Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Olivia stays close. My men remain outside with Nico leading the protection team. He’s set up out back with men on the roof and across the street, all of them staying hidden so Danil doesn’t get wind of my muscle in the area and fail to show. But I’d never bring my wife to a meeting like this without ample firepower on our side, even if the bastard wanted us to show up unarmed. There’s no such thing as unarmed in my world.
“Nice place,” she remarks, checking out the fake grape vines etched on the walls, the big gleaming pizza ovens, the guys working with ruthless efficiency as they flip and stretch the dough, the tables and chairs spread out toward the back of the space along the right side. The left is dominated by pies lined up under glass, glistening and gorgeous and ready to be heated. I spot a man sitting alone in the far corner, straight-backed, pale with dark hair beginning to thin, and I recognize him all at once: that’s Danil, the quiet teenager I remember from school, ten years older.
I walk toward him with Olivia at my heels. He looks up and his light blue eyes are startling, bluer than the sky, bluer than the ocean. He’s got a straight nose, square jaw, and a scar along his forehead that I don’t remember. He looks more weathered since the last time I saw him, all that baby fat gone, replaced by stark black prison-style tattoos and muscle. He stands, frowning deeply like his face is stuck in a scowl, and nods at me.
“You came,” he says like there was any question. “And you brought her. I didn’t think you would.”
There’s no accent. Danil’s from this area as far as I know. He’s Russian in the same way I’m Italian or Olivia’s Mexican: our parents are from somewhere else, somewhere we weren’t born, but we’re as American as it gets.
“As discussed.” I look around, trying to catch sight of a bodyguard, but there’s nothing. Seems he really did honor the agreement, which is absurd. His eyes flash to Olivia and something flickers there on his face. It’s brief, less than a second, but it’s puzzling—he’s either angry, or in pain, or a combination of the two. “You remember Olivia Cuevas?” I gesture toward her and she gives Danil a tight smile.
“Yes, I remember,” he says and stands stiffly regarding her. “It’s been a long time.”
“Since school. Science class, remember? We did that experiment with the, god, I don’t remember anymore. The beakers and Bunsen burners and all that stuff?”
“Chemistry,” he says, still glaring like this is painful for him. “Yes, it seems like a long time ago.”
“Let’s sit and talk.” I pull a chair out for Olivia and she takes it, crossing her legs demurely, which seems to give Danil permission to sit as well. I lower myself into the chair opposite him and feel a strange shiver down my spine. This feels wrong somehow—he’s the leader of a strong Russian bratva, relatively new, yes, but still strong. Why would he show up completely alone? There’s no way he doesn’t have guys scattered all over the place, only I don’t know who they are yet. That’s more dangerous than seeing them out in the open. I wonder if Nico’s scouts picked them up or not.
“I will admit, I didn’t want to have a conversation with you,” Danil says, eyeing me warily and studiously not looking at Olivia like she’s a black hole in his vision. “I didn’t think it would benefit me at all.”
“Fighting my men at the edges of my territory will only get you so far,” I say with what I hope is a charming smile but I know Danil will see the edge to it.
He shrugs as if that’s no concern. “I came because you said you married Olivia, and I admit that I was curious. I haven’t spoken to her in a long time.”
To my right, Olivia shifts slightly. Danil’s talking like she’s not in the room. “I hoped she could act as an intermediary in our discussion,” I say, gesturing in her direction.
“I think she is too biased for that.”
I wonder if this asshole ever smiles or jokes. Must be a dour, colorless life.
Olivia leans forward, tapping her fingers on the table for emphasis. “Honestly Danil, if I had it my way, I’d let you take whatever you wanted just to spite my husband here. Our marriage isn’t exactly a happy one.”
Danil grimaces but doesn’t look at her. It’s strange—he ignored my attempts at communication up until the point when I told him Olivia would show at the meeting as well. I thought he’d be more open and warmer with her, but it feels like he’s doing his best to pretend like she’s not here now that she’s in the room. I can’t quite figure it out.