“Too late,” I state plainly. “I’m already involved.” It’s the truth. By morning, word will have gotten back to Morales. While I’m sure he’ll be furious at Días for gambling away his niece, he’ll be more furious with me. With the Kozlov Bratva.
“It’s not.” She grabs my arm, intent on holding my attention. “Jorge is humiliated, he’ll do anything in his power to keep tonight under wraps. He’s probably paying off every guy in the room right now to erase it from their mind. We part ways here. You leave, and I’ll handle it. And Daniil… maybe try to keep your hero complex in check next time.”
My laughter ripples through the room. She’s right. I could walk away now and wash my hands of her, of this mess. Días will definitely want to keep tonight quiet. And, let’s be honest, it would be really fucking convenient for me if Morales never heard about this. She’s giving me a solid out… but I can’t stomach the thought. Even now, picturing his hands on Bianca causes a vein in my temple to throb.
“Don’t go back to him now. He’s drunk and pissed off. I humiliated him. He’ll take out his anger on you, and it’ll be ugly.” Looking at the dark bruise on her arm from where he’d grabbed her earlier sends my pulse careening. “I’ll deliver you to him tomorrow. He’ll still be furious, but at least he’ll be sober.”
She scrubs a hand over her face, considering my words. Finally, she huffs out a breath, her arms wrapping around her middle in defeat. “Fine. Just for tonight.”
I nod. “I’ll take the fall for it. I’ll say you fought me, did everything you could to get away.”
She just shakes her head sadly, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “There’s no such thing.”
I want to offer her words of comfort or reassurance, but I can’t. At least not truthfully. So for once in my life, I keep my mouth shut.
* * *
Three hours later,I watch the sun crest over the horizon on my penthouse terrace. Bianca is sleeping in the spare bedroom and has been since the moment we arrived here. I’m on my fifth glass of Stoli, and the vodka is doing wonderful things for my nerves. I won’t sleep, but at least the vicious thoughts knocking around in my brain have subsided. Now I feel numb. My emotions are muted, tamped down like a cigarette stubbed out underfoot. It’s a good place to be.
A familiar place.
Because I’m not the guy who gets involved in other people’s shit. I don’t like complicated entanglements, especially with women. I learned early on you can’t get hurt if your feelings don’t run deep. It’s a lesson that life taught me, and it’s proved to be a great shield, especially living in this world.
Yes, I love my family, but that means I worry about them like fucking crazy. And I don’t need to worry about one more goddamn thing in my life. So best to hand Bianca over to Jorge tomorrow and forget her. Even if her potent mix of vulnerability and strength has crawled under my skin. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
I’m pouring myself the last shot in the bottle, watching the day bloom over the smooth water, when my cell rings. I don’t have to look at my phone to know who’s calling at this hour.
“Brat,” I say, taking the call. My brother hates when I call him that. It’s Russian forbrother, but I’m always amused by its meaning in English. “Calling so early?”
“What did you do, Daniil?” His voice is laced with dark ice. Word traveled faster than I anticipated.
“What I had to. You don’t have to concern yourself with this…situation. I have it under control.” Blatant lie. I have nothing under control.
He releases a hiss on the other end of the line. My big brother. Always so serious. “You clearly don’t, or I wouldn’t even know about thesituation. Also, you’re too drunk to be clever right now, so shut it. I’m sending a driver for you. Drink a coffee, take a shower. I’ll see you in an hour.”
The line goes dead, and a laugh bubbles up from my throat. Sometimes I wonder how I’m related to such a pompous ass, but then I remember Papa was a pompous ass too, so it must run in the family. You don’t rise to pakhan without big dick energy, and Andrei has that in spades. Though Georgia has smoothed out his hard edges. Mostly.
But none of this matters. Andrei wants to hear what happened, and I’ll be more than happy to fill him in.
CHAPTERFOUR
DANIIL
Bianca is still sleepingas I head downstairs to meet the car Andrei sent. I know because I just went to check on her and watched her sleep—all golden limbs and silky hair fanned out on the pillowcase—for way longer than I meant to. She really is fucking gorgeous, and it’s a shame I have to hand her over to that animal she calls a boyfriend.
A half hour later when my car pulls up behind our garment factory on the outskirts of Brighton Beach, my mood has soured. I enter through the back entrance, theclickety-clackof the industrial-size sewing and cutting machines creates a cacophony of white noise—enough to drown out the cries of men being tortured. Because it’s on the third floor of this building that my brothers and I take care of our less than savory business.
Bratva business.
And that’s why this place is a well-kept secret.
Andrei is already waiting for me when I enter the bare-bones office. Just a wooden desk, a few mismatched chairs, and a couch that looks like it came from some babushka’s attic. It’s nothing like the sleek, modern offices we keep at the family estate in East Hampton. This place is no frills, and for some reason, I like its utilitarian feel. We might wear Armani and get chauffeured around, but our roots are in the streets of Brooklyn.
My brother doesn’t take his eyes off me until I’m seated across from him. He studies me carefully, probably checking to see if I’ve sobered up. Sadly, I have. The shower and drive chased the vodka from my veins. Now I’m left with a dull thump in my head and a reminder of everything that’s gone to shit in my life.
“Alright, I’m here.” I spread my arms wide and slump back in my seat, knowing it’ll piss Andrei off. “What’s so important it requires a face-to-face at seven in the goddamn morning?”
I’m laying it on thick. But I figure if he’s going to give me shit anyway, I may as well have fun.