Page 27 of Crystal Wrath
I sit across from him in the leather chair that had been my father's favorite spot. For a moment, I can almost pretend we're just two old friends sharing a drink instead of a boss andhis second-in-command navigating the treacherous waters of loyalty and ambition.
“She said some things,” I admit.
Sergey's eyes meet mine, and there's something in them I can't quite identify. “About Elena?”
I nod, taking a sip of vodka. The burn feels good, cleansing.
He scoffs, but there's an edge to it. “We've got enough problems without adding emotional distractions to the list.”
I arch a brow, studying his face. “You sound jealous.”
“I'm not,” he responds quickly.
“You've always had a thing for Bianca.” It's not a question.
His jaw tics and his grip tightens on his glass. “She's yours. Was, anyway.”
“That's not an answer.”
He downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, then stares into the empty glass like it holds answers. “Doesn't matter.”
“It does. If you're making decisions based on feelings you're not admitting to yourself or me, then it matters a great deal.”
“I'm not,” he snaps, but his voice carries the strain of a lie. “I'm making decisions based on survival. And right now, you're getting too soft.”
My hands tighten around the glass. The crystal is warm from the heat of my palms, and I have to resist the urge to throw it at his head. “Say that again.”
“You're getting careless, Renat. We've got Bennato breathing down our necks, trying to muscle in on our territory. We've got the feds sniffing around our docks, asking questions about shipping manifests that don't add up. And you're chasing after a girl who could blow this entire operation sky-high with a single article.” He leans forward, his green eyes intense. “I don't care if she's got legs for days and a mouth that makes you think stupid thoughts. She's a liability.”
He's not wrong. Elena is dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with her profession and everything to do with how she makes me feel. She makes me want to be better than I am, and in my line of work, being better often means being dead.
But he's not right either.
“Elena's smart,” I point out. “She's not trying to expose me. She's trying to understand the world she stumbled into.”
“And when she writes that story? When your name's plastered on the front page under ‘Russian Mafia Kingpin’? When every federal agency in the country decides you're worth their full attention?”
“She won't.”
“You don't know that,” he sneers.
“I do,” I retort, and I realize I mean it. “Because I know her.”
Sergey exhales hard and stands. “Then I hope to hell you're right. Because if you're not, if she burns us all down for the sake of a byline, I'm not going down with the ship.”
He doesn't finish the sentence, but the threat is clear. He leaves me alone with the fire and the knowledge of everything I'm risking.
Elena's name whispers through the smoke like a prayer. I close my eyes and realize, with a clarity that's more terrifying than any rival or threat, that she's already mine. And I don't know if that will save us or destroy us both.
9
ELENA
I stare at my computer screen, but the words blur together into a meaningless soup of headlines and half-formed thoughts. The newsroom buzzes around me with its familiar chaos. Phones ring in endless succession, their shrill tones cutting through conversations. Printers sputter and wheeze, spitting out paper that curls at the edges. My colleagues tap furiously at keyboards, their fingers dancing across the keys in rapid-fire bursts that sound like rainfall on tin roofs. But despite all this noise, all this activity swirling around me, I can only think about one thing.
Renat.
His name curls around my thoughts like smoke from a cigarette, persistent and intoxicating. No matter how many times I shake my head or force my eyes back to the bright glow of my monitor, he slips into my consciousness uninvited, unwelcome, and completely inescapable. I hate that my pulse flutters when I remember the way he looked at me during our last encounter. Those hazel eyes held something dangerous and magnetic, that made my breath catch in my throat. I hate that I can still feel the phantom pressure of his lips against mine, how he kissed melike I was a question he needed to answer and the solution to a problem he'd been trying to solve.
