Page 54 of Lord of Passion

I lightly touch my bra strap. "What?"

"That's a bad joke," Liria says sternly. "But I think you need to address this with Nikandr. I know how important those windchimes are to you. It's cruel that she broke them."

"My windchimes aside," I say, arranging and rearranging my silverware. "How am I going to survive this bizarre excuse for a marriage?"

Liria smiles malevolently. "Exactly the way you have been. Keep beating him at poker."

"What?"

"No, she's right," Ava says. "Nikandr's used to getting what he wants. You took something away from him that night and I'm guessing that's when he became fascinated with you. Don't make it easy for him. Stand your ground."

"Exactly!" Liria slaps the table. "You're no pushover. Insist on continuing to do what's important to you while you figureout… uh…" she looks at the others before waving her hands awkwardly. "While you and Nikandr figure out what this is."

"Also," Violet gets up and comes back with a dessert box. "Feed him cake. I'm not kidding. He wanted the marzipan wedding cake at our wedding so badly that he told my sister Iris that he was going to throw a grenade into the woods to distract everyone so he could take a chunk of the cake. I think he ate one of the layers all by himself."

I look down at the box, filled with little cupcakes covered in green marzipan. "Do I want to give him cake? I don't think I like him."

"The elevator and the safe house bathroom say differently," Liria grins as I flush a painful red.

***

Author’s note: I really do have a Crisper of Hate, a phrase my husband came up with for my ability to hold a grudge longer than an angry llama. And those furry bastards canreallyhold a grudge.

Chapter Twenty-Four

In which we learn of The Rule of Three. And it’s horrible.

Nikandr…

We are standing in the ruins of our private port in Maine. It's a rugged coastline without much observation by the U.S. Coast Guard, so we've always done a brisk party drug and pharmaceutical business through this route.

The two warehouses are smoldering, nothing but ash and embers. The dock itself and all the expensive lift equipment has been blown apart by three or four well-placed grenades. What's worse are the remains of the five men who'd been guarding the place and the boat captain who picked the wrong time to check on his ship. They're all strung upside down by their ankles, hanging from light poles, their sightless eyes staring into the sea.

"Who found them?" I ask. Igor steps forward. He's a Morozov man through and through, he's been in the Bratva for thirty years. His face is white as he stares at the men.

"It was me,Sovietnik. I was coming in for my shift early to relieve Artur." He nods at the man hanging from the light pole next to us. The dead man is younger, blood still draining out of fifteen strategic slices in his skin dripping on the concrete. It's a technique to cause maximum agony in the victim as they drain to a slow finish. "His wife had a baby a couple of days ago. Hewas eager to get home and –" Igor's voice chokes and he turns his face away.

"Before anything else," I say to the ten men I brought with me, "get these men cut down and taken care of."

I got the call about the fire right after Caroline left and took the helicopter out to the site in Maine. There's something very specific about the way this is set up; the desecrated bodies, the way the warehouses are burned and the dock and the equipment exploded. I stare down at my phone for a moment, then call Dmitri.

He picks up immediately. "What do you know?" he asks.

"It's a complete loss," I say, running my hand through my hair. "We've lost five men. Both warehouses are burned to the ground with the drugs and pharmaceuticals stolen. They burned what they couldn't take. They destroyed one of our ships and exploded the dock system."

"Flip your phone and let me see," Dmitri says.

I do, making a slow pan of the wreckage, feeling that physical pain again as I see the men gently take down the first body. Dmitri watches silently, running his finger over his lower lip.

"I'll call you back," he says. "My father's here today. I want him to see this. It reminds me of something, but I can't think of what."

In less than five minutes our former Pakhan is in the office and even though he can't see me, I automatically straighten up.

"Nikandr," he says with a nod, "pan the scene again, slowly."

I turn my phone in a slow circle, making sure to cover each area of damage.

"Do you recognize this, Father?" Dmitri asks.