“I’ll need a new dress,” I say, biting my lip to keep from openly grinning.
“Done,” Viktor says quickly.
“But I’ll do my own hair.”
He chuckles. “Again, done. Whatever you need, Molly. Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”
When we hang up, the smile is still teasing the edges of my mouth, and when I turn off the bedside lamp, I finally let it spread across my face. For now, Theo and I are warm and safe, and I have a date planned with my husband. It almost feels perfect.
8
Viktor
George’s diner is a nice place. Clean. Quaint. A far cry from the rundown liquor store he owned before.
Technically, it is his brother’s diner, but now George owns fifty percent. Apparently, his brother was in financial trouble and George wanted to get out from under the liquor store where he nearly died—where I almost killed him, to be specific—so a partnership worked out for them both.
It worked out for me, too. Molly has been craving onion rings since becoming pregnant, and George sends them home with me free of charge.
I sip my black coffee, surprised by the smoothness. Most diner coffee is burnt tar water, but this cup is rich and nuanced. George walks over without a word and tops off my mug. When I look up, he tips his head towards the back door and gives me two fingers.
Meet me out back in two minutes.
I take a burning mouthful of coffee, count to thirty, and then drop a ten on the counter and leave.
The alley is dark and damp and it reeks of grease and rotting lettuce. George is leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette dangling from his lip, trying to light it. He looks up as I round the corner and walk towards him.
“How did you know I needed to speak with you?” I ask.
He circles his hand around his face. “I could see it in your expression. You were trying too hard not to look at me.”
There is a reason I hired George as Molly’s personal guard for a while. He is observant. He pays attention. He can read people.
I don’t like exactly how well he can read me, but as long as he stays on my side of this war, he doesn’t have anything to worry about.
“So, what’s going on?” he asks, shoving his lighter in the front pocket of his jeans. They hang off him a little looser than they used to. He’s lost weight since I first met him, and his arms are a bit thicker around the biceps. Having his life put in danger probably gave him good reason to want to get back into military shape.
“I need your help. Well, actually, I want your help.”
“You have guys. What could you need with me?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know who my guys are right now. How much do you know about Fedor’s operation?”
“As little as possible,” George says, holding up a hand to stop me. “And I’d like it to stay that way. I knew too much before, and I don’t want to get into trouble again. I’d be happy to flip burgers and refill coffee until I die, thank you very much.”
I respect that. Sometimes, I have the same dream. Getting away with Molly and Theo, starting over somewhere else. I’ve considered it, but like it or not, this life has its hold on me, and I won’t be getting out anytime soon. I’m not even sure I actually want out.
“Then I won’t tell you more than you need to know,” I assure him. “Basically, I’d like to hire you to be my eyes. One of my guys is sneaking around on me, and I don’t trust him. Normally, I’d confront him, but something like that could split loyalties in the Bratva in two, and I can’t afford that right now. I need this to be discreet.”
George flicks ashes on the ground. “What do you think he’s doing? Could this get me killed?”
“Not unless you’re stupid, which I’m pretty sure you’re not.”
He raises an amused eyebrow at me. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”
“I don’t know if he is skimming money or meeting with my brother, but I want to figure it out, and I’d like to pay you to help me,” I say. “My rate is far higher than what you make here at the diner. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
George clears his throat and stands tall, his cigarette dangling from his hand at his side. “I don’t owe you anything anymore, Viktor. I paid my debt. We are square.”
“If anything, I owe you,” I tell him. “You saved my wife and son.”
Once again, he raises an eyebrow. This time, in surprise. I hadn’t told him Molly and I got married.
“We don’t owe each other anything,” he says. “This is a business deal. I’m doing this because I trust you. I trust you not to risk my life and to pay me fairly.”
“Done.”
George drops his cigarette and crushes it under the toe of his boot before extending his hand. We shake on it.
“What’s the name?”
“Expect all of the details soon, but his name is Petr.”
His brows pinch together. “Your consigliere?”
I nod solemnly. “The very same.”
“Shit,” he breaths.
Shit, indeed.
The two men are young and obviously members of the Italian Mafia. They wear their colors proudly. It’s surprising considering where they are standing.
On my corner.
I was driving to the club to put together the information for George and get him the full details on Petr when I saw the men two blocks up. I parked the car and watched them for a few minutes to be sure I understood what I was seeing. A young girl, barely sixteen if that, walked over to them while I waited, and they shook hands. Innocuous enough if you aren’t paying close enough attention, but I wasn’t fooled. Even after only a few minutes, I knew there was no mistake.
The Italians are dealing on my turf.
The corner was contested territory a few years before, but I long ago settled that dispute. Prior to Fedor partnering with the Mazzeos, the Italians knew better than to send their men to my territory. Yet, here they are.
I know Fedor is behind it. Just like when he had a man waltz into Molly’s apartment with Theo in his arms, he is doing this to show me that he can. To show me he will take what he wants without consequence.
Well, fuck that.
The intersection is one block removed from the busier road, but there are still a fair number of people on the sidewalks and in the road. I shift the car into park and blend in with them.
I cross the street, watching as the men laugh and joke with each other. They make suggestive comments to women as they pass and pantomime things they want to do to them.
They are children. Idiots. They’d have to be to side with Fedor in this fight.
Well, I’m going to show them what a mistake that was.
As I approach them, one of the men with a thick head of dark hair looks at me and then away. Just as he is turning back towards me, eyes wide with recognition, my fist connects with his face.
He flies sideways, hitting a metal sign before sinking to the ground. His friend stands in stunned silence when I hit him with a one-two, knocking his head back and forth like a bobblehead.
They aren’t well-trained. The second man throws up an arm to protect his face, and I kick him in the stomach. He doubles over and falls.