Page 41 of Immaculate Deception (Romanoff Bratva)

So we rolled out, all testosterone and bravado, looking for trouble. I ended up hitting on a girl who was standing nearby. Long legs sticking out of a tiny skirt, an ass that wouldn’t quit, a daredevil gleam in her eye. I asked her if she wanted a taste of a real man and she didn’t refuse me. Even back then, I had a way with women.

What she failed to mention was that she was dating an enforcer for the Albanians and he was just around the corner. It didn’t take long to erupt into a full-on brawl. The kind that lesser men don’t walk away from.

Gennady and I had to fight our way through one Albanian after the next. We barely made it out. But it was the moment that forever forged our friendship.

We worked together like clockwork. He could anticipate my movements and vice versa. We synced up and we’ve never fallen out of sync since.

Which is why I don’t have to tell Gennady to stand up and move towards the counter so he can get a better view of the door without looking suspicious. He just does it.

The waitress ambles over, ready to flirt with him again, but Gennady is distracted.

“Can I help you, honey?” she asks. When he doesn’t answer, she frowns. “Darling?”

He still doesn’t answer. We’re both watching as the mountainous man walks up to the diner door and yanks it open with one huge hand.

Gennady fixes her with a harsh glare. “Walk into the back and duck down. Hide in the walk-in freezer. Don’t come out until the shooting stops.”

She jerks back, eyes wide. “Are you crazy? What does that—?”

Before she can finish the question, the driver of the car walks into the diner, takes off his sunglasses, and scans the room.

When his eyes land on me, he flashes a nasty grin and pulls out his gun.

“Get down!” I bellow.

I raise my own weapon and squeeze off a few bullets into the ceiling.

No one in this room deserves to be shot, so I want to give them as much time as possible to get out of here.

But they’ll have to move fast.

“Run!” Gennady yells, knocking an old man’s steak and eggs off the counter as he slides over the greasy surface and drops down on the serving side for cover.

A few patrons sprint out the side door. A few more dash into the kitchen where the waitress has disappeared. I hear screams peppering the air. Wails. Whimpers.

The attackers duck for cover behind a half-wall just beside the door. But as soon as they get the chance, they pop back over the top, guns aimed our direction.

“Gentlemen!” Gennady waves a white napkin from behind the counter. “Come on. Let’s sit down. Have some brunch. I can vouch for the pancakes.”

The attackers respond with a barrage of gunfire.

I answer in kind, piercing a hole in the half-wall. If it hit one of them, they don’t make so much as a peep.

“Things don’t have to be this way,” Gennady continues. “I assume you followed me here, so why don’t you at least do me the honor of telling me how you did it before you kill me?”

One of them calls out, “We didn’t follow you. We have better intel than that.”

Albanians. I recognize the accent.

“Don’t be a tease. Tell us,” I yell right back.

I glance to my right. Gennady has crawled to the far end of the counter and pokes his head around the corner enough so that I can see him.

Me—back door, he mouths, pointing to himself. Then he points to me.You—side door.

The side door is only two tables behind me. Right next to where I parked Arya’s car. The problem is, it’s visible through a wall of windows. Glass doesn’t do too well against bullets, historically speaking.

I shake my head and hold up my gun. That route is a no-go.

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