Page 18

My eyes flickered to him, sitting there with an empty whiskey glass. His feet crossed under the stool, and the man made no effort to elaborate, too busy staring at the bottom of his glass in concentration, as if expecting it to refill if he waited long enough.
The bar’s surface served as my slide when I approached the stranger. “You two know each other,” I pointed out.
He sized me up, granting me a far too judgmental look. “Hence the warning that you’re so blindly ignoring.”
I chuckled. “They say I’m impulsive.”
An eye twitch flickered in his left eye. “Impulsiveness gets you killed. So does she.”
“Who is she?” I puffed out. “The Black Widow?”
A legend among those who had something to hide. A scary tale whispered to naughty children at night. To adults, the Bratva enforcer was a literal symbol of justice among criminals. If there ever was an equivalent of a court for Mafia associates, The Black Widow would be the judge handing you over to the executioner. With the death of the Pakhan of her era came her disappearance.
To this day, there are speculations about what could have happened. Most say she swims with the fishes in the Volga River.
“The Black Widow wishes,” the man uttered.
To be compared to her was an honor. To be calledbetterthan her? That’s a bold statement.
I inched closer to the man in another attempt to gain information. “C’mon. Give me something.”
Given this guy’s interest, I made an educated guess when he didn’t react. “Is she with the Italians?”
The asshole just went back to staring. Dismissed? Me? I don’t think so. Compulsion took over. Somehow, it felt vital to find out who she was.
It was unusual for a woman to be feared and warned against among this group. Often, despite my protests, the women of this world were only present in the roles of sisters, mothers, or wives. In the mafia ranks? They were a rarity.
While I get how it may sound, given I tried to protect our own sister, I was very much for equal rights. A big difference between making a choiceand being told. If this path, the position was chosen and earned? All power to them.
A refill landed in front of him, courtesy of me or rather Ilya, so he finally dropped the creepy staring. I lingered in my spot, determined to wait him out. Patience wasn’t my strongest suit, but I could adapt when needed.
The chunky family ring on my pinky tapped a steady rhythm against the glass. The sound, close and constant, would probably drive someone insane after a while. For a fleeting moment, as he remained unmoved, I considered choking the information out of the Italian. But I was spared the effort when he finally caved.
“Her name is Taya.”
Torture forgone, I placed my drink down and asked, “Bratva?”One of ours?
“Independent.”
I turned to him in surprise, or as much as I could put on display. “There’s no such thing,” I dismissed his claims.
“There wasn’t. Now there is. You see where this is going?” He gestured toward the exit. “That bus has only one stop with her driving. The final one.”
I smirked at the added drama. “Incredibly poetic.”
“Liquor brings that out of me,” he admitted with a sigh.
“You care about her,” I stated, more out of observation than as a question.
A low growl rumbled from him, his protectiveness slipping through. “I don’t want her involved.”
I rolled my eyes. Do I have to do all the heavy lifting here? Short on creativity, I asked outright, “Involved in…?”
He looked me up and down, his expression a clear warning. The man might want to work on that.
“Whatever you have going on for you.”
I thought about his words, unsure of where to go from here. We sat silently, aware of each other’s presence, both caught up in our own trains of thought. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, his entire demeanor shifting unexpectedly as he followed up with a joke.