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In any case, that was what Ares wanted to “run past me” after our meeting earlier. Leo’s gotten Anya a membership to Venom to help facilitate her random fucks. So the plan was for me to make an appearance myself, find her, seduce her, and get her talking about anything business-related she may have heard from Leo.
That plan went a little sideways when she fuckingrecognized me, of course. Anya might be dumb…and she is…but I doubt even she’d be dumb enough to start talking about her boyfriend’s Bratva business with someone who’s very obviously a member of a competing family.
And then, of course, Kitten grabbed me and kissed me, and the plan went from merely full of holes to sunk to the bottom of the sea right next to the fuckingTitanicin about a nanosecond.
Not that I have any regrets. It was honestly a shit plan to begin with, and I get more than a little pissed when Ares wants to weaponize how I am with women for business purposes.
I mean, yes, I have issues. I’m not a fucking whore, though.
Ihave plans involving Leo too. But mine involve spying on him using the state-of-the-art surveillance equipment I’ve got stashed in an apartment across the street from the restaurant he uses as an office. Not banging his girl.
And fuck, I should have been there twenty-fiveminutes ago now.
Quickly, I knock back the rest of my drink and get dressed. I glance once back at the bed before I roll my eyes and resist the urge to slap myself.
Then I’m outta there.
* * *
Half an hour later,I’m pulling the hood of my sweatshirt down low over my face as I slip in the back door of the apartment building. I’ve rented the studio on the fourth floor through a shell company, just to be safe. I’m not stupid. But you can’t be too careful.
As it stands, we’re justpotentiallyin a business standoff versus the Russians. But I’m hyper aware how it would look getting busted spying on Gavan’s top captain in his own place of business when we’re not openly in hostilities. Yet.
As much pride as I have in my own family, and as much as I’d love to tell Gavan and his crew to go fuck themselves, that would be epically unwise. We made ourselves much stronger when we partnered our family with the Kildares. But the Reznikov Bratva is a fucking powerhouse. Not to mention allies with about four other equally huge Bratva families.
So the name of the game right now is “make sure you don’t get fucking caught”.
I can do that.
In the empty rented studio, I leave the lights off as I move to the window. I crack the blinds just enough to be able to see out, looking at the front of Leo’s restaurant, The Pearl of the Black Sea: famous—or should I say infamous—for its overpriced caviar, cheap swill vodka poured into bottles with premium labels, and the fact that Leo Stavrin does most of his business out of a third floor, front-facing office.
An office I currently have two cameras with telephoto lenses and a military-grade targeted microphone aimed at.
I slip on the headphones, squinting through one of the cameras as I focus the mic on the office windows across the street.
Shit.
All I’m hearing is garbled static. There’s a few hints of men’s voices, and even a woman’s—Anya, probably. But I can’t hear shit. And the shades are drawn, too.
Goddammit.
I pull away from the camera and peer through the blinds themselves.Fuck. I glare venomously at the neon sign for the restaurant that hangs just outside Leo’s office windows. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember reading something about the flickering wavelengths of neon throwing off targeted microphones. That might or might not be bullshit, but either way, I can’t hear a damn thing.
Fuck.
I try to get anything for a few more minutes before I throw in the towel and admit defeat. This isn’t happening. Not tonight, at least.
I’m about to shut everything down and go home, when something catches my eye outside. It’s a girl storming out the front door of the restaurant. My brow furrows as I watch her, her back to me as she takes what looks like a shaky breath and shoves her fingers through her long blonde hair.
And then suddenly, the light from the neon sign above her glints off the bracelet on her wrist.
No, not a bracelet.
I go still. My face lowers to the viewfinder of the camera next to me, peering at her now through the telephoto lens.
Awristband. A gold and white one.
She’s wearing black heels with ornate golden bows on the toes. A backless, sexy—but nottoosexy—little black cocktail dress.
