Page 23 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

I regard Rudy coolly. “Are you trying to insult me?”

His bushy brows jump with worry. “No! I just thought—”

“Next time, think again. Come, Ludmil. I need a fucking drink after this shit.”

Already, my mind is swapping through possibilities: Mask & Mule has the best cognac, but Lizzie’s Starlight Rooftop has better dancing girls. God knows I could use some fucking distraction.

“Looking for a wife?” Rudy butts in with a hopeful smile. Trying to work his way back into my good graces, no doubt.

“For a break,” I say flatly. “I don’t need a wife. I need a new game plan. Maybe a new campaign manager.”

“Getting a new wifeisa new game plan,” Rudy insists, turning red as he gets out his phone. “Now, let’s just say I message Khloe’s people and come to an arrangement—public appearances only, a year-long engagement to last you through the campaign and a bit beyond and …”

I rise. “Get out.”

Rudy blinks at me. “But—”

“Just be happy I don’t throw you to my fucking sharks.”

Rudy looks so boyishly perplexed that it would be funny if I was in the mood.

“That’s … a joke,” he guesses. His smile is brave. His eyes say otherwise.

“What’s the matter, Rudy, old boy?” Ludmil asks lightly, all smiles. “You look like you’re treading water in the shark tank already.”

Rudy does a swinging step around, muttering to himself, “… Not real … it’s just a …” and then, finally, he’s gone with a swift swish of the door.

Ludmil shakes his head. “Aw, real shame, that rumor. Shark tank—it’s got flair, I’ll say that. Scared the fuckin’ drawers off some of the men, hasn’t it?”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because Istartedthat rumor.” We tip our heads together and roar with laughter. That is why Ludmil and I work so very well together.

I clap him on the back. “Satan did his finest work when he made you, didn’t he? The perfect asshole.”

He’s still grinning away. “Come on, it does us some good, it does. Like a monster under the bed, but for grown men. Keeps them in line.”

“Until we actually have to chuck someone in to prove its existence,” I point out.

“Pah!” Ludmil waves a hand, getting to his feet. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He glances at me, but I don’t rise. It’s not time to go yet. There’s still something else.

“And Osip?” It’s out of me before I can think better of it.

Just like that, all the laughter is sucked out of the room. The air conditioner is whirring like there’s something stuck in it, the air smells even muskier and less lemony than before. Or maybe the room was like this all along, and it’s merely my mood that has shifted.

Ludmil is careful not to look at me. “No news.”

“Would you tell me if there were?”

“Of course.”

“Even if it was in my best interest not to know?”

My advisor doesn’t miss a beat. “Even then.”

I study his face for a moment—the placid, ever-bulging light eyes, the bulbous purse of his lips. If I were him and it was necessary, I’d lie to me. No question.

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