Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Do we just let them leave?” Dmitri murmurs. His hand is on the gun hidden beneath his leather jacket.
“Yes.”
I sit, and after a moment’s pause, so do Dmitri and Vasya. The big man doesn’t even mention that Vasya finished his meal.
I sound calm and collected, but inside my blood runs molten. Tsepov knew what he was doing coming here, and his message was pointed.
“Since when does Tsepov have the fucking balls to do something like this? To come in here and threaten you?”
“Let him do what he thinks he can. We will show him soon enough that he can’t.”
Ivan returns to the table with the restaurant owner’s help, and the dining room slowly returns to life as we finish our food.
I signal Dmitri to bring the car around when Ivan lays a gnarled hand on mine. His skin is dry and paper-thin, and his veins show through it.
“Your father would not have allowed Tsepov to leave like that,” Ivan tells me, his voice low. “You could have ended it.”
“There are too many people in the restaurant. Today is not the day for a bloodbath. It will be handled, Ivan,” I promise, downing the last of my espresso before I stand. “I will not let our Bratva fall, just as I promised. Just as my father promised.”
“You’ll keep that in mind, I hope.” The old man narrows his eyes up at me as though even my height offends him at this moment.
“Always, Ivan.”
Ivan huffs again, and Dmitri takes a last bite of pastry, dabbing at his mouth as he rises to follow me.
“The old man was in a fine mood this morning.” My second-in-command grins as we step into the bright light, eyes adjusting after the restaurant’s gloom. “He must be feeling better now that he’s out of the hospital.”
“I’m convinced he’ll outlive us all,” I reply, climbing into the black SUV as my driver holds the door open.
Dmitri follows me in. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
I wait until the car is moving before I talk again. “I want a full assault on Tsepov.”
Dmitri chokes as he swallows. “A full assault on Tsepov?” he asks between coughs.
“On his operations, on himself, whatever he’s into, I want to know. A turf war is one thing, but killing our men is another.”
“Is this where that woman comes in? The hacker?”
“I want everything on him, and I want a way to take him down. She will help me find it.”
Dmitri eyes me for another moment before returning his attention forward. “Okay, boss.”
“Tsepov started this, and I’m going to end it.”
From the way his shoulders tense, Dmitri knows that’s a promise, not just a threat. But if Andrei Tsepov and his Sokolinaya Bratva are trying to provoke the Kucherov Demon, they’re going to regret ever being born.
8
EVA
Ilean back in my chair and blink. My vision is hazy after hours at the screen. Fear is a great motivator, and I have no idea how much work I’m supposed to finish by day’s end.
Outside, it’s dark except for a glow from the neighboring mansion. I can’t see the ocean now, though I can faintly hear the waves through one open window.
My stomach growls loudly, and I weigh my desire for food against the chance of running into Evgeny. I haven’t heard a single noise outside my room since breakfast this morning, the last time I ate.
At the thought, my mouth waters. I haven’t had anything that good in years, and I secretly hope to find leftovers in the fridge. I open my door, listen for any sound in the house, and hear none. I head down the hall toward the kitchen and stop short when I see Evgeny there.
He’s sitting alone at the kitchen island, papers and a small book spread out before him, next to a single plate and a bottle of beer. For the first time, I’ve caught him in an unguarded moment.
He thinks no one is around to see he’s taken off his ever-present suit coat and draped it over the back of another stool. His head is bent, his gaze on the book in front of him. His plate is still half full, and he inhales the words instead of the food.
His tie is off, draped over the coat. He’s opened his collar and rolled the sleeves of his fog-gray button-down. One hand is threaded through his hair, making it slightly wild. His head is tipped into his palm, his weight braced on his elbow.
I swallow, my pulse picking up at the sight. Not from fear. It joins the butterflies swirling in my stomach, flitting this way and that as my heart follows their skipping path.
Something about Evgeny in this unguarded moment tightens my throat and chest, heat prickling across my skin. He looks more like the gentleman I met at the club, the one I felt an instant attraction to, even a connection, though I’ve never believed in love at first sight.