then he’d buy every man in his crew a Russia-worthy parka.
He put the gearshift in park, killed the engine and headed inside, sharing quick greetings and nods with the men stationed along the way. One step in the back door, the scent of whatever Olga was making for dinner hit him—rich spices with a bite that made him wish he could forgo the four hours of work ahead of him in exchange for a seat at his vor’s table. While the kitchen itself stood empty, voices sounded from the dining room beyond, the laughter that went with one of them unmistakably belonging to Sergei’s son, Emerson.
Roman headed that direction, a warmth that had nothing to do with central heating spreading beneath his ribs with each step. His pakhan was truly a blessed man. His brother, Kir, as well. In the time since they’d laid roots in New Orleans, both of them had found exceptional women. Exceptional happiness. And while he knew better than to ever hope for the same himself, he took great satisfaction in watching his brothers from the sidelines. Sergei and Kir were good men. Wise men deserving of such blessings.
Exiting the cozy dining alcove adjacent to the impressive kitchen, he strode into the formal living room. The silk curtains and plantation era furnishings gave a nod to days long past, but Sergei’s wife, Evette, and Kir’s new bride, Cassie, were all modern-day family as they bracketed Emerson at the table.
He’d barely laid eyes on the lot of them when both women shrieked in unison and jumped back from whatever they were looking at.
His first instinct was to reach for the gun stowed beneath his suit jacket, but he checked the instinct as soon as Emerson’s delighted cackling registered. “What is going on?”
The abrupt question from an unexpected guest—particularly one of his size and in so gruff a tone—might have startled most people, but the trio merely noted his arrival and offered warm, welcoming smiles.
“Roman! You missed it!” Emerson stood, pushed his chair back with his knees and waved Roman closer. “I’m making a volcano for my science project and it just exploded.”
Halting behind Emerson and Evette, he peered over their heads.
Indeed, there had been an eruption. One that had exploded from a muddy mound and reeked of soap and vinegar. “It looks very...messy.”
Both women shot him wry looks, the likes of which expressed their humor at his lacking word choice.
Emerson didn’t care. Just started wiping up the excess threatening to make its way off the thick cardboard base and onto the table’s gleaming surface. “Being messy is the best part.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Evette said, handing over a fresh wad of paper towels. “I’m pretty sure your daddy paid three fortunes for this table, and I’m not gonna be the one that tells him we have to have it refinished.”
“Ha!” Cassie was already engaged and doing her part to contain the red lava oozing in all directions. “Like Sergei would care. He’d be more inclined to double down and see if he could make a volcano twice as big.”
She wasn’t wrong. Emerson might be Sergei’s son through circumstance and subsequent adoption only, but one would never know it by the way he doted on the almost nine-year-old. “And why are you making a volcano, moy zaychik?”
Emerson wrinkled his nose at the endearment. “I’m not a rabbit. And it’s my science project. I have to turn it in on Friday, but wanted to practice once before school.”
Roman refused to debate the rabbit part. Anyone who’d seen how somber and serious the child had been when he’d first come into their life would not only agree, but also celebrate Emerson’s liveliness now. “An educational endeavor.” He nodded to Cassie and Evette and backed away. “I believe you’re correct. Sergei will demand a chance to demonstrate his support of higher learning.”
“And there’s my reason for getting this cleaned up before he and Kir get home from Houston!” Evette grabbed the roll of paper towels and glanced at Roman. “Have you heard from them since they landed?”
Roman nodded. “Just before they went into their meeting. Assuming negotiations stay on track, they should make their six o’clock fight with no issues.”
From the side of the room, a cell phone rang, the muted sound coming from the purse perched on the elaborate buffet table.
“Oh!” Cassie said, wiping her hands and hustling toward the buffet. “Maybe that’s Kir.”
Roman hoped it was. While the concrete company merger between Sergei’s Louisiana holdings and the Texas