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He raises his hands as he comes to a stop in front of me. “No weapons. No violence. Sergey only wants to talk.”
I gesture toward the village. A group of elderly Maltese women walk by with paper bags of bread, and a child rides by on his bicycle.
The village is waking up. The world is waking up.
“Where is he?” I ask in Russian.
The man’s eyes widen. “You speak our language?”
“My name is Konstantinov. It’s hardly a surprise.”
“You are Russian?” the man asks.
I shake my head. “Born in America. But my parents were Russian. Where is your employer?”
“Waiting,” the man says. “Follow me. I’ll take you to him.”
My survival instincts roar at me not to go with him, and I take a step back. “Tell him to come out in the open. I’m not being led to my death.”
The man winces. “It is difficult to tell him anything right now.”
I detect some distaste in his voice, even in the Russian, which I have rarely had cause to speak since I left the States and stopped associating with the Bratva. Perhaps Sergey’s men find it as ridiculous as I do, that he’d drag them all the way out here, that he’d forced them to come to Malta for a personal vendetta, instead of making money in New York or Moscow.
“He knows me. He knows I’m not an idiot.” I nod to a nearby bench, next to the dusty road, which is empty at the moment. “Tell him I’m waiting here for him. We can talk like gentlemen.”
Without waiting for a reply, I stride over to the bench, nerves buzzing up and down my body. Sergey has always been on-edge, but he was able to hide it for a time when I was working with him. But after what happened – after I told him no, fuck no – something seemed to snap in him.
And then, as the saying goes, all hell broke loose.
I curl my fist around my cell phone as I wait, watching people stroll by, my eyes tracking them to check for any sign of weapons. Jocko will call me if the situation with Kelly and Lena changes.
Kelly.
Her name alone sends thoughts rioting around my mind, hungry sensations surging through my body. I think of the way she stared, so wide-eyed, so receptive when I told her who she belonged to. I think of the blush which marked her gorgeous cheeks and the way she pursed her lips.
I think of her, all the different shades of her, and how good it’s going to feel to make her mine.
But thoughts of Lena slam into me a second later, and I glance over to Medina, to make sure she hasn’t somehow slipped Jocko’s watch.
No, no damn way.
Jocko’s never made a mistake in all the time I’ve known him.
Small stuff, fine, but nothing as big as letting my daughter find out I’m just miles away from her.
Luckily her balcony doesn’t afford her a view of my bench, because she might be able to tell it’s me even across the hazy Maltese air.
Finally, the Russian emerges from the village, his eyes downcast. Drops of blood slide down his face and over his lips, and then Sergey swaggers up next to him.
In Russian, he spits, “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
The man turns and stalks back into the village.
The years have not been kind to Sergey. He was lean when I left the states, but his belly has swollen now, making his new steroid-infused muscles look even more ridiculous. He’s five years younger than me but his face is creased with all the drugs he’s taken, all the liquor he’s abused himself with.
I stand to greet him, looking him eye to eye. We’re the same height, around six and a half feet. His arms are bigger than mine. His shoulders are chunkier. But I can tell it’s from drugs. They have a swollen, balloon-like quality.
“It has been a long time, brother,” Sergey says.
The word brother sends hateful shivers moving through me, the beast in me making my fingers twitch as I resist the urge to go for his throat.
I know what sort of business this man is involved in…
Even if I didn’t before, even if I made a mistake by ever getting involved with him.
“Whose fault is that?” I try to keep my tone civil, but rage boils up through it. “Why are you here, Sergey?”
“Why do you think?” He laughs as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, aiming a sickening leer at me. “I heard your sweet daughter was leaving American soil and I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. I sent a man… And I was right.”
“But why?” I snarl. “I’ve kept to our arrangement. You exiled me and in exchange, you said you’d leave my family alone. You swore on the bonds of the Bratva.”
