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So handsome. So peaceful.
My fingertip traced the sharp outline of his jaw, and I quickly withdrew my hand like I’d been burned.
Here I was, with my legs shamelessly strewn over his thighs, all naked for him. Yet he lay covered in his unbuttoned shirt and briefs which he pulled up as soon as we were finished.
Something sunk in my chest. Something heavy and more burdening than the realization of my father leaving me behind.
This man did not belong to me.
He’d made my heart soar. Made my heart burn. But I doubted I did anything to him. I was just like every other girl to him. Like the woman from the other night, I was...nobody.
I rolled off him and picked up my rag-like jumpsuit with shaky hands. I’d made the biggest mistake of my life sleeping with him. Tears blurred my vision. But somehow, I was going to make it right.
And I knew just how.
Chapter 9 - Alexei
I groaned, rubbed my forehead, and read through more reports on our warehouses in Los Angeles, Miami, and Detroit. Ten reports in total; eight of them, goods in perfect condition; two of them, raided. I’d been so focused on finding Mike, I ignored some other businesses that needed close supervision.
A bunch of other guys from the west coast had a pile of gambling debts, one bar and a strip club in Tampa suffered a police raid, and in Las Vegas a big blow, we had a few disturbances from the leader of the American Mafia. Joe Brown.
I gritted my teeth. He’d been getting under our skin for a while now. Maybe a small visit won’t hurt.
The phone vibrated on the desk, and I shut the laptop. Leaning back on the swivel chair, I grabbed it and pressed it on my ear. “Yes?”
“Alexei.”
I straightened up and put the phone on speaker. My lips twitched and I shook my head. “Rafa?”
A low chuckle rumbled through the lone, and I imagined him shaking his head. “Privyet [hi].I guess it’s been, how do they say it there, it’s been a minute?”
“It sure has.”
“The bosses speak highly of your work in the Bronx.”
“What can I say? Products of their investment.”
“Good.”
If I guessed right, Igor had contacted him much sooner than I thought. Rafail Varkov never called to exchange pleasantries. He was always a man on a mission. If he called now, it meant one thing.
“Igor reached out. Said you needed help with some fuckingsvoloch’[bastard].” His words were thickened with our accent, and the expressive angry emotion that followed. “I found him.Made two appearances on the tracker. One sighting in Finland and the other, in Le Chemin de la Corniche, Luxembourg. Currently, he’s in Capellen.”
Sounded more like he was on a vacation rather than in hiding.
Relief, like an unburdened saddle, left my shoulders. There was a new rush, to find the bastard and make him pay. For the debt and for being an asshole of a father to her.
The woman that made my blood boil a hundred degrees hotter than it ever had.
Rafail was saying something. I blinked rapidly and tried to string his words together. “...dead. Bullets, explosions, fake accidents. Whatever you want. I’ll do anything for a friend.”
I knew what he’d asked:Do you want him dead?
All Rafail needed was confirmation. A simple yes, and Mike’s dead body would appear on the morning news the next day. Did I want him dead? Before a heartbeat, my answer was yes. I wanted him six feet under, with two bullet holes in his head.
But I hesitated.
I drummed my fingers on the wood and threw my head back, gazing at the ceiling. “Leave it for now.”
