Page 32 of Stricken

"We're just chilling," Sasha huffs out.

"Look at you." Something in my chest loosens. "You sound so American now."

"So do you. You're losing your accent, mate."

"I don't think I'll lose it entirely."

"Hey, accents are cute… Chick magnet, right? That's what they say here at least."

"Exactly." But instead of a pretty female face, Nico's smirk enters my mind. Damn him. Why does he have to show up at the most inappropriate of times?

"Look, Vlad. I'd love to catch up but I really do need to get some sleep. Let's do it during daytime, huh?"

"Let's. I'll call when I can. Have fun. You deserve some peace."

"So do you, brother." His voice softens. "You need to stop working so much."

I close my eyes, picturing a life free from this madness. "Soon," I lie. "Take care of yourself."

"You too. I mean it."

The call ends, leaving me alone with the weight of everything unsaid and I stare at the first sliver of the rising sun, thinking. I won't involve Sasha into my business anymore, won't put his life on the line. It's best he is blissfully unaware of what's going on.

My gaze drifts back to my phone, thumb fluttering over Nico's contact this time. Before I can think better of it, I pull up a text message window and type a single word:

Romeo?

CHAPTER9

NICO

The throbbing in my temples is what wakes me up in the morning. The mess the missing shipment created had me up all night, thinking, coming up with the ideas. But the only logical solution to avoid further complications is to cover the losses with a payout, which, I know Uncle will not agree to. Tony Morelli isn't the kind of man to give up the cash willingly when the cash is available. Unfortunately, it's not. Not at the moment.

I ruminate for a few minutes while in bed, then roll to the side and reach for my phone on the nightstand. There's a notification waiting for me. I squint at the screen, my head feeling like it's been trampled by a herd of elephants. One new message. From the number I don't know.

My finger hovers over the notification, heart suddenly racing. I tap it open.

Romeo

I'm awake now.

That single word sends a jolt through me, equal parts thrill and trepidation.

Vlad.

Immediately, I save the number underHot Shot.

So he's playing our game. And he wants me to play along?

I stare at the message for a while like a teenager would stare at the text from his crush. It's silly but it's also exciting. And I haven't had real excitement in a long time.

Eventually, I toss the phone aside and drag myself to the shower, letting scalding water pound away some of the tension. In a steam-filled bathroom, I contemplate my next move. The heist of our shipment. Possible Toro's involvement. The upset Armenians. The new Russian player in town. Vlad. It's all a tangled mess, threads I can't seem to unravel.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I creep down to the kitchen. Voices drift from the living room—angry whispers and hissed accusations. I grab some eggs and coffee and bolt before anyone notices me. This family is a bunch of stupid, money-hungry hyenas. I sometimes wonder why my father didn't just take me and leave when he realized the bloodshed was coming. He would have been alive now.

Back in my room, I swallow down hot bites of protein while staring at Vlad's message. My fingers itch to respond, but I can't seem to come up with an answer I like.

"Fuck it," I mutter, heading for the gym where I get on a treadmill. Maybe if I run fast enough, I can outpace all these complications.

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