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Text from Drago and another message from Mikhail.
Mikhail. Fuck, what the hell did he want? He was probably getting annoyed that I kept dodging him. I knew he wanted me back in Russia. I think he wanted to put me in his inner circle, but I found myself resisting the idea. I also hated his number two, Yevgeny. His narcissistic, sycophantic behavior reminded me too much of my father.
In light of this, I pulled up Drago’s message first.
Drago: Just heard from my guy tapping Armstrong’s business. There’s some movement there. Come to my office tomorrow so we can deal with that and the Orlov thing.
This sent a chill through me. Fuck, I definitely didn’t need Armstrong interfering with Emmy right now. Or ever. Drago and I had discussed some ways to deal with his ass, but I didn’t think we’d have to act on it yet.
Christ, I was too tired to deal with Orlov, Armstrong, and whatever the fuck was going on with Emmy.
I decided to distract myself with Mikhail’s message which spoke volumes about my need to be distracted. I pulled up his text, scanning it quickly, then let out a sigh of aggravation. He wanted me to do some bullshit job of getting one of the strippers at The Trinity Club to go back to Moscow because she had been Yevgeny’s favorite mistress.
This felt like pure punishment.
I walked into the kitchen, casting a glance at the uneaten pizza sitting on the counter. The doorbell rang just after Emmy fell asleep and I had to run to make sure the fucking pizza guy didn’t wake her up. I’d forgotten all about ordering the fucking thing after dragging her to bed. I think I forgot about it after watching her give that fucking beer bottle a blow job.
I made some coffee and glanced at my watch, deciding to call Mikhail since it was past noon in Russia. I’m sure he would be shocked I was actually calling instead of emailing or texting.
“Ivan,” his deep voice answered. He never said hello, just your name, and if he didn’t know who it was, he simply said “speak.”
“Are you serious with this assignment?”
“Ah, you read my message. Took you long enough to respond,” he said critically in Russian, though he knew English.
“I’ve been busy doing an assignment for Drago.”
“Orlov,” he said knowingly.
“Yes.”
“How long do you plan to protect this girl while waiting for Orlov to show up? Honestly, if that little rat fuck Orlov hadn’t done so much damage to the Chicago operation, I would just say let him have the girl.”
My fist tightened around the phone as I swallowed a snarl. I was glad Mikhail couldn’t see my expression—he’d know right away he hit a fucking nerve.
Mikhail wasn’t like Yuri, he didn’t go mining for your weaknesses in order to manipulate you, but he wasn’t stupid. If you gave him the ammunition, he’d use it. “He seems to be moving in. He left her a letter last night. I assume he’ll make his move soon and we can get him.”
“Well, until he does, you can make time in your schedule to handle this personal matter for Yevgeny. I’m sure the little girl can manage on her own for an afternoon,” he said sarcastically.
I rolled my eyes at his irritated tone. He really did think protecting Emmy was petty bullshit, and considering the shit he had his guys doing all over the world, it was.
He also wanted me back in Russia and was aggravated that I was prioritizing this job over returning. He had no idea I’d never leave Chicago knowing that Emmy might be in danger. He probably thought I was just trying to fuck her and was thinking with my dick. I was fine letting him think that. Better that than the truth.
I was going to have to have a long chat with Mikhail soon. The more insistent he became, the more my resistance to returning to Moscow grew.
“Fine.” I sighed, not remotely looking forward to wrangling Yevgeny’s stripper girlfriend. “What am I supposed to do? Hogtie her and put her on a plane back to Russia?”
I could almost hear him shrug. “If you must, though it would probably be easier if you could convince her in more conventional ways. Money is always a good choice.”
“What is Yevgeny offering?”
“Apartment, cash, jewelry—the usual,” he said in a bored tone.
Mikhail was an unusual one. He had been married for twenty years, but there was no evidence he had ever had a mistress or even cheated on his wife, which was highly unusual in the Bratva. I’d only met his wife a handful of times, as he preferred to keep her as far away from his business as possible. While he didn’t appear to judge Yevgeny, who was also married, for his infidelity, he never seemed tempted to emulate him either.
“Why are you even getting involved with Yevgeny’s personal life at all? He can fly here himself and deal with the girl,” I grumbled.
“I need him here. He doesn’t have time to go screwing off to Chicago over a piece of pussy,” Mikhail said bluntly. “Especially when we have people there that can handle the job for us.”