Page 29 of Brooklyn Bratva

I’d come prepared. I’d stuffed a bag with half a dozen ownerless phones out of evidence that weren’t going to be vital when it came to locking anyone up and weren’t hot enough for anyone to care about where they ended up. There was a tracker in one, just in case I missed my mark. But I wasn’t planning to.

I got an ice cream in a half-assed attempt to blend in, but the truth was, all on my own, in a cheap suit, I had cop written all over me to half the people here, and mafia to the rest. There was only so much I could do about the way I looked.

Who went to Coney Island in a suit? Chances were I wasn’t the only one watching the location, and whether or not I came with a package it seemed wiser not to make the approach myself. I should have brought Becca. Played those stupid arcade games and won her a giant bear. Got her some cotton candy. But I hadn’t.

It could have been a kind of date. But I wasn’t sure I wanted her mixed up in any of this at all. Most men in the Bratva kept themselves unconnected. The ones that had family mostly kept their wives and partners in the dark.

That wasn’t what I’d wanted for anyone, so I hadn’t pursued relationships, but Becca was someone I couldn’t ignore. I had to figure out how close I wanted her to become.

But not now. Now I had to get my head back in the game and stop looking like a cop on a stakeout.

My options for more convincing cover were limited and I had no time.

Grabbing the nearest kid on a skateboard who was roughly Jerome’s build was the best I could come up with. I shoved a couple of bills into his hand. If it wasn’t me making the drop, then maybe no one would care why I was there.

“Put this bag under those steps.”

“I don’t want trouble mister.”

“Then do what you’re told. Run off with it, and I’ll find you and make sure you never finish puberty. You understand?”

The kid swallowed sharply. “Sure.”

From a distance, I hoped he’d pass for Jerome. They had the same baggy clothes and lean beanpole build. All he needed to do was make the drop but it would have been better if he didn’t keep looking back at me. As soon as he set the bag down, he practically sprinted back up the steps and zipped away on his board. I settled in for the wait. I figured it couldn’t be too long.

Back in Brighton Beach I could have sat down with some real food, maybe even a beer and I wouldn’t have been so out of place. Here I was forced to eke out the ice cream cone until it turned into a dripping sticky mess. Because Coney Island was a goddamn amusement park.

Just when I’d convinced myself my cover had been blown and the last of my ice cream had dripped stickily down my hand, I recognized a face in the crowd.

Ruslan was strolling along the boardwalk, his pace faster and tighter than anyone else’s around him. They were all ambling along, enjoying being here with friends, set on enjoying their evening. He had somewhere to be. The tropical shirt didn’t disguise that. He was swinging one of those drawstring bags by the rope, and he kept touching the cigarette he’d tucked behind his ear.

Behind me, someone’s kid burst a balloon.

I started, hand halfway to my gun. And Ruslan locked eyes with me.

He turned on a dime and the woman behind him let out a shriek as he shoved into her, going from a walk to a sprint in an instant.

“Fucksake!”

I leapt up, shoving through the crowd as I forged my way towards where he’d last been.

If I had to chase him all the way back to Brighton Beach, I’d do it.

CHAPTER 14

Becca

Ivan didn’t show up for dinner, even though I texted him once I got in to say we had enough to feed a small army. Mrs. K seemed to like to go overboard with the food, and she was definitely keen for me to get her son over. I was starting to get the feeling that she didn’t see him as much as she’d like to.

I’d stopped myself from saying that I wanted to see him after the slightly abrupt message he left at work. Apparently he’d been pretty terse on the phone, and I figured whatever was keeping him away had to be important. He’d been so ridiculously overprotective about wanting to meet me that it felt weird that he’d changed his plans just like that.

Especially after that kiss.

Mrs. K patted me on the wrist and gave me a sympathetic look as she squeezed my hand, and I realized I’d been moping.

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