Page 65 of Stolen Seconds

Viktor stared at me with a bored expression, eyeing me as if I was an imbecile.

“I’m heading back to Russia.”

“So soon?” I asked, tone laced with sarcasm. The pompous fucker had abused his welcome with no significant work done on his part.

My men reported back to me daily on Viktor’s contribution. All they’d gathered was him overlooking the shipments and products, which shouldn’t have elicited a long stay. It was odd.

“I’ve seen what I needed to.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, swiping the cigarette along my lips. “Which was?”

His calculated gaze settled on me with an iciness that would’ve had an ordinary person clawing at their skin. “When I meet with thePakhan, you’ll hear from me.”

“I look forward to it.” I threw the stick on the ground and crushed it beneath my boot. “We wouldn’t want to complicate matters, now would we?”

Viktor approached me, removing the glove from his right hand. “Not at all.” He extended his arm, a callous smirk ghosting across his mouth. “Pleasure doing business with you, Luca Canaveri.”

I clasped his hand and shook it, catching sight of the tattoo on his wrist. “Is that a Bratva thing?” I stared at the intricate triangle design on his wrist. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.

Viktor snatched his hand away. “Thing?” he asked venomously. “Those of us who are in respectable positions receive these.” He shook his head in what appeared to be annoyance before stalking off toward his car.

Not only was he an asshole, but a sensitive one at that. I’d rather swallow shards of glass than work with him.

Good fucking riddance.

I typed against the keyboard harder than necessary, staring at the multiple monitors in front of me.

I delved into work, trying to fight the urge to go to Irina and choke the fuck out of her for making me feel this way.

It was wishful thinking that I’d wake up this morning to find her nestled in my arms, but this was Irina. She ran away everysingletime.

The start of a raging headache burst at the back of my head from the difficulty it was in figuring her out. Everytime I thought I was close to doing so; I was left even more confused.

I sighed, feeling a pang in my chest because I missed her, anyway. I missed her when she was gone, and I missed her when she was with me.

It was fucking absurd.

And so was taking out her gun from my desk—the one she’d dropped that day in the locker room—and caressing it as if it was her.

I leaned back in my chair, a grin plastered on my face recalling how she shot the random woman who tried seducing me.

And my little rebel said she wasn’t jealous. If I was a psychopath, as she liked to call me, then she was equally delusional.

I traced the lines of the barrel, feeling the grooves beneath my fingertips.

Irina was athletic from what I had seen and sure it wasn’t odd that she knew how to use a gun either, but killing someone without hesitation? That was something else entirely.

There was more to her than being an attorney from New York, and I wondered if she was only fooling me or everyone around her.

The Irina I saw when she was with me wasn’t the same Irina I saw when she was with the others. And a gut feeling told me it wasn’t her dislike for me. . . no, we were way past that.

As I threw the gun on the desk, it hit the edge and fell to the floor, the bullets sprawling everywhere.

I leaned down and picked one up, my brows furrowing as I brought the solid piece of copper closer.

There was a tiny symbol engraved on it and-

What the actual fuck.

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