AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She smiles, a brilliant glint behind her pretty baby blues. “Impossible,” her mouth says.It’s the truth, says her eyes.
I brush my fingers across her cheek, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “You better behave while I’m gone. I expect my territory to be exactly the way I left it.”
Sandra smiles even wider. It makes my chest tight. It’s honestly unfair how beautiful she is. “I guess I can leave the south alone. You know, since you asked so nicely.”
“I appreciate that.”
She licks her lips, presses her hands gingerly against my chest. “Kiss for the road?” She says it like it’s a joke, but I’m prepared to take her offer very,veryseriously.
I adore the little gasp she makes when I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her flush against me, claiming her lips without the usual gruffness. I take my sweet time, savoring the taste of her lips and swallowing the sound of her delighted giggle. There’s a fluttering sensation in my stomach, a heated excitement flowing through my veins. It shouldn’t be this hard to part ways. We’ve done it almost every day for the past few weeks…
So why does this kiss feel different?
At what point did I become so familiar with the shape of her? Why do I yearn for the satisfied sigh she makes after a particularly long, deep kiss? When did the thought of spending a couple of days away from her concern me?
I pull back, but only just. “You should leave first. Your men are waiting outside and it’s probably not a good idea for them to see me.”
Sandra nods, something like guilt flashing across her face. “Right. I’ll see you later?”
I dare to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you later, princess.”
Chapter 22
Andrei
Riga, Latvia.
The city is built on a river, a mosaic of the old and the new. The centuries old cobblestone streets are lined with modern lamp posts, the exterior walls of buildings painted in an array of muted beiges and pastels. On the surface, it’s a quaint riverside city. A perfect vacation spot for those who don’t mind the year-round cold.
But I know the truth. Just below the surface, the capital city of Latvia has a swarming, thriving criminal underbelly. It’s simply a matter of knowing where to look.
“They’re late,” Samuil grumbles. He cracks his knuckles, then his neck, then his back, the loud popping similar to squeezing a fistful of bubble wrap. It’s one of his biggest tells when he’s nervous. If there’s a joint he can crack, he will.
“Have a little patience,” I remind him as I fiddle with my lighter. “They’ll be here.”
“What if it’s some kind of trap?”
The possibility this meeting might be a set-up did dawn on me, but we’re not in a good enough position to let this deal fall through. Without a reliable supplier in Latvia, we’d lose half of our income. Unlike the Antonovs, I can’t afford to just give up territory and business. We Nicolaevich are strong and mighty, but even I recognize we’re only fledglings. There’s no sense in taking flight before our wings are fully grown.
A silver sedan with its windows tinted black approaches. It stops roughly a block away, flashing the headlights once.
I put my lighter away. “This is our guy. Stay alert.”
Samuil nods. “You got it.”
This isn’t an ideal location for a meeting. I don’t like that it’s out in the open, though I suspect Barda did this on purpose. There’s nothing I hate more than feeling out of my element, totally at the mercy of another man’s whim. At least the evening is plenty dark so our rendezvous can occur under the cover of night. I have every intention of making negotiations fast and painless.
And then I can go home and see Sandra.
Barda is anything but discrete, but I knew that the second I laid eyes on him. Where I instruct my brothers to dress modestly to avoid detection, Barda doesn’t subscribe to the same line of thinking. Everything about him screams the stereotypical image of a gangster you’d see in the movies or on TV. Several thick chains around his stubby neck, gaudy bejeweled rings on his sausage fingers, and even though it’s close to midnight, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses.
Talk about insufferable.
“Nicolaevich, my friend!” he greets much too loudly. “Welcome to Riga.”
“I’m not here for pleasantries, Barda. Let’s get down to business.”
He puts his hands on his hips and whistles. “Damn, you Russians really are a bunch of cold pricks, huh? And don’t get me wrong, I mean that as a compliment.”
