Page 19 of Baby for the Bratva

It’s time for a break. I’ve been dying for one ever since I started planning this trip. I think I’m getting tired of making money, if that’s even possible. It’s not as exciting anymore.

Kind of… dull.

“They have beer, but… fuck, that price is terrible. Is this real?” Chekhov turns the menu to me and points at the double-digit number beside the beer selection.

Sticker shock never goes away, no matter how rich you get. When you come from the worst slums in Russia, paying anything at all for food and drink makes you feel like you’re setting money on fire.

“I’m paying for it, so don’t worry,” I say, waving my hand. “Just get as many of those as they’ll bring to the room.”

He shrugs. “Any food?”

“No.”

He reaches for the phone in the room, checking it carefully before dialing any numbers. Old habits die hard. It used to be that everything was bugged, but they spy differently these days. They follow more rules, which works to our advantage until we leave American waters, and then it’s a lawless wasteland again.

I return to the TV, flipping through more pre-programmed channels as Chekhov orders enough alcohol to keep us drunk for weeks. I usually don’t like drinking so much when we’re working, but after dealing with Stella, I need something to loosen me up.

She stresses me out like nothing else. It’s crazy how running millions of dollars’ worth of cocaine is less taxing on my mind than a woman can be.

Well, not just any woman. Stella is special in a way that I still can’t wrap my head around, and the fact that she’s unwilling to take shit from me, even though she obvious finds me attractive, just makes her all the more fascinating.

“I’ll do another sweep of the ship,” Chekhov says the moment he’s off the phone. “Just an extra check before we start drinking.”

I give him a dry look.

“What?” he asks, holding up his hands like I have a gun pointed at him. “I’m trying to keep your ass safe.”

“My ass is very safe, thank you,” I snap. “I’m more concerned about you not being able to handle your drinks on a moving boat than someone coming in here and trying to kill us.”

Chekhov thumps a fist against his chest. “I can handle them. It’s just beer. Not like we’re taking shots of vodka.”

“Same thing, different vessel.”

“Sure, but your stomach would explode before you could drink enough to pass out,” he replies.

I chuckle. “I don’t know, buddy. With your stomach, you could probably drink a couple of six packs without an issue.”

He narrows his eyes at me, but he struggles with a comeback. Sighing, he finally just shakes his head. “We’ll take it easy. I’m still going to check the ship one more time.”

“I might not let you back into my room,” I warn as he climbs off my bed.

He shrugs. “Stella might.”

I laugh at his attempt to make me jealous. He already knows I have feelings for her, but I’m not in deep enough for his words to have any effect on me.

Maybe a little, but I hide it well.

“If she’ll let you back into her room, I’ll give you a million bucks,” I say as Chekhov opens the door.

He looks over his shoulder and chuckles. “You should know by now I’m a better gambler than you.”

“Try me,” I reply.

Another chuckle and head shake, and he’s out the door. He’s probably more interested in perusing the ship in search of more threats than sticking his cock in my love interest. He knows I’d break his neck in a heartbeat.

We can’t forget who’s in charge. Right-hand man or not, he still has to watch his step while he’s working for me.

While I’m waiting for the drinks, I meander over to the box of cigars sitting on my table, taking one out and rolling it between my fingers. Smoking is prohibited inside the rooms, but if I open a window, I’m sure nobody will notice enough to report it.

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