A Few Days Later—Los Angeles, California
Esme is singing.
It’s a soft sound and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. Music just comes out of her when she’s happy, as easy as breathing.
I stand silently in the new apartment for a moment and listen. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
It’s been a few days since I found her again. Since we found each other again, really.
Having her and our son under one roof has been a blessing I don’t deserve. But I cherish every second like it’s priceless. Like I’ll never have it again.
The apartment is modest, settled in a good neighborhood that’s not overly flashy. I want Esme to be safe as well as comfortable, and that means flying under the radar for a little while.
When all this is over, I will buy her a proper home. I will give her the lifestyle she deserves.
But until then, I need to play it safe and not draw unwanted attention to ourselves.
Of course, Esme was thrilled with the place. It’s a spacious two-bedroom filled with natural light. Bright, clean, simple. Maxim made sure the kitchen and nursery were stocked prior to our arrival.
Esme’s singsong murmurs move from the kitchen to the second bedroom to check on Phoenix.
I’m about to go join her—to touch her bare hip and lean over her shoulder while she sings, to breathe in her scent, to feel her warmth against me; all those things I love—when my phone rings.
I pick it up despite the unidentifiable contact number.
“Yes?”
“Hey, sladkiy.”
“Svetlana,” I say. “Do you have any news for me?”
“I do indeed,” she says, enthusiasm shining through in her tone. “The dons’ council meeting is set for Wednesday. Over dinner and drinks, of course, rich old men being the fat pigs that they are. Eight o’clock is the designated time. At the Regency.”
“Excellent,” I say with a triumphant clench of the fist. “Do you have a guest list for me?”
“Not exactly,” Svetlana replies. “But I have a few names. Maggadino. Ambrosino. Guzik. Juarez.”
The name “Maggadino” makes my chest ache. One of the last conversations I ever had with my father was about that Italian asshole. I paid it little mind that day. Too angry to realize that my time with Stanislav was hurtling towards its end.
I don’t have time for those feelings right now, though.
I have a war to win.
Svetlana continues, “I happen to know that none of them have yet recognized Budimir as don yet. Your uncle thinks this meeting will be a step in the right direction.”
That makes me scowl. The thought of Budimir taking what’s rightfully mine is downright fucking nauseating.
Fucker doesn’t know what he’s in for.
“Did you manage to wrangle an invite to join him at the meeting?”
It’s a long shot. Even my horny uncle probably wouldn’t be dumb enough to bring a piece of ass to a business affair. But worth asking nonetheless.
“Unfortunately not,” Svetlana says wistfully.
I can tell that she’s disappointed by the exclusion. Apparently, not even her many talents can get Budimir to bend that far.
“He’s booked out the suite for the night, though,” she adds. “He wants me to wait there until after the council meeting is over.”