Page 16 of The Bratva King's Pregnant Bride

“Oh, yes,” I replied with a frown. “LA is nothing compared to New York.”

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Feliks drawled, his eye twinkling. “And you have changed in that time.”

I arched a brow. “Changed? How so?”

“You’re not one to come to fancy places like this when it’s official business.” He waved his hand, taking in the surroundings, and I huffed.

“Oh, you know, I thought I should shake things up a little. These meat bags wouldn’t even understand us, so relax.” I gave him another shrug. “Besides, I thought I’d spend time with my brother, who works harder than most! I must congratulate you on the way you handled the complication in Volgograd” I nodded, indicating my approval. “Really, thank you.”

“Anything for you, brother.” He winked.

Seated around the restaurant were mostly men dressed to impress, talking loudly about whatever topic they could come up with and ignoring their fellow patrons, who paid no heed. They looked like the type that would be the perfect target for assassination. Not that they held any political seats; they just gave off an annoying vibe which I really didn’t want to tolerate.

Feliks noticed my annoyance at one particular such man and made to stand.

Shaking my head, I raised my hand. “Ignore, Feliks. Ignore.”

The man looked our way, and the sharp glare Feliks and I gave him made him nervous enough that he and his colleagues looked away and shut their mouths.

For the next five minutes, they said nothing; after a while, they spoke, but in much-subdued tones.

Better. They were lucky I was in no mood to break their bones.

The same pretty waitress who’d shown me in brought us a tray bearing two glasses and an expensive bottle of vodka. Setting the glasses before us, she poured us three fingers each, smiling coyly when she caught Feliks’ appreciative gaze. Then, she inclined her head and walked away, leaving the bottle on the table.

“Well, then.” Feliks leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “If we are here to catch up, why don’t we catch up?”

I laughed as Feliks pulled out a chess board, setting it on the table, and began arranging the pieces. Ah yes, our usual tradition of playing these mind games with each other. It seemed that, even though we were meeting in a restaurant rather than my home, some things never changed.

I grinned. “I see you want to get your ass whipped again.”

“Not like last time,” Feliks said. “Black or white? Choose.”

“Black.”

“Let’s play.”

He moved a pawn first, then I moved one of mine. With that, we played, sipping vodka and making idle conversation. The waitress returned halfway through to take our order and bring a bucket of ice for the vodka. We were evenly matched, but in the end, I took the game.

“Checkmate.”

Feliks scowled, but his expression cleared quickly, and he shrugged. “Next time, brother—I will get you next time!”

Soon afterward, our food arrived. We ate in silence for several minutes before I decided it was time to get down to business.

“Mike is back,” I said.

Feliks narrowed his eyes. “The leader of the Red Jackets? That Mike?”

“The very same.”

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “What do you want to do about it?”

I shrugged. “Let it play out. See what he wants. Only, I hope he keeps it interesting.”

Raising a brow, Feliks leaned back an wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I never knew you to be one itching for a fight.”

“I’m not.” I caught the waitress’ eye and tapped the top of the empty vodka bottle. She nodded and scurried to the bar.

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