My hands fly to my gun. So do my men’s. But it’s only for an instant: the second I see who it is, I lower mine. But I don’t tell them to lower theirs.
“You!” Vlad splutters, followed by two brainless gorillas that roughly resemble the ones I fired earlier. Seriously, does the vacant stare come with the job or do they give them a complimentary lobotomy? “Do not ‘Vlad’ me. You know why I’m here.”
“I’ll assume this is a social call.” The threat in my tone is clear enough: Do not test me.
Unfortunately, Vlad’s not much brighter than the company he keeps. “What are your intentions with my daughter?” he demands, spittle flying everywhere. Grisha looks tempted to hold out an umbrella for me. Really, I wouldn’t say no.
“Marriage,” I deadpan. “You’ve known this for a while, if I’m not mistaken.
