Page 33 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“Neither have I,” I admit.
His hand closes around mine gently. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but when I did it kind of felt like fate. Is that silly?”
“I don’t think it’s silly,” I breathe, suddenly light-headed. “I felt it too.”
He leans in, his face just inches from mine. His eyes darken as his hands slide to my hips.
I tilt my head, eyes fluttering shut, waiting for the moment our mouths meet. It’s unexpected and hardly how I pictured tonight unfolding. Every fiber of me wants this.
“Sergei!”
Sasha’s sharp voice instantly shatters our moment. We spring apart as Sasha’s footsteps thunder closer.
“What is it?” Sergei asks stiffly, not even attempting to hide his annoyance.
Sasha barely spares me a glance before grabbing his brother’s arm and tugging him aside. “We have a problem. You need to come now.”
“What kind of problem?” Sergei asks, but I don’t catch Sasha’s answer—they’re already striding away.
Sergei turns back and mouths a quick “sorry.” I shrug and lean against the trellis, watching him go.
13
SERGEI
Sasha doesn’t say a word as we move through the house, and I already know any reason he has for interrupting Nicole and me can’t be good. I’d made it very clear earlier in the day that we weren’t to be bothered.
We pass the back doors and head toward the side entrance that leads straight into my office. I shoot one last glance back toward the garden, though I can’t see Nicole from this angle. Once the door to my office closes behind us, I turn on my heel.
“What the hell is going on?” I growl.
Sasha tosses his phone onto my desk, frustration crackling in the air.
“One of our shipments was hit tonight,” he answers gravely, his own frustration palpable.
“Hit how?” I ask as my body tenses.
“It was ambushed near the docks off Thirty-Fifth,” he says, his tone flat. “Same setup as always: two trucks, five of our men, full protocol. But they still got hit.”
I circle the desk and unlock the secure cabinet, grabbing the burner phone I use only for internal logistics.
“Any casualties?” I ask, holding my breath and praying there aren’t.
“Four injured. One dead,” he says, trying to mask his own emotion.
My fingers curl into the edge of the desk until my knuckles go white. This shouldn’t have happened.
“Who?”
“Valentin,” he says quietly.
I close my eyes briefly, letting the grief hit me just for a moment. He was just a kid, eager to learn and always loyal. Worse, I’d promised his father I’d look after him when he joined the ranks. No matter who killed him, his death is squarely on my shoulders. Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to dwell on my own feelings. That’s the nature of the business.
“What happened to the shipment?” I ask.
“It’s gone.”
“All of it?” I ask, enraged.
