Page 25 of Broomsticks and Bloodstains
Thankfully, Boris was quick. “The girl is nothing,” he smoothly inserted. “A distraction, perhaps, but Maksim knows his place and what is important.”
Popov’s gaze didn’t leave mine. “Does he? Pillow talk can be… dangerous. Women can be used as leverage. We can’t be too careful in our world.”
The silence stretched, heavy as lead sinking quickly to the bottom of a pool. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of answering. Keeping my expression neutral, I simply held his stare until Boris laughed lightly, steering the conversation back to percentages and shipping lanes.
But inside, fire licked my veins.
They could talk. They could speculate. They could call her a problem, a weakness, or a distraction.
Let them.
Sofia wasn’t going anywhere.
And if Popov or anyone else in this brotherhood decided to test that, they’d find out exactly how far I was willing to go to protect her.
As things were wrapping up, I began to relax. Yet I shouldn’t have. I should’ve known Popov wasn’t finished.
He steepled his fingers and a venomous smile curled his lips. “And speaking of problems—your Midnight Market trip was very… entertaining, wasn't it?” His eyes gleamed before he dropped the biggest bomb. “I hear one of your own brothers was seen speaking with Armenians. Bold. Or foolish. No?”
Boris’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze flicked to me. “You saw this?”
“Yes.” My voice was flat. “Too close. Too comfortable.”
Popov chuckled. “Perhaps the Bratva—brotherhood—isn’t as united as we like to believe. Or perhaps someone enjoys playing both sides.”
The implication was dripping with poison, and we all knew it. Boris rested his elbows on the table as he leaned in. “We’ll deal with our own. Don’t mistake whispers for truth—or weakness, Igor. Not if you value your investments.”
Popov’s grin widened, satisfied to have stirred the pot. Fucker. My teeth ground together. He waved for another bottle of wine.
The deal moved forward, but I heard little of the details. I knew Boris would confront me later about what I’d seen. I hadn’t said anything because I had no concrete proof he was up to no good.
Later, as I walked through the city, I lit a cigarette. Slowly, I let the smoke fill my lungs and I promised myself I’d quit—again. My mind spun through the possibilities—why would one of our brothers risk speaking to the Armenians in secret? Was it greed? Betrayal? Obviously, Boris knew nothing about it either.
I turned down a side street, Sofia’s apartment still many blocks away. That’s when I felt it—the weight of eyes on me.
My senses went on full alert.
The rhythm of footsteps behind me was too steady. Too careful.
I cut down an alley and stopped in the darkest shadows. Silent, I waited. Time ticked by.
Nothing.
Whoever it was, they knew I’d clocked them. Their movements were too clean to be some junkie looking for a wallet to snag. They’d also been too deliberate to be a cop.
I scanned the rooftops and the shadows, but they obviously knew how to disappear. Because I found no one.
Yet the prickle between my shoulder blades remained all the way to Sofia’s apartment building. For a second, I debated walking by, except whoever it was, something told me they knew, so it didn’t matter.
Using a lock pick, I easily let myself into the building. Shitty false security.
When I reached her door and knocked, I heard her on the other side. Knew she was looking through the peephole.
She opened it, barefoot, curly hair down, green eyes softening at the sight of me.
I brushed past her and into the apartment, scanning the windows and every inch of the small space as I kissed her.
Not wanting to worry her, I didn’t say anything to her. Not yet.
