Page 92 of The Brigadier

Snacks.

I’d tried to prepare a few healthy ones just after the man had left, even making the little containers cute. Or so I hoped. With grapes and cut-up carrots and celery, a little cup of ranch, all that was missing was his favorite bag of Doritos. Thankfully, whoever had picked up the hundreds of items had kids. She’d bought a box of various chips, the perfect size for a four-year-old.

For me, I found white wine, making it into a spritzer complete with limes and lemons. Getting drunk wasn’t on my agenda and I would refuse to allow it to be on the powerful Russian’s. After finding Damien’s favorite soft drink hidden in the back of the fridge, I loaded up the tray, taking it to the pool deck quickly.

Nikolay had taken his son to a table out of the sun, although that was starting to wane even more. I placed the tray on thetable, providing the treat to the adorable little boy. “Now, don’t be messy.”

“Chantie. Twust me.”

Every once in a while, the little boy returned to being just a four-year-old, not a nuclear scientist. I was thankful for that. I gave Damien a look and took the tray to the barstools near the tiki bar. It was protected both from the wind and from any prying eyes that might be jetting by with Uzis in their hands.

My mind was working overtime.

Not good for anyone.

I poured Nikolay a drink, two cubes of ice already in the glass. At least there was an icemaker working only a few feet away, something I had checked.

I sat down and had to grab his hand before he sat as well. He was so unnerved that I could feel his anger in every movement he made.

He didn’t touch his drink at first, taking the time to unbutton his shirt, including his sleeves. As he rolled them up, I took a sip of my drink.

At least it was refreshing.

When he was finished, he grabbed the drink, pulling it to his lips and holding it. That allowed me to have a perfect view of one of his gorgeous tattoos. Not that I hadn’t studied them before. But in this light, everything seemed entirely different.

Maybe I was trying to reflect on things completely differently. I wasn’t certain. Because he didn’t offer what was going on, I didn’t prod.

At least right now.

“I never asked you about the ink on that arm. It’s gorgeous.”

I think he was shocked I led into the conversation with that instead of flying into my usual pointed questions.

“My family crest. Yes, Russian families have them. I suspect every culture does but ours are revered. It’s as if by wearing the symbol, you can never be allowed to forget where you came from. Whether pauper or prince. I was proud on the day I turned eighteen to head to the artist.”

I took a deep breath, tracing the jeweled dagger. The blade wasn’t shoved into a skull or an animal’s head, but a red rose. Which in turn was bleeding. “Never forget the strife?”

“Something like that. My brother had it tattooed on his neck, the preferred choice, but when you’re in control of a billion-dollar empire, it’s the kind of pictography that scares people.” At least he chuckled.

“Jesus. I’ll bet. Wise choice. But I find it sexy.”

“You do, huh?” Now he raised a single eyebrow.

We remained quiet but there was such an ominous feel in the air, including the rise in pressure given what had to be a horrific approaching storm.

“What’s going on?” I had to ask after a few minutes of tension had passed. “Your shirt and pants are covered in blood. You’re more anxious than I’ve ever seen you. I can tell you’re… different.”

His chuckle was so bitter, almost as if he’d been defeated. But I knew damn good and well that was simply an initial reaction. Or maybe a secondary one. His rage was right below the surface.

When I reached over, grabbing his hand in mine, he lifted his gaze as if I’d touched a part of him few had.

“In the old days of the mafia, brutality reigned a significant portion of the time. The Five Families, which included some of the familiar names you know, were considered by law enforcement and the press as nothing but illiterate things, which of course wasn’t accurate. They were extremely strategic in their moves knowing that whatever mob boss they took out or territory they tried to claim, there would be retaliation, which they calculated carefully. Was it bloody and violent? Hell, yes. All those stories about entire restaurants being destroyed, innocent people dying along with members of whatever syndicate are understated, but that’s the way it was.”

He kept his voice even and soft to ensure the wind didn’t allow his words to carry. I sensed I needed to stay quiet for a little while.

I could swear his hand was shaking from adrenaline as he brought the glass to his lips, throwing back the entire drink. When he placed it back on the table with a hard thud, he flexed his other hand under mine, forcing our fingers to entwine.

I used my other hand to refill his drink, trying my best to keep some level of patience.