8
Pavel
I get up from the red leather couch in the living room of the penthouse.
“Too much of a chick flick?” Story asks. She’s curled up in Oleg’s lap on the other end of the sofa. She picked the movie playing on the television—The Spy Who Dumped Me. Nikolai’s in the chair beside us.
“Nah. It’s fine.” Although it’s true, now that we have three women in the house, our television diet has changed significantly.
“It’s stupid,” Nikolai says, then holds his hands up when Oleg glares. “I just mean why would you t*****e someone that way? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re just sad you can’t wear a leotard while you question captives,” his twin, Dima counters. He’s at his makeshift desk—a table in the middle of the living room—because he likes to work where all the action is. Or because he can
