Page 20 of Depraved Royals
“You need to call Pippa, Mama…”
“I will,” Marta says. “I’ll get Mel to deal with all that.”
The door to the bedroom closes, and I can hear nothing except the ticking of the grandfather clock. I remove my jacket and hang it on the coat stand.
I’m admiring a bust of Marcus Aurelius when Fyodor appears in a doorway.
“Come here,” he barks.
I obey and find myself in a library. There are several Chesterfield armchairs, a table for playing cards, tall bookshelves, and the ubiquitous drinks cabinet.
I smile. Every Bratva house has alcohol available in most rooms. I could probably open the bathroom cupboard and find a row of miniature bottles, just right to throw back while I’m having a piss.
“Nice,” I say, looking around the room. “Who’s the reader?”
Fyodor is in no mood for small talk.
“Shut up,” he says. “I wanna know one thing. Are my family in real danger? Is Idina planning to unleash hell on us?”
You stupid old fuck. Yes, she is. You’re looking at it. And you invited it into your fucking home like an idiot.
“Yes, she’s a threat,” I say. “You need me here, believe me.”
A thought occurs to me, and I almost punch the air in jubilation.
“She’s probably gonna try to hurt Dani,” I continue, picking up an ashtray and turning it over in my hand. The words ‘Greetings from Minsk’ are etched into it.
“So when did you last visit the Motherland?” I ask. I suppress a smirk as Fyodor glares at me.
“Stick to the fucking point,” he snarls. “Idina wants to hurt my Dani?”
No, not particularly. But you’re so overprotective, you’re gonna eat up this bullshit like it’ssteak au poivre, and the rest will be easy.
And I will get to have my fun.
“Idina thinks Dani is an easy target. She was alone today, and look what almost happened. A Bratva princess needs a security detail at all times.”
I look at Fyodor’s face as he digests my words. It’s so satisfying, watching him as my idea rolls around in his head before settling into his consciousness. It’s like when you pot a pool ball with a trick shot.
“All right, Kal,” Fyodor says. “You can take that role. You know your mother best, making you Dani’s best line of defense.”
“You got it.”
Fyodor extends a hand to me. “I’ll take that handshake, boy. For now, I’m listening to my wife and reserving judgment.”
I shake his hand, and he lets go quickly, heading for the door.
“Marta will make up a room for you. There’s food in the kitchen.”
* * *
The dead of night, and the house is silent.
I still can’t believe how easy it was to get into the belly of the beast. The Pushkins are not what I expected - they seem incredibly trusting. Too ready to take what I say at face value.
If she had been in Fyodor’s shoes, my mother would have shot me in the face and laughed about it. Well, more fool him. I’m Dani’s bodyguard and have a legitimate reason to be at her side. Her opinion on the matter is meaningless.
I try not to think about the fact that the t-shirt and sweatpants I’m wearing most likely belong to Fyodor. Gotta get some new clothes and fast. Luckily, the house is warm, and I strip out of the t-shirt, dumping it on the rug beside the bed.