Page 57 of Brooklyn Bratva

Some days I saw it in the mirror too. But death was Maxim’s lifeblood. I only crossed paths with it occasionally.

My smile froze in place. Was this guy sent to report back on me? Or worse, to abdicate me from my role. “Not problems. No.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the road, but I felt him staring at the side of my head. “That’s not what Valentin said. Don’t worry, I’m only here to pick up payment en-route to London to avoid the paper trail. They have another level of problems for me to handle over there. But I thought, you know, professional courtesy and all that, while I’m here I could lend a hand. Brother to brother.”

“Everything’s under control.”

“Is that right? Good. Glad to hear it. Last thing anybody wants is a tested operation hemorrhaging funds for absolutely no good reason at all.”

The words he hadn’t spoken were coming through loud and clear. Unless I sorted out Grigori Menshikov as soon as possible, someone was going to come and sort him out for me.

I darted a glare across at him, turning the wheel sharply to jolt us out sharply into the stream of traffic. Max laughed, but he had a hold on the handle above the passenger door, and his feet were braced flat against the floorboard. I knew the look of tension inhabiting the muscles of a man always ready to jump into action.

“Your driving would be more impressive with a V8 engine connected to the wheels.”

My jaw clenched. “Cop salary. What are you gonna do?”

“I sympathize. Deeply.”

“It’s fine by me. I got nothing to overcompensate for.”

Maxim chuckled, and I got the impression he was enjoying himself. “Nothing that Glock doesn’t make up for anyway.”

I bristled.

“Oh here we go. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. You Americans can’t handle a bit of banter. It’s called a joke, back in Blighty. Lighten up a bit. It’s all so serious, this business.”

“I’m not American.”

“Right. Of course not. Silly me.”

“I’m Russian.”

“Me too mate, me too. More power to us.”

I snarled at his mockery. He was younger than me, trumped up in a designer suit, talking like he was part of the goddamn Royal Family. I doubted he knew Russia the way I did. How could he when his connection was clearly so thin. We had words for men like him in Russia.

“Suka, blyat.”

“Oh that’s not very nice is it, krisha.”

I side-eyed him. Corrupt cop, in the pockets of people like him. Only in Russia would we have a word for that. It almost surprised me that he knew it. The precision of his Russian accent had me wondering which side of him was for show.

I screeched the car to a halt on the side of the road and leaned past him to yank open the passenger door.

“Get the fuck out of my car.”

Max laughed. “Oh for God’s sake. We’re on the same side. The sooner you give me what I’ve come for, the sooner I get out of your receding hairline and you can get back to that delicious creature of yours.”

“Don’t talk about Becca. Don’t even think about her.”

“Becca, is it? Valentin was impressed anyway. Punching above your weight, apparently. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

I let out a feral growl. “Not going to happen.” Like hell was this trumped up Brit storming his way into my city and making a move on my woman. I was used to people flinching back from me, mostly due to my size, but Max let out a slow exhale and waved his hand dismissively.

“She doesn’t interest me. You can have her. I bet she’ll make you the perfect little wife. You deserve a warm, nubile body like hers after all you’ve done. You can fulfil the dream and create half a dozen little-Ivan’s and pretend you’re back in Moscow with her for all I care. All that is not my cup of tea in the slightest.”

I unholstered my gun, whipping around to settle the barrel right at the nape of his neck. “Get the fuck out of my car. And get my future wife out of your head before I take it off for you.”

Maxim let out a weary sigh and unclipped his seatbelt. “So dramatic. I thought you were more level headed than this.”

“Get out.”

His hands raised to eye level, palms wide and his eyes were coolly unamused.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking I couldn’t turn this around and splatter your brains all over your frayed upholstery before you even try to pull the trigger, Ivan. Wet work is my trade. And I’m bloody good at my job. Wouldn’t it be better for both of us if we helped each other out?”

My hand tensed on the handle of my gun, and I eyeballed him for a long moment. I knew he was speaking the truth. If I pulled the trigger – even assuming his words were a bluff – I’d be signing my death sentence one way or another. Maxim was a valuable asset and the Bratva wouldn’t let his demise go unaccounted for.

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