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Yuri grinned. “Svetlana.”
I wanted to wipe the smile off his face. “Yeah, her. I bet he’d never send Svetlana away.”
The second we were on the highway, he sped up. “Why would he? The Bulgarians don’t give a crap about her.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He cursed. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t worry about it. It’s just some assholes who want to cut in on our turf. Kristoff will handle them. It’s probably just a rumor. The only reason they’re not out of San Fran yet is because the gathering is near and Kristoff doesn’t want any trouble right now.”
The hero-worship in his voice was palpable.
“You do know he’s only human, right?”
“Not to me.”
I remember Kristoff mentioning how he’d found Yuri in a leaking boat many years ago.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” I asked softly.
“Thepakhansaved my life.”
I relaxed into the seat. This car was so smooth, the way it hugged the road. “You never told me how you came to work for him.”
He grinned. “I kept coming back, that’s how. He got sick and tired of returning me to the homes they placed me in.”
“You were in foster care,” I said softly, stating the obvious.
His smile disappeared. “Don’t know why they call it ‘care’—there wasn’t much caring done. When I got to house number three and had to fight three other kids over a meal, I was done. They placed me back in the home, where I had to fight off an orderly sneaking into my room at night.”
I gasped, but he just shrugged as if it was nothing.
“I broke his nose before anything happened, then left. Didn’t have a dollar in my pocket, so I lived in a boat at the wharf for a while. One very dark and stormy night, I nearly drowned but Kristoff pulled me out of the water. Been with his crew ever since.” He cut me a chiding look. “He took me in and saved me. So to me, him sending you away to keep you safe means he gives a damn.”
I never thought he didn’t give a damn about me. I just wished he would care about me by his side.
5
KRISTOFF
I accepted a glass of scotch from Gio Detta. After I’d dropped off his passed-out wife, he showed me to his library. I still couldn’t quite believe how frantic my friend had looked when I’d opened the car and he saw his wife lying in the back. The epitome of cold-hearted business guru wearing sleek Italian custom-made suits had almost seemed out of his mind with relief.
I’d known Gio practically my whole life. We grew up on the streets of San Francisco. We fought together, side by side. I even entrusted him with my brother Hector’s well-being. A brother who loathed me, but was loyal as fuck to this Italian. Gio was as steady and tough as nails. Men like him didn’t get frantic. They didn’t ask for help, even from a friend, unless they were desperate.
Brought to his knees by a woman.
Usually during poker night we sat in the basement, which resembled a five-star man cave. It was like in the old days when we played with one-dollar bills. Even though Gio had gone legit, we still had each other’s backs.
Spreading the rumor that we were fighting over a piece of real estate had been a ploy to ward off competitors. Neither of us could have imagined that it would bring a piece of shit like Bianchi to my doorstep. It had given me the opportunity to repay my debt. I hated obligations, especially non-verbal, man-code ones.
I gave my drink an appreciative glance. “I like this scotch.”
“I’ll have a case delivered to you.”
“You should come try the new vodka I’ve imported from St. Petersburg. Smooth as a stripper pole, and with a killer burn. One bottle and you’ll be swaying on your feet.” I smiled, feeling as light as a feather. “We are even now.”
A decade ago, Gio took down an asshole who was about to stab me in the back.
“You sound too damn happy about it.”
