“Mr. Avdonin?”

Anton glanced up over the pictures he’d spread out over his desk. “Come in.”

The new server at Seven Lights entered Anton’s spacious office with hesitance. It was her first time being allowed inside the space. Given the Bratva business that took place in the office, it wasn’t often, especially during the club’s business hours, that anyone but him or one of his men were permitted in.

“Yes?” Anton asked, making the pictures of the new possible shipment of guns from Mexico scarce with a quick swipe of his hand. “What can I do for you, Natalie?”

The young girl raised the serving tray in her hand as an explanation. A tumbler of vodka rested in the middle. “A friend wanted to send up his regards to the owner.”

Anton sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What kind of friend?”

“Huh?”

“Old, or young? Russian, or English? What kind of friend, sweetheart?”

Natalie just looked confused. Anton shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though her uncle was affiliated with the Russian mafia, she was sheltered from it growing up. Or at least, that’s what he understood. Even so, the girl should have understood what Anton meant.

“Is the friend Bratva?” Anton asked pointedly.

Finally, Natalie seemed to get it. “Oh! Um, no. I don’t think so. Maybe just someone you know from Brighton Beach or something, because when he asked if you were around, he didn’t ask about the office like the other guys do.”

Well done, Anton thought. Perhaps Natalie would work out as a server for Seven Lights after all.

“Thank you. Leave the drink, but refuse anymore, and I’m not interested in having guests. Is that clear?”

Natalie nodded before plucking up the tumbler from the tray and placing it on a stand. “Also, your wife called about an hour ago. I guess she couldn’t get through to your office or—”

What time was it, again?

“Shit!”

Anton was such an idiot. A couple of unexpected guys showed up earlier and out of respect, he hadn’t turn them away. Then, he got caught up dealing with the new shipment prospect. Everything on his desk that wasn’t needed was swiped into an opened drawer. A simple look at his watch told him he’d missed the late dinner Viviana wanted them to have together. It was her birthday, for Christ’s sake.

“Vine’s gonna kill the fuck out of me,” Anton mumbled as he grabbed the suit jacket off the back of his chair.

Natalie barely managed to move out of his way. “Should I have told you earlier?”

Anton paused at the doorway, turning to give the girl a sharp stare. “If my wife calls this club looking for me because she can’t get through to me herself, then yes. I don’t care if the fucking mayor of New York is dancing on my goddamn toes. You come up here and get me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Anton made it home in record time. The house was dark and quiet instead of filled with the usual loudness of his wife, son, and their live-in maid, Clarissa. Of course, it was a little after midnight. Everyone was likely asleep.

Damn, that just made Anton’s guilt rise tenfold.

Making his way through the bottom floor, the cleanliness of the kitchen happened to catch his eye. There wasn’t a thing out of place to say Viviana had cooked the dinner, let alone eaten it. Upstairs, light was seeping out from underneath the door to his son’s bedroom, leaving a streak of color through the dark hallway.

Quietly, Anton slipped down the space to listen to the quiet murmurs coming from the bedroom.

“Shh, it’s sleep time, Demyan,” he heard Viviana whisper.

“But, Ma—”

“Papa will be home soon, and then he’ll read you the train story. Sound good?”

At least his wife didn’t sound too angry. That boded well for him.

Anton pushed the door open with a grin, peeking in to wink at his instantly alert son. It never failed to surprise Anton how much Demyan looked like him. From the blue of his eyes to the black of his hair. Even the quirks and mannerisms of his child seemed to come directly from him.

And he loved it.

“Papa!”

Their German shepherd Rocco barely reacted but for the quiet thumps of his tail hitting the wood floors.

“The train story, huh?” Anton asked, stepping into the bedroom.

“Please?” Demyan pleaded.

With a sigh, Viviana moved from the bed. Anton couldn’t help but notice she was fully dressed and ready for bed herself.

“He’s up a bit late,” Anton noted to his wife as she passed.

“His father missed his bedtime. This usually happens, Anton.”

Ouch. “I’m sorry, baby. Stuff came up and—”

“Later,” Viviana said before leaving the room.

Focusing his attention on his son instead of the bitter bite his wife’s tone held, Anton crawled into the small single bed. Instantly, Demyan seemed calmer, happier.

“Were you giving Ma a hard time?” Anton asked as he grabbed the book off the small bed stand.

Demyan shook his head with wide eyes. “No way, Papa. I is always good for Ma.”

Anton held back the snort of disbelief that his young son wouldn’t understand. Always good was a bit of a stretch for Demyan. The child was a hell raiser in more ways than one. He gave his parents a run for their money, and that attitude of his made a daily appearance.

“Demyan,” Anton warned. “If you’re lying to me …”

Twinkling, tired blue eyes stared up at Anton with familiar mischief. It was clear he wasn’t going to get anything from his son tonight, but they’d definitely be having a chat about his nighttime behavior in the morning.

“Let’s read your story, little man.”

Demyan grinned into his blanket, satisfied. “Okay.”

Forty minutes and a bit of bribery later, Anton left his sleeping boy to find his wife. In their bedroom, Viviana was hidden under blankets, the soft glow of a lamp giving her the needed light to read the novel in her hands.

“What are you reading?” Anton asked as he began the process of removing his jacket and dress shirt. “Anything good?”

Viviana smirked over the black cover of the book. “The Godfather.”

“Seriously?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Is it accurate in the fact sense?” Anton climbed into his side of the bed, pushing away the blankets. The sight of naked, creamy skin resting against Egyptian cotton sheets had his breath catching hard in his throat. “Damn, baby … you look like … God, I don’t even know.”

“Accurate enough,” Viviana replied. “I only know the ins and outs of some things regarding the Cosa Nostra, so I can’t really say for sure. It’s mostly fictional, though the author did base a character or two on some real life organized crime figures.”

Wait, were they still talking about her book? Screw that.

“Viviana.”

“Hmm?”

Anton swallowed the saliva gathering in his mouth as his gaze roamed over pert breasts and the swell of her hips. Beauty in the purest form. That was his sweet wife. She was sexy without even needing to try and the only thing on earth that could make him hard enough to pound fucking concrete.

“Are you angry with me for being late?” Anton asked, his tone husky.

“When I called, the new girl did manage to tell me you were busy, so I chatted with Jen for a while. She mentioned you had a few visitors show up, so I knew you were probably distracted.”

“I am sorry, Vine. I didn’t mean to miss dinner, and I really needed to give an okay for a shipment tonight.” Even though he hadn’t been able to give that go-ahead. It didn’t even matter. Viviana took precedence, as she always had. The rest could and would wait. “But you didn’t answer my question. Are you angry with me? I’d understand.”

Viviana tossed him a coy glance through dark lashes. “No.”

Just to be sure … “No?”

“Oh, no. But I do think you owe me something special.”

“Absolutely, birthday girl.”