“Leave now before Mr. Chernov becomes annoyed.”
“Mr. Chernov? Is that his name?” I pressed.
I was deranged at this point, but I couldn’t help it. For seven years, I had looked for Kirill, and this man could have been his double if my childhood friend had lived up to the potential of his powerful features.
“Mind your own business, lady,” the man said and forcefully pulled my arm to turn me.
“Lori, get your ass over here!” Theo hissed at me from the entrance to the VIP area.
I turned reluctantly and went back toward the bar.
“What the fuck are you doing? Have you lost your mind? You don’t stroll over to a Brighton Beach crew and say hi,” Theo muttered, looking at me like I’d survived a near-death experience.
I shook my head. “What’s a Brighton Beach crew?”
Federica was frowning over my shoulder at the men. “A gang?”
“It’s the mob, Lori – organized crime,” Theo explained, fanning himself with a menu.
“Why Brighton Beach? I love Coney Island,” I mused.
Fede rolled her eyes.“Brighton Beach can be dangerous. Attention from men like that can be dangerous.”
“It might be too late for that. He’s looking over here,” Theo mumbled, covering his face with his hand.
I twisted to see the man again, my eyes snapping to him like he was a magnet. His lackeys had sat down so I could see him. He smiled at something someone said, and the sight was another kick to the gut. It was Kirill. It had to be. It was Kirill, and there was no way I was leaving here without speaking to him.
I half-listened to Theo and Fede’s conversation, nodding where appropriate, while the rest of my attention was fixed on the mystery man. I grabbed the drinks menus from the bar and started toward the VIP section again.
“Lori! Don’t be embarrassing. Take a hint!” Theo hissed.
I was past hearing him. I was past caring about anything except speaking to the man with Kirill’s face. I had to. He wasn’t leaving here without talking to me.
I approached the table again, and the same friend rose, looking murderous, until a sharp word forced him back down.
“Bratan.”The man’s deep voice raked across my memory. “Let her come,” he said in English.
He raised his eyes to mine, and that look was a punch to the gut. All the air left my body. I knew those eyes.
Kirill.
I stood mutely, staring at him as his men muttered in Russian and laughed amongst themselves, no doubt at the clueless bartender who couldn’t take a hint. Still, his eyes held mine and, at that moment, there was nothing but him and I. Nothing but those eyes staring into mine.
“Hand over the menus. Or are we to guess what’s in them,” the same brute who’d nearly pushed me over growled, grabbing for the velvet books that held the cocktail menu.
The man, Mr. Chernov, looked at him, and he paled. It wasn’t even an aggressive look, but something must have passed between them because the pushy guy got up and excused himself as Chernov leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.
I couldn’t hold the words back one more moment. “Are you him? Kirill. Kirill Lewis?”
He stared at me, a muscle ticking in his defined jaw.
His friend nudged him with an elbow and laughed. “Kirill, she thinks she knows your name.”
Kirill.The name echoed like a bell in my head, growing more deafening by the second.
He stood. Mr. Chernov.Kirill. He stalked toward me as his men watched. He was so tall that I had to crane my neck to keep him in sight. He stopped before me, not close enough to touch, though I swayed into him anyway. My lack of lunch and donut dinner wasn’t doing much for my swimming head and pounding heart.
My mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and I could barely keep my feet as the man’s full-lipped mouth rose in one corner. A smirk I’d know anywhere, frozen in time and perfectly preserved.