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1
MISHA
“I’m startingto think our information was wrong,” Anton said, swirling his drink in the bottom of his glass before draining it.
Despite being an upscale bar in the Loop, the music was louder than I would have imagined for a crowd like this, even in the VIP area. It wasn’t a dance club, after all. Dalton’s was one of the many watering holes for Chicago’s rich and powerful, which is why I was shocked we were even there to begin with. But this is where the rainbow-colored drug trail led, so this is where my men and I had camped out for the past several weeks with precious little to show for it.
Valery hummed his agreement, swallowing his vodka. “We haven’t been approached once in three weeks. Not even in the bathroom.”
“Or the parking lot.”
“I’m starting to feel offended. I’m approachable. Don’t I look approachable?”
“Not in the slightest. Wouldn’t you agree, boss? Misha?” Anton’s voice went up a notch, sounding above the music. “Are you listening?”
“No. Can’t you see he has his sights on something else? Or someoneelse, I should say,” Valery replied with a chuckle.
I tore my gaze away from the young, dark-haired bartender down below and shot each of my companions an unamused look. “It’s him.He’sthe one. He’s been dealing at the bar.”
They both turned and watched the young man as he moved back and forth behind the glossy bar, chatting with the other bartenders and mixing drinks for the servers. When a younger guy strolled over, his hands shoved in his pockets and a line of perspiration across his forehead, the bartender scanned him up and down and tossed his head toward the far end.
The patron handed him a folded bill and the bartender pocketed it so fast it was no wonder I’d missed him until now. Pouring a tumbler full of alcohol, he garnished it with a twist of lemon and slid it across the bar top. A second later, a napkin landed next to it. Not beneath it. And not the dark green coaster with a calligraphic D emblazoned in the middle—a plain white napkin with a small lump in the center.
The buyer snatched both items off the bar and hurried away.
I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to figure it out. To be fair, our focus had been on surveilling the patrons and the servers. The bartenders hadn’t been on my radar simply because I didn’t think anyone would be reckless enough to dealatthe bar with all of the cameras pointed toward the cash registers. Alas, I underestimated my young quarry. It wouldn’t happen again.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Valery snapped, halfway to his feet. “Thatkid?! I’ll break him in half.”
I caught the sleeve of his suit and yanked him back before he could carry out his threat. “No. Not like that. And not here.”
“You don’t want us to fix this?” Anton asked, his dark brows furrowing. “But Sergei said—”
“I’llfix it,” I replied, standing and buttoning my suit jacket. Finishing the rest of my vodka tonic, I started toward the stairs, glass in hand, when Anton’s voice made me pause.
“Are you sure about that, boss?”
When I turned to look at him, Valery was right behind me, his shoulders pushed back, ready for a fight with meorthe bartender. “I’m coming with you.”
I cocked an eyebrow at them both. “You don’t think I’m capable of handling my own business?”
“No, I—”
“We just—”
Raising a hand to silence them, I took a step forward so they could hear me over the music. “The two of you better be gone by the time I come back. He’s not going to talk if there’s an audience.” If he’d talk at all. I’d have a better assessment once I could observe him up close.
Despite the muscles flexing in his jaw, Valery nodded curtly.
Anton looked equally displeased as he ushered the hitman in the other direction. In the wake of Sasha’s departure, the two of them had become even more overprotective of my well-being. Not without reason, but I didn’t need my soldiers looking aftermelike a lost duckling. My body was mostly healed from the beating I took in Sasha’s place so there was no need for them to keep stepping in in my stead. Besides, if I couldn’t fend off someone smaller than me, I deserved to have my ribs broken again.
Smoothing down the front of my olive suit, I descended the stairs from the VIP area and cut through the crowded bar.
The bartender in question glanced up when I was still across the room and did a double take. It only lasted a moment before he resumed assembling the martinis in front of him, not even missing a beat. Observant and quick. Already a step above his fellow dealers.
I didn’t know if he recognized me from a past business dealing or if it was from the weeks I’d spent in his periphery that made him give me a second glance, but I wasn’t familiar with him in the slightest. It was time to change that.
“What can I get you?” one of the other bartenders asked, leaning over the bar to hear better.
