Page 9 of Sinful Promise

The gun shipment was my responsibility. They were stolen on my watch, so I take Ratmim’s theft as a personal attack. It’s my job to make it right and negotiate compensation, but it won’t be easy. We’ve all been hardened by real-life wars, and often, negotiation is considered a sign of weakness. If diplomacy fails, I have no choice but to give him consequences. In the end, I will find a way to make Ratmim pay for what he’s done.

“I get that you’re pissed, but do you have a plan?” Alex asks over the roar of the engines as we take off.

“Nope,” I answer honestly.

He chuckles. “This is unlike you. I mean, you’re the one who plans entire heists and has men trained to help. Why go it alone?”

“If we already know Ratmim took our weapons, he’s not an adversary I need to worry about.”

“Hm. They say pride comes before the fall. Isn’t that a Bible verse or some fucking thing?” He gives me the side-eye and raises an eyebrow. He’s older but not wiser. Between the two of us, I’m the one with the brains.

I chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”

Is he trying to say I fucked up? I scooch my butt further into the leather seat. This small plane is primitive compared to the family jet, but we don’t use the jet for work. Don’t want to risk losing it. The government would seize it in a flash if they suspected it was used during the commission of an unsanctioned crime

Alex clasps his hands behind his head, closes his eyes, and leans back against his seat.

Maybe tracking Ratmim on his home turf is a mistake. It would be better to wait until he’s on vacation, relaxed and ripe for the picking. As hitmen, we find our targets and prey on them when they are vulnerable. Rarely do they have a home-field advantage. Then again, their routines are predictable at home and might give me a perfect opening. If not, I’ll wait for the element of surprise and use it in my favor.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my dark gray dress pants. I pull it out to read a text. It’s from Nadia, the Russian model I’m currently fucking. She has one of those shapeless bodies that are perfect for fashion show runways.

She wants to know what I’m up to.

I don’t reply. I turn my phone off and tuck it away. We can’t risk being tracked.

“Woman trouble?” Alex asks without opening his eyes.

“Not yet. Models are so skinny. Sometimes it feels like I’m fucking a rack of ribs.”

Alex laughs heartily and leans forward, clutching his gut. “I understand. I like my Russian women with big, bouncy breasts and an ass made for grabbing.”

“I need to date someone who isn’t constantly looking in the mirror or on their phone. Is it too much to ask? I feel like I never left school with these twenty-year-olds.”

“I don’t think you’re asking for much. Be patient. Maybe you should try looking for someone with an imagination because you don’t have one.”

“That’s harsh,” I reply.

“It’s the truth. You’re too focused. You need to loosen up a bit. Maybe when you’re not trying to be the perfect brother in the family, you’ll find someone worthwhile.”

“I’m fine. I’m comfortable with who I am.”

“Comfortable can get you killed. Besides, all work and no play makes you a dull person.”

If “play” means I have to attend fancy parties and drink overpriced champagne while making idle chitchat with dull people, I’d rather be home alone, working on the next heist.

“What of you? Who do you have?” I pretend to be offended as I cross my ankles and turn to see his face.

Alex grunts. When he delays going home after jobs, I know it means he’s single and between women.

I’ve had crushes but never a long-term relationship. The women I date assume I’m wealthy because we meet at some billionaire’s party. They don’t know it’s an illusion cultivated by my family to fit in. In reality, we all belong in prison. Our hands are dirty, and our souls are black.

It’s tough living two lives. I hate making small talk at social gatherings. I have nothing to say and worry they see me for who I really am—a hitman who enjoys his job.

Honestly, I can do without the expensive toys and posh lifestyle. I’m getting older and have no business at these nightclubs late at night. The majority of people are younger than me, and I stick out like an old man at a bachelor party. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe I should be moving on to the next phase of my life. The role of an aging playboy is unoriginal.

We’ve been in the air for over an hour, so I unbuckle my seatbelt, stretch, and walk to the galley. We’ll be landing soon. The first order of business is to find a hotel and pay cash for a few nights’ stay. We’ll follow up on the rumors we’ve heard among our contacts, rumors that I hope will lead us to the man who keeps his location a secret.

I take a bottle of water out of the minifridge and drain it. It chills my throat. I grab another for Alex and return to my seat to buckle up for the landing. I hate visiting Belarus. The thieves who come into Russia from here have no honor.

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