I frown. “Caution is one thing. Cowardice is another.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lev asks defensively. Worrier though he may be, he’s a prideful man. Bratva to his core.
“It means we may see something as cautious. But to every enemy, every bystander, every neutral third party, we look weak. I refuse to look weak, Lev.”
“It’s not weak to be smart. You’re forgetting that forty percent of the Stepanov Bratva’s business interests are mixed in with the Ivanovs.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I snap. “You’re the one bleating about nonsense like a sheep at the slaughterhouse.”
Lev sighs. “Listen, I don’t relish this role I have. Canary in the coal mine, the boy who cried wolf, whatever you wanna call me, that’s fine. But it’s my job to remind you of the stakes. We can’t afford to burn that bridge. Not until we’ve shored up our liabilities.”
Damn it, he’s right. He’s right and we both know it.
“Fuck my father,” I growl. “He did this. He got us in this mess.”
“He trusted in his friendship with Rodion,” Lev says. I know he shares the sentiment blaming my father; he would just never be so obvious about it. It’s understood I can say certain things about my father that no one else can.
“Trust,” I spit derisively. “Stupid fucking word, stupid fucking concept. He was naïve to think that that level of trust had any place in our world.”
“You trust me, don’t you?” Lev asks, somewhat teasing.
“Sure, but I still put my seatbelt on when you drive.”
“Asshole. That was one time.”
I chuckle as the tension between us eases. “I don’t trust anyone, Lev. Not enough to turn my back to them. My father made that mistake, and look what it’s doing to the Bratva. It broke down the moment he died.”
“No, it didn’t,” Lev says quietly. “It broke down the moment you married Marina Ivanov.”
I can’t deny that.
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
I can tell he wants to ask when that will be, but he knows that’ll just piss me off. “Okay, enjoy yourself tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not here to enjoy myself.”
“Really?” he asks innocently. “You could have fooled me.”
I answer by hanging up on the smug motherfucker. When I look back up to Jessa’s apartment, the light in the kitchen is off, replaced by a television’s bluish, flickering glow.
I get out of the jeep and head towards the apartment’s front door. I use Mrs. Donnelly’s code to get inside and then I march straight to Jessa’s apartment.
After glancing over my shoulder to make sure the hallway is empty, I jimmy the lock as surreptitiously as possible so that she won’t notice I’m here until I walk in. The blare of the television hides the sound of the tumblers catching.
A second later, I walk into her living room. She springs onto her feet from her reclining position on the sofa. Her blonde hair has been freshly washed. The ends are still damp.
I close the door behind me and turn the lock.
“Having a pleasant evening?” I ask.
The initial shock fades and she throws me an annoyed glare. I’ve got to hand it to her—she hides her fear well. “Most people knock, you know.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”
She’s wearing dark tights that act as a second skin. They wrap themselves around her shapely legs, leaving little to the imagination. She’s paired them with a white tank top that’s almost as tight, and I realize she’s not wearing a bra, either. Her nipples poke through—with arousal or fear or both.