Page 28 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

Viktor

George’s diner is a nice place. Clean. Quaint. A far cry from the rundown liquor store he owned before.

Technically, it is his brother’s diner, but now George owns fifty percent. Apparently, his brother was in financial trouble and George wanted to get out from under the liquor store where he nearly died—where I almost killed him, to be specific—so a partnership worked out for them both.

It worked out for me, too. Molly has been craving onion rings since becoming pregnant, and George sends them home with me free of charge.

I sip my black coffee, surprised by the smoothness. Most diner coffee is burnt tar water, but this cup is rich and nuanced. George walks over without a word and tops off my mug. When I look up, he tips his head towards the back door and gives me two fingers.

Meet me out back in two minutes.

I take a burning mouthful of coffee, count to thirty, and then drop a ten on the counter and leave.

The alley is dark and damp and it reeks of grease and rotting lettuce. George is leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette dangling from his lip, trying to light it. He looks up as I round the corner and walk towards him.

“How did you know I needed to speak with you?” I ask.

He circles his hand around his face. “I could see it in your expression. You were trying too hard not to look at me.”

There is a reason I hired George as Molly’s personal guard for a while. He is observant. He pays attention. He can read people.

I don’t like exactly how well he can read me, but as long as he stays on my side of this war, he doesn’t have anything to worry about.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks, shoving his lighter in the front pocket of his jeans. They hang off him a little looser than they used to. He’s lost weight since I first met him, and his arms are a bit thicker around the biceps. Having his life put in danger probably gave him good reason to want to get back into military shape.

“I need your help. Well, actually, I want your help.”

“You have guys. What could you need with me?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know who my guys are right now. How much do you know about Fedor’s operation?”

“As little as possible,” George says, holding up a hand to stop me. “And I’d like it to stay that way. I knew too much before, and I don’t want to get into trouble again. I’d be happy to flip burgers and refill coffee until I die, thank you very much.”

I respect that. Sometimes, I have the same dream. Getting away with Molly and Theo, starting over somewhere else. I’ve considered it, but like it or not, this life has its hold on me, and I won’t be getting out anytime soon. I’m not even sure I actually want out.

“Then I won’t tell you more than you need to know,” I assure him. “Basically, I’d like to hire you to be my eyes. One of my guys is sneaking around on me, and I don’t trust him. Normally, I’d confront him, but something like that could split loyalties in the Bratva in two, and I can’t afford that right now. I need this to be discreet.”

George flicks ashes on the ground. “What do you think he’s doing? Could this get me killed?”

“Not unless you’re stupid, which I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

He raises an amused eyebrow at me. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“I don’t know if he is skimming money or meeting with my brother, but I want to figure it out, and I’d like to pay you to help me,” I say. “My rate is far higher than what you make here at the diner. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

George clears his throat and stands tall, his cigarette dangling from his hand at his side. “I don’t owe you anything anymore, Viktor. I paid my debt. We are square.”

“If anything, I owe you,” I tell him. “You saved my wife and son.”

Once again, he raises an eyebrow. This time, in surprise. I hadn’t told him Molly and I got married.

“We don’t owe each other anything,” he says. “This is a business deal. I’m doing this because I trust you. I trust you not to risk my life and to pay me fairly.”

“Done.”

George drops his cigarette and crushes it under the toe of his boot before extending his hand. We shake on it.

“What’s the name?”

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