Page 121 of Give Me What You Will

The door to the bar opened, and a single man entered. He was surprised by how striking he looked, with high cheekbones, dark brown hair sprinkled with gray, and penetrating Arctic blue eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe he thought this Russian gangster would be dressed in all black like a funeral director, covered in tattoos symbolizing power. Instead, Thaddeus Kozlov looked like a regular guy.

Well, that wasn’t fully true, he thought.

Kozlov wore a three-piece olive-green wool suit, with a blue dress shirt beneath, giving him the appearance of both old money and new. His wrist glinted with a vintage watch and slick brown Italian dress shoes. And he was Frankie’s age, maybe a little older. He clocked the cut on his lip, which was swollen and angry, surrounded by brown stubble. He briefly wondered who had sucker punched him, and decided that if he ever got the chance, he would shake that man’s hand.

“Frankie Casavani,” Kozlov spoke in a dark drawl that sounded somewhere between a whisper and a purr with no Russian accent.

Frankie frowned, scrutinizing the man before him. “Yeah. You Kozlov?”

He nodded smoothly and gestured to the seat beside Frankie at the bar.

“Drink?” Frankie asked as politely as he could muster.

Kozlov pursed his lips, “Maybe later.”

Frankie took a sip of his whiskey, anything to cut the nerves. “You’re not exactly what I was expecting.”

The faintest trace of a smile tugged at Kozlov’s lips. “And what were you expecting?”

“I dunno. Not you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said politely, his frosty blue eyes shining with amusement behind his glasses. If Frankie had met this man at the bar, he would’ve thought he was just a normal guy, wanting a beer after a long day at the office.

“I am impressed, Mr. Casavani. Two of my men are currently hospitalized after visiting your bar. Though I am told that their fates were not done by your hand,” Kozlov stated.

He took a sip of whiskey. “They insulted my partner.”

Kozlov surveyed him curiously. “Partner? I wasn’t aware you had dual ownership of this establishment.”

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t.”

Kozlov simply nodded, understanding quickly dawning. “I am in the market for another bar. That is why I had my men visit you.”

“Yeah,” Frankie bit out, holding back his irritation. “I could’ve used a warning that they were comin’ by.”

“I apologize for that. That was not fair on my part. I have been…” Kozlov hesitated, tonguing his lower lip, “distracted the last few days.”

Surprised, he wondered if the apology was genuine or just more bullshit. “Well, we ain’t sorry for sendin’ your boys to the hospital.”

Kozlov made no reaction to this. “I don’t blame you. They are rather brutish even for my taste. This is simply a business meeting now. I have no issue with you, Mr. Casavani—or your Dr. Samuels.”

Kozlov knew about Sam. Of course, he fuckin’ did, he thought, breathing hard through his nose, fingers balling into a tight fist.

“Consider it part of the deal,” Kozlov said slowly. “I will squash any retaliation on my end if you agree to loan me your bar from time to time for… certain purposes.”

“No.”

“No?” Kozlov tilted his head in an almost birdlike manner.

“I’m sellin’ this place to a friend, and we have no interest in gettin’ involved in whatever it is you do. I paid off my father’s tab. We’re through. This place deserves a fresh start.”

Kozlov’s chilly gaze blinked, seeming to contemplate his next words carefully. “Fresh start. Interesting. I heard that you are moving to LA, Mr. Casavani.”

He stiffened.

“Word travels in such a small town,” Kozlov continued smoothly. “I also make sure to know every person I consider doing business with. You would’ve been a good candidate. It’s a shame we can’t come to an agreement.”

Frankie’s hand fisted over the glass.