses hung upside down from the shelf that ran along the mirrored wall, liquor bottles with Russian and Turkish labels waiting to be opened.
Dahlia grabbed an angular red wine glass then ducked into the wine closet for a bottle of red.
If her husbands were going to be annoying, she was going to drink.
ChapterThree
Montana glanced around the sitting room in search of Dahlia. He’d seen her head back downstairs half an hour ago. With the sweep of the villa completed to his satisfaction, he was anxious to spend some time talking to her—and Vadisk, the grumpy fuck—about something other than their task.
When he’d approached Franco about his discovery regarding his great-uncle being blackmailed, he didn’t expect to end up placed in his trinity and swept away to Crimea. He’d taken part in some dangerous missions, with the Navy and as a Warrior Scholar, but this one felt different to him. Perhaps because it wasn’t just himself in a perilous situation. While he didn’t know anything about Dahlia and Vadisk yet, he’d spent a lifetime waiting for them.
As a legacy, he’d grown up in the Trinity Masters, his father and two mothers all members. When he was called to join, he’d been excited about the day when he would be called to the altar, when the Grand Master would introduce him to his spouses. So far, however, nothing had turned out the way he’d expected.
Of course, that was basically par for the course for him. None of his plans ever worked out the way he hoped. At this point, he should be used to it, better prepared to deal with it. Instead, he was disappointed that things had gotten off to such a shaky start. If they didn’t begin to turn it around soon, he feared his trinity was doomed to failure.
Movement outside drew his attention, his defensive mindset kicking in a split second before he realized it was Dahlia. She was sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet submerged in the water and looking out in the distance at the breathtaking view of the sea below them, the sun just beginning to set over the horizon.
Stepping through to the glass-paned door that led to the pool, he took a moment to observe Dahlia in her solitude. He’d been struck by her beauty the instant he watched one of her videos. He’d done some serious binge-watching of “Don’t Follow Me” in preparation for the trip, the whole time thinking of how sexy she was, not just because of how she looked but drawn to her intelligent insights and her unwavering sense of adventure.
And that was before he knew she’d be his. When they met in person at Boston Logan International Airport, his physical attraction to her had been instantaneous, though he didn’t know if that was based on chemistry or the knowledge that this woman was his wife. They’d flown first class to Athens before boarding the private plane that belonged to some higher-up in the Masters’ Admiralty.