Page 86 of Little Blue

I release a breath, and a curse.

Misha barrels a laugh.

I glare at my friend.

He drops into the chair opposite my desk and smartly gets down to business. He knows better than to say anything regarding the woman who has me all twisted up in knots. I’m already on edge. It wouldn’t take much to give me that final, deadly shove.

I take a gulp of my vodka, trying to clear her from my head.

Misha speaks, “He is demanding you contact him as soon as possible.”

I raise a brow. “Is he calm and composed?”

“No.”

I smile. “I take it they’ve finally found Lev.”

“The U.S. authorities work slow.”

After killing Popov’s son, I’d had his yacht moved to a lesser port. I’d registered it under one of the many aliases’ Popov uses. The move was intended as another message to the rat who schemed to overthrow me, as if the heart I’d lain on the pillow next to his dead son’s head wasn’t message enough.

“I’ll call him.” I take the phone Misha hands me. My enemies don’t have the number for my personal phone. No fucking way.

Tapping Popov’s contact, I listen to it ring once before his rough voice sounds, “Son of a bitch.”

“Something tells me you’re upset,” I goad the man, my voice strategically calm. “Why would that be?”

“You’ve taken two sons.” I can hear his grief-tinged rage. “I will see the day your head rolls.”

“Careful, Popov.” I lean back in my chair, relaxed. “A man with secrets shouldn’t make threats.”

“I will kill every last member of your family!” he roars. I can hear the spittle fly from his mouth.

Keeping my cool, calm tone, I ask, “When is your next trip to America, Popov?” The line goes eerily silent. “Specifically, Madison, Georgia?”

“Stay away from her.”

“Ah, so there is a woman you care for.” I chuckle, just to taunt him. “I thought, being that you sell them, you wouldn’t care about any. Imagine my surprise when I found out about a certain Ruby Belle, whom you visit every three months under the alias Ivan Petrov.” I chuckle, imagining the fear coated sweat that lines his brow. He’s probably shaking like a pig at slaughter. “Honestly, Ivan Petrov? It’s like you wanted me to find her.”

“Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

I’ve rattled the man. Good.

“You have attacked my businesses. You set a bomb to one of my cargo ships, sinking product that lost me millions, and strained relations with the Cosa Nostra. You have killed my men. Good men. And,” I pause, listening to the heavy wheeze of his breath. “You have attempted, more than once, to kill me. I explained I would not do business with you, and I explained why. You forced me to take one son, and then another. You hide like a coward behind the soldiers you command to overthrow my business. My rule. And you ask me why?”

Popov curses, a fist slamming on something hard in the background. The grown man can’t even command his composure. A shame.

“You called for this war, Ivan. Demanded it. I only replied.”

“I tried to partner with you,” he hisses. “You rejected me. No one rejects me without consequences.”

“Are you telling me your sons died because you have the ego of a little boy?”

“They died because you think you’re better. You are not!”

Ice fills my voice. “I don’t sell people, Ivan. Not men. Not women. Not children.”

“They are nothing,” he curses into the line. “Rejects.”

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