Page 142 of Corrupted Heart

He gives me a curious look. Just then, someone shoves me in the back, hard.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” a voice slurs.

I turn. When my gaze lands on Grisha Lenkov, swaying on his feet with a drink in his hand and a snarl on his face, my eyes darken.

“You wanna go another round, you fuckin’ bitch?” Grisha mumbles, breathing pure vodka in my face.

Goodness, that sounds like a fantastic idea.

Grisha’s eyes go wide as I grab him by the throat and wind my other hand up to smash his face in on principle. Suddenly, someone grabs my arm.

“Mr. Lenkov is a guest of mine tonight, Kratos,” Arian hisses, eyeing me coldly.

I’m about to make a sharp reply when I realize that just about every other guy in the room is looking at me with their hands hovering near their hips or the fronts of their jackets.

“I’m guessing these fine gentlemen are all with you?” I mutter at Arian.

“You guess correctly. Let him go, Kratos.”

“Yeah!” Grisha slurs, shoving at me. “Take your fuckin’ hands off me!”

I don’t mention that he was the one who suggested going another round. Instead, I just turn back to Arian, my hand still at Grisha’s throat.

“I think you need and deserve a better class of friend, Arian.”

“Kratos…” he warns.

With a grimace, I let the Russian shit-stain go. Ignoring his mutters and insults, I turn fully to Arian, my brow creasing.

“I didn’t realize Te Mallkuarit did business with the Bratva.”

Arian lifts a shoulder. “Who says we do?”

“Your questionable choice in poker buddies for the evening.”

Arian just shrugs again, not confirming or denying a thing.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what, Kratos.”

“Friends with the Russians.”

“I’m friends with lots of people.”

“How about this fucker’s boss. Boris Chernoff.”

Arian smiles thinly. “I didn’t come to a casino tonight to be interrogated, Kratos.”

I shake my head. “Not my intention. I was merely hoping you could help me tie off a loose end.” I jam my hand into my pocket and pull out a dozen or so twenty-five-thousand-dollar chips before I pass them into the hands of a confused looking Arian. “This is to settle a debt Boris is owed by a certain Tim Ciglione. He has a wife. She’s off the hook for anything after this.”

Arian eyes me with a curious look. “Why not give this to Mr. Lenkov to pass along to his boss?”

“Because Mr. Lenkov is a fucking Muppet,” I growl.

“Fuck you!”

“You’re a guest here, Grisha,” Arian glares past me, a warning note in his voice. “Control yourself.” His eyes shift back to me, and he nods stiffly. “Consider it done.”

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