Page 83 of Inked Adonis

“Show up then, and maybe I’ll fill you in.”

The line goes dead.

I roll my eyes in disgust. All this pageantry, the unnecessary hoops and fanfare—it reeks of the Feds. Undercover agents live for the drama like we’re on network fucking television.

I’m still tempted to ignore the call and go home. My cock is already half-hard just thinking about Nova, spread out across my bed, whimpering my name. It’s been a few days, and I’m still getting used to coming home to her, in the best way possible.

Boyko can wait, right?

But no. I’d be doing my empire a disservice if I left the spook to his own devices. More importantly, I’d be doing myself a disservice.

I’ve lived my life by one code: win, by any means possible. Win above all else. Win above everyoneelse.

So as much as my mouth is watering at the mere thought of feasting on Nova, I can’t let her distract me from what matters.

Setting aside my dirty hopes and dreams for Nova, I grab my car keys and flick the light off in my office as I march out.

Myles would kill me for going alone, but I relish the thought of seeing his face when he realizes he’s missed out on all the fun yet again.

Once I get to River North High Rise, I pull into the dark parking garage.

The second I step out of my car, my burner phone pings with an incoming message.

UNKNOWN:Leave the parking lot on foot and meet me at Belview’s Café on Third.

More pageantry.

More hoops.

Definitely FBI.

Ten minutes later, I come upon Angelo Boyko brooding at the far end of the café, as far from the windows as possible. He’s nursing an untouched mug of coffee between his sizable hands. He’s strangely anonymous: you look at his face and instantly forget everything you’ve seen.

“Boyko,” I greet, sliding into the booth opposite him.

He inclines his balding head and risks a shifty glance out the window. “Did you come alone?”

“I would’ve brought my dogs, but they have a taste for federal agents. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the government.”

Boyko just scowls at the accusation, bothering neither to confirm or deny. “All you need to know is that I’m on your side.”

I wave the waitress away before she can even approach our table. I won’t be here for long. “I don’t need you on my side, Boyko. I thought I made that clear on our last little coffee date.”

“Considering you’re surrounded by enemies, I’d reconsider, Samuil.” His nose twitches like a skittish rabbit. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

“You’re right about one thing: I do have enemies. Which has taught me not to trust in anyone.” I eye him so there’s no mistaking my point. “Whatever help I need, I’ll get from my own people.”

Boyko arches a thin, black eyebrow. “Sometimes, it’s your own you need to watch out for.”

“Very cryptic. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He sighs. “I’m trying to help you.”

“And I’m trying to tell you to fuck off. Is it not coming through? Let me try it in Russian—Otvali.Still unclear? Then how about French?Va te faire foutre.No? German, perhaps?Verpiss dich.My sign language is rusty, but I can give it a whirl if you’re still having trouble understanding.”

Boyko’s mouth does that twitching again, puckering up like an asshole. “Bogdan Andrich,” he intones. He slams his mug on the table, sending a wave of coffee sloshing over the side.

That stills me.

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