Page 19 of Brutal Promise

“I crashed with a friend nearby. What’s up?”

He punches my shoulder, and it doesn’t even faze me—Americans and how friendly they are. I’m not one for hand-holding or affectionate taps like this. It occurs to me that I’ve had my hands on Izzy more in twelve hours than I’ve had them on anyone else in twelve months. What does that mean?

“Did Alena say anything about being followed this week?”

“No, but I noticed her father has more men looking after her. Why?”

“I’m not sure they are after her.” I’m too big for Alena’s modern taste in furniture and sit with my elbows on my knees. I feel like I’m in a kid’s playhouse.

“Why?”

“Later,” I murmur as I hear Alena’s heels clicking across the tile floor in the kitchen. When they join us, I can’t help but notice the slight flush in Izzy’s cheeks.

Mm. She must have been sharing details. I sit back with one leg crossed over the other. I stretch an arm along the back of the couch to observe her. I didn’t consider her a gossip, but nothing about her makes sense. It’s as if her story has been contrived, but for what purpose?

“So, we had a great time,” Alena speaks, giving us an authentic smile. From the dark circles under her eyes, I’m guessing they stayed out until the club closed. “Kirill knows tons of popular dances, and I have to say we made an impression.” She curls up in a clear, lucite chair that looks as comfortable as a bed of nails. But what do I know?

Men like me only know fashion regarding custom suits, leather shoes, and Swiss watches that flaunt who’s at the top of the food chain. Alena is wearing leggings and a red blouse. The top three buttons of her blouse are unfastened and reveal more cleavage than her father would allow.

“It’s easy with you,” Kirill replies. His voice is light and hints at a happy note. “Everyone had their eyes on you.” He flirts. “Besides, you make me look good.” He’s laying it on thick, so he’s still trying to get in her pants.

She blushes. “That’s shit, and you know it.”

That’s part of Alena’s charm. She knows she looks fantastic, but she’s still humble about it. I decide here and now that I like her. How Izzy fits in, I’m not quite sure.

Izzy hands me a bottle of lemon-flavored fizzy water. Our fingers collide, and she flinches at the static electricity firing between us. I twist off the metal cap without getting another shock and then guzzle half the water. It’s getting hot in here. Usually, I’d seek solitude in this situation and leave. Now, the only reason to move is to obtain more answers from Kirill and ensure our coke deal is progressing as planned.

I stand, indicative of leaving.

Everyone stops talking and looks at me like I’m a buzz kill.

“I need to go. I have work to do,” I explain as I look at Kirill.

“Yes, we do,” he says, reluctantly standing up.

“But it’s Sunday,” Alena protests.

Is she upset that we’re leaving so soon? I consider the fact that four is a crowd if she wants Kirill.

Izzy chimes in, “I have work to do, too. I need to look for a job. Plus, it’s my day to grab a cappuccino and study fashion magazines.”

Alena pouts, making her injected-filled lips look even more prominent. What is it with women nowadays? I love that Izzy is natural and doesn’t need to compete with artificial enhancers.

We make our goodbyes, and I nod to Izzy. No sense in leading her on. She’s a fool if she thinks it was anything other than a fling. It won’t happen again. I can’t handle another woman’s death on my hands. On the flip side, what if someoneisstalking her? Don’t I have an obligation to keep her safe?

My first thought is that it’s not my bratva or my problem. But I’m lying to myself. I might have a black soul that will go to hell, but women shouldn’t pay for our sins. Love is the beginning of the end, as it sucks us in and destroys our souls when it’s over.

We make our way to the elevator, and out of habit, I glance to the courtyard below for safety concerns. To my surprise, I see two men who don’t belong. They are standing on the curb smoking, but they look out of place. This is not the type of neighborhood where men who look like they work nights would live or visit.

While we ride in the elevator, I ask Kirill to explain what’s happening with his bratva.

“The Italians have been pissing us off lately, and we’re all nervous about the latest cocaine deal. We need them to smuggle it out of the port and make sure it gets to London, where your brother’s men will unload and distribute it. But, of course, they want a bigger cut than the original deal. It’s a power play, a dangerous one. My mother’s connections have broken down over the years. The Irish have been flexing their muscles to fuck with us. I get select intel, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they know of the rumored alliance.” He shrugs. “You know how it is. Everyone wants to fuck with us. The Albanians are a pain in the ass. They think they are contenders, but there is no way in hell we’re giving them squat. I only hear bits and pieces from Mikhail. He’s a good boss, but working with someone who advises the don is stressful. You know how that is.”

“Yeah, only I’m family and part of the inner circle.” I chuckle as the elevator doors open. “You know, should we pull the camera footage of the bar last night and find out who that man was? What if someone is after Izzy or Alena? We have a duty to make sure they’re safe.” We leave the building, and the men on the street are lighting another cigarette. “Are the men on the curb with you?” I ask as I cast my head down so Kirill’s glance to the street isn’t obvious.

He looks to where I nod. “Those aren’t mine. My guys know how to hide from Alena. She gets pissed when she knows her dad is having her watched.”

The alarm on my Lambo goes off. We take our time walking to where it’s parked on the street to make sure it’s not a trap. The car belongs to Alena’s dad, a perk that goes with Kirill’s condo. Her dad keeps it parked there to avoid paying for storage.

---