Page 54 of Devotion

Around the wharf, skirting the dock entrance, I find a gap in the fence and slip through. He gestures that our goal is up ahead where I can hear voices.

“You sure there’s something happening here?” Not a lot of movement. Nothing feels out of place. Or maybe I’m losing my edge.

“Just keep moving.”

Skirting another crate, I spot the group of men, sitting around eating and talking in low voices. Not from around here, but definitely not the caliber of guys we fought the other night. These guys just look like some poor migrant dock workers, taking a break from unloading a shipment.

Two of the guys smile as hand-rolled cigarettes dangle from their mouths.

Definitely poor. Clothing unkempt. But they could be the same nationality as the others…

I wish I had Adriano’s factoid brain. He would know where they’re from based on the weave of the fabric in their outfits or the smell of their farts or some bullshit.

Not my forte. I’ve always been better at putting on a show.

So I do.

Stepping out, I walk boldly forward, tucking an imaginary document into my jacket and smiling tightly. “Gentlemen, I am from the port authority, need to check your papers.”

Glancing around like I own the place, I step right into the middle of the gathering, crossing my arms.

Two of them look at me, their eyes popping slightly as they exchange uncomfortable glances. As expected. They don’t speak Russian.

The others, however, scowl. So those two understand me well enough.

“Well? Just need to see some documentation and you can go about your business. Shipping manifesto, passports. Come on, guys, you know the drill.”

One of them backs away, the other fishing in his pockets for something. Hopefully not a gun.

Either way, I know Fyodor is waiting in the wings, likely ready to fire. I hope. He could be leaving me as bait to get shot on purpose.

The dockhand that tried to slip away suddenly yelps, drawing my attention.

“Oh, look at that,” I muse, flapping my lips as several men in black jackets spread out, all four dockhands holding their hands high.

I guess I was right about these poor guys.

But so was Fyodor.

And this is definitely an ambush.

10

VANYA

It’s way too fucking early when I open my eyes.

Especially with how much I drank last night. Yet I could barely sleep after what happened with Ciro. The way he made me feel, the way he touched me, the way he dominated me.

Unacceptable, insane, fucking wonderful.

I dreamt about it, and I woke up soaking wet.

My hand trails down, stroking my clit. So tempting. I ponder seeking him out, going down to his room.

Until I hear a car screech out front. Hopping out of bed, I rush to the window in time to see Ciro get in Fyo’s car and peel out.

Shit.

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