Page 45 of Stricken

I feel the weight of his gaze, probing and expectant. I inhale deeply, steadying myself for what needs to be done. Too late to back out now. My mind grapples with the web of personal interests and professional obligations. Vartan's presence grows more intimidating by the second and the silence in the room is like a void waiting to be filled with lies.

"I appreciate your time, Vartan," I begin, my voice unwavering, exuding confidence I don't quite feel presently. "I know there have been… complications with the Italians. The deal you made with Nicola Morelli isn't going the way it's supposed to go."

Vartan's eyebrows arch, his curiosity piqued. "Ah, you're aware of this?"

"I wanted to speak to you on his behalf and ask for a few more days to fix the problem."

Vartan's quiet, his eyes drill into mine as if he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking. Cunning old fox.

"Why are you involved in this matter, Vladimir? It's between me and the Italians. Last time I checked you don't do business with them."

Again, I have to choose my words carefully. "Let's just say I have a personal interest."

After a long pause, Vartan chuckles with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Oh, Vlad, Vlad, Vlad. Could it be that your personal interest lies with a certain Italian? A young man named... Nicola, perhaps?"

I feel my facade crack. How does the old man know? The question reverberates through my mind, a drumbeat of unease.

I try hard not to let surprise spill into my features and school my expression into one of bored neutrality, but it's too late. Vartan has seen the momentary slip. He leans forward, relishing the unfolding drama. "Your reaction speaks volumes, my friend."

Internally, I'm reeling. Have the Armenians been following me? Have Nico and I been careless, our encounters witnessed by Vartan's spies? The possibilities swirl in my head, each more unsettling than the last.

My tone is deceptively measured when I speak. "We have a small venture in the works." Lie comes so easy.

"Come now, Vlad. We both know there's no venture unless it involves a room at Eclipse."

I remain silent, refusing to acknowledge the truth.

"Your secret is safe with me, Vladimir," Vartan finally says. "Our relationship goes back a long way, and I value the trust between us. Your Papa made me a lot of money. You continue his legacy. What you do in your spare time is of no concern to me."

A promise of discretion gives a small relief.

"I appreciate your understanding, Vartan."

The tension in the room eases, but the implications linger. I know that this secret, now shared, holds power. Power that can be wielded like a double-edged sword.

"Call off your war dogs, Vartan. Give Nicola a chance to fix the shipment issues. You know better than anyone to get this much cash is impossible in a few days when it's all in assets."

Vartan's fingers drum against the table's surface. Seconds turn into an eternity as he contemplates my request. Finally, he nods, a slow, deliberate motion. "Very well, Vladimir. I'll give them a reprieve. Two weeks. But let me be clear..." His voice drops, a menacing undercurrent flowing beneath the words. "If the issues persist, there will be consequences. Not just for the Italians, but for you as well. You're vouching for them, and that comes with a price."

I know the stakes and the repercussions. But I refuse to let this shake me, to let the fear seep into my bones.

Solovey men don't get scared easily.

"I understand. I give you my word. The issue will be resolved." My voice is steady, a fortress of determination. Even though I don't know if Nico keeps his part of the deal and gets it all sorted out on his end. But I assume he has a plan and he didn't just ask for my help without something already in the works.

Seemingly satisfied with what he finds while searching my face, Vartan tips his chin once more. "See that they are, Vlad. For all our sakes."

As the meeting concludes, I rise from my seat, my mind already racing ahead. I offer Vartan a thanks before turning to leave.

Exiting the restaurant from the rear, I pull out my phone, my fingers deftly navigating the screen to open up my conversation with Nico. I compose a message asking to meet at the apartment tonight.

I hitSend, the weight of the favor I just did for him growing heavier in the pit of my stomach. The need for discretion is paramount now. If Vartan found out, soon someone else will. Someone who is an enemy with a grudge. And I have plenty of those.

"Wasn't very smart," Ivan finally comments as we move toward the vehicle.

"No one asked your opinion."

"Not an opinion. A fact." Pause. "This Italian is putting you in danger."

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