Page 3 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

Lana catches me staring, gives me that challenging look. "Focus, Roman. We've got work to do."

I grab a crate with a grunt, moving it aside to hide our stash beneath the floorboards. The wall of muscle we call Grigori is overseeing everything with that steely gaze of his, making sure nobody fucks up.

"Roman," Lana scolds me again, "focus."

Her voice—it’s like a whip cracking through the air and damn if it doesn’t turn me on more. I quirk an eyebrow at her, staring openly now because I don't give a shit about hiding my desire anymore.

She smirks—a tiny curl of her lips that sets my blood on fire. Goddamn it! This woman would be the death of me, but what a way to go.

"Later," I promise, shifting another crate into place before wiping the sweat off my brow with my arm. "We'll settle this later."

And by “settling,” I mean pinning her against a wall and showing her exactly what kind of man I am.

Lana's eye roll is the cherry on top, a sign that the night's still young in our world of chaos.

The sight of Lana's backside as she climbs the stairs fuels the fire in my veins. She's all curves and confidence, a lethal combination that has me aching for her. Shit, the way she moves could make a dead man rise.

Memories from last month surge forward, raw and potent. The way her body arched under mine as I claimed her—it's enough to make a saint sin.

But here's the kicker—I'm fucking relieved it hasn't messed us up. Working with her, standing by her side, it's where I'm meant to be. And the thought of screwing that up over what? Feelings? It's not an option.

As we reach the top of the stairs, Lana stops short, causing me to almost collide with her. She turns around, too close for comfort but not close enough for my liking.

"You're supposed to be watching our backs," she chides me, poking me in the chest with a pointed finger.

"Believe me, darling," I retort, my voice low and laced with dark promises, "I'm definitely watching yours."

She scoffs at my remark but doesn't move away. It's dangerous territory, this dance we're doing—playing with fire and gasoline—and part of me can't wait for everything to just fucking explode.

Underneath it all though, there is an unspoken understanding between us; we are both monsters in our own rights—a result of this damned life we lead—but together... together we might just be invincible.

The door swings open suddenly and Luca stands in the doorway, a stern expression on his face. Our game is over—for now.

"Get to work," he orders sharply. Lana is gone in a heartbeat, all business like the professional she is. Luca eyes me warily before retreating back into his lair.

I linger in the hallway, the taste of anticipation bitter on my tongue. For a brief moment, I allow myself to imagine Lana beneath me once more, writhing in pleasure, submitting to my every command.

And then I'm back—back in this godforsaken place that breeds darkness and violence. Because in the end, that's what we are: products of our environment.

Luca doesn't waste time, diving straight into the heart of the matter. "Your little adventure tonight has stocked us well," he starts, eyes sharp as knives. "But let's talk clientele."

Luca leans back, a sly grin playing on his lips, the shadows of the room clinging to him like a second skin. "Take Senator McCarthy," he starts, his voice a whisper of silk over steel. "Man's got a nose for our product like a truffle pig."

I can't help but chuckle, the image of McCarthy, all high and mighty in the public eye, getting down and dirty with our goods—it's too good. "Bet he thinks it's his secret weapon for those marathon filibusters. Adds a whole new meaning to political 'powder.'"

Lana shakes her head, a smirk threatening the corners of her mouth, "And then there's CEO Anderson. Wanted a bulk order to 'inspire creativity' in his team. Since when did brainstorming sessions need a side of coke?"

"Since Anderson realized his ideas were shit without a chemical boost," I shoot back, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. It's a fucked-up world we operate in, but moments like these, they lighten the load.

Luca's nodding, his laughter a low rumble in the dim light. "And let's not forget our dear friend, Judge Thompson. Man preaches justice by day, snorts it by night. Wanted a steady supply to 'keep his judgments clear.'"

I snort, "Yeah, clear as mud. Guy's probably seeing double on the bench. Explains some of his more... 'creative' rulings."

Lana's laughter, rare and genuine, fills the space between us, a reminder of the twisted camaraderie that binds us. "This city," she says, "built on pillars of powder and hypocrisy."

Luca's expression turns serious again, the moment of levity fading as quickly as it appeared. "Just remember, these pillars can crumble."

"Speaking of crumbling," I start, my voice reverberating around us. The mention of danger making the air feel electric. "We should keep an eye on Perez – the guy's a ticking time bomb."

---