“Ma’am?” she repeats in horror. “I changed my mind. I think I preferred ‘Miss.’”
Adrik chuckles under his breath, but his smile drops as he turns to me. “I got the location.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Let’s get going.”
“Wait,” Esme says. “Where exactly are you going?”
Adrik and I exchange a glance. “Kukolka…” I start to say.
But she raises a hand and cuts me off.
“Don’t you ‘kukolka’ me, pendejo!” she snaps with fire in her eyes. “I agreed to come back to L.A. I even agreed to accept the fact that you are don of the Bratva. But I need to be kept informed. Comprende?”
Part of me wants to chuckle. No one could ever accuse my wife of lacking passion or steel.
But I value my testicles being attached to my body, so I know better than to laugh in her face.
Besides, the real reason for her outburst is her nerves. She’s worried about me. Paranoid, panicky.
The best way to soothe her concerns is to tell her what she wants to know.
She’s earned that right in spades.
“Polish mafia headquarters,” I tell her.
“And how many men are you taking with you?” she demands.
I suppress a smile. If something happened to me, I’m fairly certain that Esme could take control of the Bratva and lead it capably until my son comes of age.
Whether she sees it or not, she has the strength and the intelligence for it.
“A dozen,” Adrik answers for me.
“That’s it?” she says.
I smile. “Babe,” I say. “I’ve got this.”
“You have to be careful,” she lectures sternly. “What if Budimir has got to the Polish gang already? What if you walk into a trap?”
“We’ve weighed the risks—”
“That doesn’t mean you’ve eliminated them,” she counters.
I walk forward and take both her hands in mine, forcing her to look me in the eye. “I know you’re worried,” I say. “But you don’t have to be. I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this a few times before.”
“You had the might of the Bratva behind you at the time,” she points out. “Now, that force backs your uncle.”
“All true,” I agree. “But every one of my men are worth ten of Budimir’s.”
She shakes her head and mumbles something that sounds a lot like “Ugh, men.”
“Trust me, Esme,” I tell her. “I’m not taking any unnecessary risks. Not when I have you and Phoenix to think of.”
She sighs deeply and pulls her hands out of mine.
“You better come back without a scratch tonight, Artem Kovalyov,” she says. “Or else I’ll kill you.”
I smile. “I might make a mafia wife out of you yet, Esme Moreno.”