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The details couldn’t escape you. They were fragments of importance.
I studied the pair, looking for any signs. Any clues.
Are they related?
As far as I knew, Ilya had no family left. After his parents were murdered in Russia, he took over the Bratva and relocated across the ocean with Malek as his only passenger.
She couldn’t rank high in his inner circle without us knowing.Independent.The word had stuck with me since the Italian let it slip.
How does someone stay on good terms with all these gangsters without being forced to swear loyalty, one way or another?
“Who are we waiting for?” Taya broke the silence, drawing everyone’s attention, including mine.
“One more person,” Ilya answered.
They shared a look filled with a thousand words, and for a brief second, I saw this relationship in a different light. Realization hit me like a bucket of cold water.
Are they involved?
Should that be the case, shit won’t fly with me. Alisa won’t be someone’s second choice, not if I could help it.
The woman stood up, heading to the compact bar occupying the corner. Perfectly aligned glasses awaited her on a tray, a bottle placed on ice. Taya didn’t hesitate to pour herself a drink, ignoring the rest of us. I followed every move from the spot at the edge of the table. The glass rested against her lips, and when she was about to take the first sip, her back straightened. I swear I heard a whisper of prolonged “fuck” under her breath.
The door opened, revealing Malek. The entire table turned to the newcomer as he greeted them in Russian.
I had been aware of him for a couple of years. It would be hard not to since we ran in the same circles, but somehow, probably because of his frequent business trips to Russia, we never met face-to-face.
Until today.
Focused on his face, I noticed the lack of body movement when he stopped midway, searching the room. His gaze locked on Taya, the corner of his lips lifting.
What in the fuck was going on in this messed-up dynamic of theirs? A love triangle of sorts? Why would Ilya invite Malek to this meeting if he knows he’s gunning for the position as we speak?
Oh, my fingers were itching to pull that trigger now. The gun strapped to my right ankle burned an outline into my skin.
I both felt and heard Malek’s presence before he even reached for the door handle. The stupidest and most useful skill I’d picked up.
As soon as he walked in, I knew something was happening between him and Ilya. Some dick-measuring contest I wanted no part of. The latter avoided the topic like the plague.
For the first time since we had known each other, Ilya purposely withheld information from me.
Ironic, since he knew nothing about my life. This was different. Ilya’s choices were going to affect us all, and he seemed set on making all the moves in one night.
“Taya,” Malek’s voice carried a hint of longing when he spoke thename. My name.
“Malek,” I acknowledged his presence from where I sat, fingers wrapped around the delicate flute of champagne the room offered.
“It’s been a while,” he noted, his heated glances burning my skin.
My tone was polite and professional, given the present company. “Can’t say much has changed.”
Nothing, in fact.
“I missed you,solnishko,” Malek beamed while I tensed at his words, tightening my grip on the glass.
Here? Now? In front of all these people? And who in their right mind uses Russian pet names, meant for private use only, now spoken in front of a bunch of native speakers?
I examined his face, eyeing him curiously. Nothing seemed to have changed either. Malek looked exactly as I remembered him. Tall, with slicked-back raven hair, his muscular body packed with lean muscles I’d traced with my tongue not long ago.