My family.
My mouth dries. He’s not just a Romanov thug. He’s a fucking Romanov.
After that realization passes, I understand his meaning.
They’ll destroy the deli to get the insurance payment.
“No. You can’t.” I stand straighter, my voice raises. “You will not touch this place.” My parents worked too damn hard for this place for it to be destroyed by them.
“Do you have the money for me? The full amount.” His eyes pin me in place.
“There has to be another way.” My fingers crunch the envelope. Why can’t they just be reasonable and take the ten grand?
His gaze roams over my face, then down my body. A warmth runs through my veins beneath his scrutiny. Unlike when the other guy looked at me.
“We could kill him.” The left side of his mouth, his full lips, kicks up. “Life insurance money is as good as any other money.”
“No!” I almost shout. “Don’t. Please. Don’t do that.” I sound pathetic, but I’m not exactly packing anything that will protect me against these guys.
“What would you do to keep your brother safe? To keep this little shop running?” He takes another step toward me and then another, until my ass hits the edge of the deli counter, and I can’t retreat any further.
“What do you want?” I swallow down the lump of fear clawing its way up my throat. These men could tear me apart. If I scream, Joey will run in, and they’ll hurt him. Kill him even.
Mr. Romanov lifts his hand to my chin, pinching it between two hard fingers. He pulls it up until he has his dark gaze locked with mine.
“What can you offer?” he asks, his nose brushing lightly against mine. He smells like musky aftershave and stale cigar smoke. The tiny sensation of his skin against mine, although brief, is enough to remind me it’s been too long since I’ve had a man’s touch.
“Hmmm?” His voice rolls over me. “What can you give me?”
“Me?” The word falls out of my mouth before going through the proper filters in my head. One, why would a man of his power, his strength want a plain girl like me? Two, I’m not exactly worth two hundred and fifty grand. That’s not a knock at myself; I’m being realistic. I eat too much ice cream, I don’t get enough sleep, and it’s been a really long minute since I’ve been to a gym. Men like him, they don’t give second glances to girls like me, much less pay that kind of money.
“Done.” He lets go of my chin and gives his men a curt nod. “What time does the deli close?” He takes a step back from me; the cool air of the air conditioning brushes across my face.
“What?” I nearly choke on the question, because what the hell did he just say?
“Time. What time does this place close?” he asks again as his men file out of the deli.
“Seven. I mean, we close at six, but we’re usually done cleaning up by seven,” I explain.
“A car will be here to pick you up. Don’t keep it waiting.” He takes the envelope I’m still clutching to my chest and lays it on the counter behind me. “Put that back in the bank.”
“Mr. Romanov, take the money. Please.”
He slams his hand over the envelope when I try to reach for it.
“Put it back in the bank, today,” he orders me. I blink, unsure of what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems wrong because I have no idea what I’m actually doing anymore. What did I trade for my brother’s life?
“All right,” I agree with a nod.
“Good.” He turns for the door but stops when he opens it. “And my name is Nikolai.”
“Okay.” That’s it. That’s all I can come up with. Too many things are flying through my head to say much else.
He shakes his head a little, then steps out into the summer sun, letting the door shut behind him. His goons are waiting for him on the sidewalk, and once they have their leader, they walk away.
Air finally rushes into my lungs.
I survived.
My brother has survived.
But for how long?