Page 52 of Sexting the Silverfox

“I will never be able to repay you, Paddy,” I say to my friend.

“Just don’t call me if shit hits the fan, Jace. The Irish boys can’t help you.”

Chapter 21

Jason

The next morning finds me outside the Gordon Office Building, owned by Lisa Abramovic, a front for the Chicago Bratva. It’s supposed to be neutral territory, housing some big financial companies and a couple of restaurants, but Ronnie warned me that it is rife with Abramovic goons. All it takes is one wrong move, and I might find myself dismembered by one of Arkady’s bodyguards.

His office is on the top floor; that much I know for sure.

Wearing my best suit and a pistol strapped to my ankle discreetly hidden under my pants, I walk into the main lobby and stop by the reception desk.

The receptionist looks up from the computer while I briefly scan the lounge area, immediately spotting the on-duty Abramovic guards sitting sipping coffee and pretending to read the newspaper while they keep stealing glances at me.

“Hi there, Melinda,” I say to the receptionist, her name tag pinned to the pale blue lapel of her jacket.

She gives me a pleasant nod and a smile. “Good morning. Welcome to Gordon. How may I help you?”

“My name is Jason Winchester from Winchester Holdings. I’m here to speak to Arkady Abramovic.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name,” Melinda says a little too fast.

One glance over my shoulder tells me I’m definitely in the right place. The goons, albeit impeccably dressed in black suits, have already stood up and are confidently walking toward me, so I shift my focus back to Melinda, looking calm and unbothered.

“I think we both know that’s a lie. He’s expecting me, I assure you.”

“Mr. Winchester, I’m truly sorry, but we don’t have—”

I give her a wry smile. “Melinda, just call him up,” I say, cutting her off.

A split second later, I see dread in her eyes as I find myself flanked by the two massive and likely heavily armed gentlemen. I take deep, measured breaths and keep my cool when I feel the muzzle of a gun pressed into my ribs.

“I suggest you leave,” one of them says in a thick Russian accent.

“And I suggest you tell Arkady he’ll want to speak to me. I may not be one of you fellas, but I’ve got enough useful people on speed dial to make sure your boss never opens another fucking taco joint in this city going forward,” I bluntly reply as I stand my ground.

To my relief, Melinda is already on the phone, muttering something into it while looking at me with a mixture of fear and concern. Once she hangs up, she nods at the two men. “Mr. Abramovic says he’ll speak to Mr. Winchester,” she says.

Instantly, the gun disappears from my side, and I turn to the guy who held it against me. “You really need to work on your manners.”

“Search him first,” Melinda says.

Fuck. Well, I should’ve seen this coming.

I exhale sharply. “Before you so eagerly start fondling me, let me be honest. I did come packing,” I say, prompting the two men to instinctively reach for their weapons again. “No need for violence. I’m just letting you know. And now, I will slowly reach down and take the piece out for you to hold on to until I leave, okay? I want it back when I’m done. It’s a family heirloom.”

The second bodyguard nods once, and I stay true to my word. Slowly, I crouch down and remove the gun from my ankle holster, holding it up with two fingers. He takes it and then motions me toward the elevator. “Come on. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“After you, fellas.”

Once we’re on the top floor, the entire atmosphere changes. If downstairs is intended to be warm and welcoming, up here is supposed to be as intimidating and threatening as possible.

The walls are a dull grey. The floor is sleek black, and shiny enough to display my reflection. The lighting is minimalistic and brutal, and the temperature is uncomfortably cold, part of the psychological warfare that Arkady Abramovic wages against anyone who dares to come into his lair.

I find it interesting that he chooses to keep his office here, hidden among the mortals, camouflaged by finance bros and corporate heads.

I would imagine it’s hard for the Feds to waltz into this place as often as they’d like. They would require warrants, and Arkady knew that when he designed it. He’s more exposed to rival mobsters here than he is to the cops.

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