“I work for ambassador,” she said. “He asks for English?—”
“Do I look like fucking Bulgrov?” he growled.
Short fuse on this one.
Up went her eyebrows, but she said nothing.
Silence, until he broke it. “Take coat off.”
She slid the garment off her shoulders.
He smiled, his missing front tooth hijacking her attention. She wanted to tell him to see a damn dentist and get his fucking pie hole fixed.
He leaned forward. “Call me Pavel, when alone.”
She nodded once as the waiter appeared with two lowball glasses of vodka. “Anything else?”
“Water,” she said.
The waiter glanced at Donskoy who lifted the glass. “We are Russian. Drink Vodka.”
“Water,” she insisted as she raised the glass.
The waiter offered a tight nod before leaving.
Donskoy lifted his glass. “To us.”
Yuck.
She sipped the alcohol, set down the glass. Donskoy tossed back the liquid.
“Tell me about you,” she said.
As Donskoy launched into a monologue, Halston thought of Gabriel. Angelo’s death had hit him hard. She’d spent hours looking at the video of the woman—both inside the restaurant and during the shooting. She was seventy-percent sure they were the same person, but Gabriel wasn’t convinced.
“Even if you’re right,” he’d said. “Who is she and why is she trying to kill me?”
The server returned with a glass of water and another lowball glass of vodka. “Straw?” the server asked her.
“No thanks,” she replied as she lifted the glass, drank down half.
Donskoy flexed his biceps. “I bench four-hundred pounds.” He flashed her a grin, but his missing front tooth wasn’t buying him any points.
“You’re a beast,” she said.
“Da, ya gotov. Vso radi tebya.”Yes, I am. All for you.
Bring it on asshole.
He lifted his lowball glass. “Cheers to Minka.”
She sipped the vodka, then finished the water.
He lifted her vodka glass. “Me?”
She nodded. He downed the drink.
“You like work with Yuri Bulgrov?” he asked.
