Page 21 of Sweet Deception
Foolish.
Now she was loose in Moscow. Probably having fun with some strangers.
Her location pinged. A club. My fists clenched, knuckles popping. What the hell was she doing there?
I sped to the address, stormed inside, and scanned the dim, pulsing room.
There she was.
By the far edge, laughing with a man. They sat close on a couch, his face inches from hers, her lips parted in a smile.
I wanted to torch the place.
He’s lucky he’s not touching her. But I’d still break his jaw for this. No one laughs with my wife. Her tears, her screams, her joy, they’re mine.
I surged forward, rage tightening my chest.
“Hey.” A hand grabbed my arm.
I turned, scowling. Uncle Antonio. Was he stalking me?
I lived under his roof for two years. He treated me like a son and vowed revenge on the Italians he believed had orchestrated my father’s death.
I respected him, but we’d never been close.
“Rare to see you here, Gleb,” he said, eyeing me.
“Yeah.” I glanced toward Anna. Two more men joined her table. One look at their tattoos, and I knew they were Podolskaya mafia. She had no idea where she was. This wasn’t a safe club. Vultures hunted here nightly, preying on the naive.
Antonio followed my gaze, smirking. “Podolskaya? They are no threat to us. Relax.”
Relax? My wife sat with three strangers, and I should relax?
“Drink?” he pressed. “It’s been a while.”
“No, Uncle. I’ve got business.” I pulled away.
His hand yanked me back.
I tore free, body tensing. He knew I hated being touched. If he weren’t family, he’d be dead.
“My apologies,” he sighed.
My fingers twitched, itching to strike. Instead, I melted into the crowd, letting him lose me.
When I reached her table, she was gone.
If anything happened to her, I’d raze this city.
I dialed Borris, my consigliere.
“Boss,” he answered.
“Find me. Bring a few men.”
“Got it.”
I hung up and plunged deeper into the club. I’d find her. And when I did, mercy wouldn’t be an option.
