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He gave Roman preferential treatment because Roman was a good tipper.
It was the kind of transactional relationship Roman understood. He’d never been comfortable with people bowing and scraping in front of him because he was Igor’s son, or even because he was a high-ranking brigadier in the bratva.
It didn’t feel earned. Both of those things had been given to him to some degree.
It was one of the reasons he enjoyed coming to Basil’s. He was just a man here, like everyone else. If he received speedy service from Roberto, it wasn’t because Roberto was afraid of him or because the other man had a hidden agenda. He simply wanted the big tip Roman would give him for that service.
Easy. Predictable.
Roman downed one of the shots, then turned to survey the crowd of patrons, some of them dancing like one writhing mass at the center of the club, others mingling at its edges as the DJ spun music at one end of the large room.
It wasn’t a high-end club. With the lights on, the place was seedy, with cracks in the walls and scuffed linoleum. But in the dark, with multicolored lights sweeping the dance floor, the place was serviceable for its patrons as a place to get drunk and get fucked.
He turned away, leaned his hands on the bar, and stared into his remaining shot of vodka.
He should have had his head in the fight to come. Instead, his mind was where it had been almost constantly for the last week.
With Ruby. The opposite of easy and predictable.
He removed his phone and looked at the message she’d texted him earlier.
Thank you. Truly. Olivia loves the cake.
He’d had a chocolate cake delivered to her apartment that afternoon along with two dozen peonies that had been flown in from the Netherlands that morning. He’d wanted to do something nice for her, something that might take her mind off the tense situation that morning in her apartment.
He’d also wanted to give her his number.
He’d been embarrassed when he’d realized they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. The oversight told a story — and not an attractive one. It was a product of Roman’s dating history, a string of hookups that had never — not once — made Roman want to give out his number, to see a woman again.
But he wanted to see Ruby again.
Again and again.
You’re welcome, he’d texted back.I want to see you again.
Her reply had come an hour later, as if she’d had to think about it.I’d like that.
Next week?He had no idea what his life would look like next week, but whatever it looked like, he wanted Ruby in it.
Sounds great.
In the meantime,he’d texted,call if you need anything. Anything at all.
He thought of Adam, hated the fact that the bastard had so much access to Ruby and Olivia. He was a loose cannon with a short fuse. Roman didn’t want him anywhere near Ruby and her daughter.
He clenched his fists, then pushed thoughts of Adam Bishop aside. He would use those thoughts later, when he faced his opponent in the fight club.
And there were other things to think about, because somewhere, at that very moment, the mercenaries he’d hired from Capstone — a shadowy organization that advertised itself as private security but was really just a bunch of ex-military turned guns for hire — were on their way to Lev Rostov’s ship four hundred miles off the coast of New Jersey.
Roman had wanted to go along for the ride, had even offered to pay Magnus Clausen — the Danish billionaire who’d founded Capstone — a premium for the privilege, but it had been a hard no.
According to Clausen, civilians, even dangerous ones like Roman, were a distraction to his team.
Roman didn’t like it. Didn’t like the fact that the key to his takeover was in the hands of men he didn’t know.
But Max had been relieved. He was used to covering Roman’s ass, to yanking Roman out of the fires he was intent on throwing himself into, but the thought of taking the chopper out to where Clausen’s super yacht was floating in international waters to then board a boat that would pirate the gold from Lev’s ship had been a bridge too far, even for Max.
Now all Roman could do was wait. Clausen would notify him when the gold was in hand, would deliver it to Roman in the morning if all went well. After that, Roman would use the men he’d enlisted to move the gold through channels Roman had established, ensuring that the money went to him instead of his father.
