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Frustration flogs me.
“The empty offices didn’t offer much,” Stepan reports. “Damn ghost tenants are actual ghosts. A few hundred was as much as I could scrape up myself.”
“Wonderful.” I shake my head while staring at the rest of the list. “We still need to scope out the other locations. The nightclubs near Meatpacking might have more of what we’re looking for. I want eyes all over the place. I want hands in every fucking cookie jar in the city.”
I glare at Volodya. “I want dicks tostay in their pantswhen their owners are on the job.”
A sheepish chuckle rises out of him along with an obedient nod. I pass out the rest of the folders and sit back, watching my brigadiers quietly.
I tuck the master list of Cardona’s places into my folder and point to the door. “Dismissed.”
Chairs jostle around as my brigadiers fly into action. They each nod before leaving the room, taking with them the hot frustration that clogged my office. It doesn’t take mine, but it reduces it by about 5 percent.
I pinch the bridge of my nose once I know everyone is gone.
Goddamn disappointment. Every single one of those places, I think. I grab the folder and tuck it under my arm, exiting my office.I’d have better luck robbing a bank.
I stop short outside the door. Liya sits in one of the plush white chairs of the lobby, wrapped up in that knitted cardigan she can’t seem to put down. Black leggings cling to her legs, and stylish heeled boots clad her feet. Her hair is down—a request I made the other day so she looks presentable—with a couple of strategic curls framing her face.
The way she sits is dignified. Regal, even.
When she sees me, she stands up and approaches, carrying more confidence than usual. It actually looks really good on her.
I want to see more of it.
Her brows furrow when she stops in front of me. “Frustrated?”
Like a skilled artist, I sculpt the calm back into my face. But I don’t lie to her. “A bit.”
“Need your wife’s invaluable help with your sinister plan?”
I smile. Yeah, confidence looksreallygood on her.
“Come into my office.”
Her eyelids stutter like she’s having a seizure. “Did I just hear that correctly?”
“I’m not repeating myself.” I turn around and walk into my office, holding the door open for her. “Want a drink?”
“Maybe.” She walks inside and pauses near the round table, shaky fingers touching it like she’s just stepped into the Oval Office. And then her hand flattens, apprehension gone. Self-assurance is front and center. She’s coming into her skin a bit more. “Not vodka.”
I chortle. “Notcheapvodka.”
“Tea works just fine for me.”
“You hated the stuff when you first got here.” I drop the folder on the table, tucking one hand into my pocket. While frustration dwells in my chest, it’s less intense with Liya around.
I try not to think about why as I say, “Viktoria has converted you.”
She shrugs while drawing illegible shapes on the wood. “It’s better than the vodka you drink.” A smirk cracks her expression as she meets my gaze like she’s just delivered a challenge. “I mean, to each his own, right? I’ve seen people drink weirder shit.”
“If you didn’t chug your shots like a sorority girl, you might like it.”
“Right, I’m supposed to sip it,” she teases. “Savor it.”
Whatever frustration dared to linger fades. She has a sharp memory. Nothing gets past her. It’s impressive enough to make me step toward her.
“How much did you hear?” I ask in a low voice. “I know you were listening.”
