Page 39 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

I’m in no mood for jokes. I still haven’t heard from Tamara, and this meeting will go one of two ways: we’ll either walk out of here with a strong handshake and a promise from the Russians to start treating people like human beings, or we’ll walk out of here with a target on our backs.

My money is on option number two.

Why would they even entertain our proposal to clean the city up together when they can earn money from trading women and kids who have survived an ocean crossing in horrific circumstances and are unlikely to ever be traced.

We’re greeted in the cream, gold, and mahogany foyer by Andrej Ivanov, who hasn’t even donned a suit for the occasion. My gut clenches. He has made his intentions clear, and we haven’t been introduced to the Pakhan yet.

I follow him and Aiden through to Leonid Ivanov’s office, glancing all around for a glimpse of Tamara. Is she aware of this meeting? When the Pakhan told her, did she ask to be present in the hope that I might accompany Aiden, or is that crossing a line too far? I know nothing about her relationship with him. Their history. Family connection if there is one.

Or perhaps she heard that we were coming and insisted on being elsewhere to avoid seeing me in person.

I feel like a teenager with fine hair barely covering the acne on my chin, getting sweaty palms and a semi-erection every time my high school crush walks past. Perhaps that’s where I went wrong. A childhood crush might’ve beaten this obsessiveness out of me and let me grow up to be a halfway-normal guy who doesn’t fall head-over-heels for a beautiful Russian enforcer with Olympic gymnast moves who comes every time I suck her pussy.

I surreptitiously rearrange my pants before following Aiden into Leonid Ivanov’s office. Fortunately, neither Aiden nor Connor notices. My brother would have something to say about it if he did.

The Bratva leader’s voice carries across the room, commanding attention as he shakes Aiden’s hand.

But I’ve already smelled Tamara’s distinctively heady perfume, and my pulse is gaining speed at an alarming rate as I glance around the room and spot her in the far corner with another woman I recognize as Victoria Ivanov, the Pakhan’s sister and family lawyer.

Our eyes meet, and heat pumps around my body, sobering when I notice the bruising on the side of her face. My fists are clenched so tightly I could crack stone with my knuckles. If I find out the Pakhan did this to her, I’ll rip his limbs from his torso with my bare hands and feed them to the sharks.

“Leonid Ivanov.” He introduces himself, and I recover in time to shake his extended hand and respond with my name. “Please take a seat. Help yourself to water or whiskey if you would prefer.”

He gestures to the long table, where a jug of iced water, an ice bucket, and a bottle of 18 Year Old Jameson sit in the center. But I don’t miss the way his glance travels back and forth between me and Tamara while his welcoming smile doesn’t falter.

Tamara joins us, sitting across the table from me, between Victoria and Andrej.

Her expression has given nothing away. I can’t read if she wants to be here to be close to me or if she would rather the ground open her up and swallow her whole so that she doesn’t have to be reminded of me spreading her legs wide and sucking her clit until her orgasm makes her body twitch.

My loins, however, know exactly what they want, and I’m grateful for the table covering my embarrassment.

A small smile, that’s all I want. I’ll deal with whoever hurt her later, but for now, a tiny acknowledgement that she has no regrets. She promised me there would be no regrets, and I believed her. I’ll suck it up and move on if she doesn’t want to see me again, but I can’t live with being someone’s regret, not when they’re the best thing that ever happened to me.

“Our paths crossed when my wife’s refuge was under construction,” Leonid leads, pouring a double shot of whiskey into a glass with a splash of iced water. He sits back and sips his drink slowly. “You were proposing to acquire some land adjoining the property, and I opposed it for obvious reasons.”

Aiden smiles as he half-fills a glass with whisky and adds ice with the silver tongs provided. “There will always be more land. Had I known of your wife’s intentions in advance, I would’ve withdrawn my offer immediately.”

This is the reason why Aiden is the boss, and I’m his bodyguard. I don’t have the patience for small talk especially in a room where testosterone is rampant, and the woman I love is wearing a bruise on her face that makes me want to beat the fucker who touched her to a bloody pulp.

Leonid is silent, waiting for Aiden to lay his cards on the table first.

“I’m sure you know why we’re here.” Aiden isn’t accepting any bullshit distraction from his purpose, and it’s at times like these, that I see his father in him, even if he doesn’t recognize it himself. “It has been brought to my attention that human trafficking is taking place in the Port of Chicago.”

An uncomfortable silence follows, during which the Pakhan deliberately avoids eye contact with his siblings. Finally, he says, “I’m surprised it has taken this information so long to reach you.”

Aiden’s shoulders tense, his spine straight as he holds Leonid’s gaze. “You don’t deny it then.”

Andrej Ivanov sits forward, about to protest, but the Pakhan stops him with a single flick of his eyes. I glance at Tamara, trying to gauge her reaction, but her shields are up, and she refuses to look at anyone. She doesn’t have a drink in front of her. I get the distinct impression that she is trying to make herself as small and as invisible as possible to prevent any attention from landing in her lap.

Or perhaps this is for my benefit to stop me from announcing to the room that we fucked our way around my apartment less than a week ago.

“Human trafficking has been happening around the world for decades.” Leonid Ivanov chooses his words carefully.

“But not in Chicago,” Aiden counters. “At least, not in the numbers I’m hearing about now.”

Leonid watches him closely. “Unfortunately, I must disagree with you. Whatever you have heard, and I have no intention of asking for your sources, you have been misinformed.”

Tamara doesn’t move. It’s impossible to tell if she is breathing or not, she is so still, but her body is poised for fight or flight, and I don’t know if this is because she expects the meeting to end badly, or if it’s solely based on the subject matter.