Page 13 of Stricken (Light & Shadow #4)

CHAPTER 11

VLAD

The phone buzzes again, another demand for my attention in this whirlwind day I've been spending in my office in Purgatory. I snatch it up, barking orders to Dmitri about the shipment coming in tonight. My eyes dart to the clock. 2:47 PM. Three more meetings before dinner.

And an unexpected guest from across the border as a show of goodwill from the Arellanos, who is to land any minute now.

As I hang up the phone and toss it on the desk, needing some rest, immediately, my mind drifts to Nico. His dark eyes, the curve of his lips with that permanent smirk. Something shifted between us last time. The wall I'd carefully constructed crumbled, revealing... what? That we are kindred spirits. Parentless. I shake my head, banishing the thought. No time for distractions. This is supposed to be about sex. Nothing else.

The phone on my desk crackles again.

"Boss, your 3 PM is here," Seven says on the line.

"Is he alone?"

"No, two more guys with him. They look like pros."

I straighten my tie, steeling myself. Another asshole who likes to show off he is a big deal by bringing unnecessary muscle. "Send him in. The escort waits downstairs."

"Got it."

The afternoon blurs—negotiations, threats veiled as pleasantries, numbers that could make or break empires. Through it all, Nico lingers at the fringes of my mind like a half-remembered dream.

Somewhere between the first and the last afternoon meetings, my phone vibrates.

"Esteban," I answer, keeping my voice neutral. "I would say always a pleasure but forgive my reservations after our last rendezvous."

"Vlad, my friend. I've just touched down in your fair city."

My grip tightens on the phone. "Hope the flight was good."

"Smooth as silk. Vegas looks good from the air. Time to give it a try in person."

"You will have a great time."

"I'm certain I will. Why don't you join me for dinner? I'd like to treat you to a meal and ensure everything's copacetic between our organizations after... recent events."

The barely-healed bruising around my neck the shirt's collar currently hides throbs at his words. A reminder of 'recent events.' A reminder to be careful too. I force a chuckle. "Of course. Always good to check in personally, isn't it?"

"Exactly. We'll talk more tonight, after I've settled in."

An invitation and a challenge wrapped in one and refusing it would not be wise. "I know a place that does an excellent beef Stroganoff," I finally say after a beat of silence.

A moment's pause. Then, "I'd be delighted."

Later that evening, I step into the main dining room of Russky Dvor , a place owned by my father's former associate who was smart enough to disengage and run here years ago, before greed made Yuri completely blind, and he started trading all the lives around him just to make more money.

"Vladimir," I'm greeted at the door by one of the hosts who knows me well enough from my days working with my father. "Your guest is already here," he says. "I put him in the Red Room." His accent is heavy and harsh but the smile on his face is wide and friendly.

" Spasibo , Anatoly." I give him a curt nod and he takes me to the private dining area at the back of the restaurant.

As we walk past the tables and into a small corridor, the scent of borscht and pelmeni hits me hard. My mother used to cook both dishes very well.

We pause in front of the ornate door and Anatoly knocks, then swings it open.

I thank him again and enter the room.

The door behind me closes shut, giving me and Esteban complete privacy.

Esteban rises as I approach, his small frame filled with restrained energy and dressed into a sharp suit. His dark eyes flick over me as if searching for weakness.

The warm, wood-paneled interior feels like a fortress—my territory, my rules. But even here, tension crackles in the air like static before a storm.

"Vlad." Esteban extends a hand for a shake, which I give him. "This place... it reminds me of home."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a lover of Russian cuisine," I reply, sliding into my seat.

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "Homemade food is homemade food no matter the continent, my friend."

There is a polite knock and the waiter appears.

"What would be your recommendation?" Esteban asks me, looking at the laminated menu pages.

"If you don't mind, let me order for you."

He nods.

I order in rapid-fire Russian, not bothering with the menu. I've been to this place enough times to know the best dishes.

As we wait for our food, Esteban leans forward, elbows on the table. "I hope you know how deeply troubled I am by what happened in Mexico, Vlad. My people are working tirelessly to get to the bottom of it."

I meet his gaze, unflinching. "And what have they found so far?"

"Nothing conclusive yet," he says, spreading his hands. "But I assure you, we'll have answers soon. Very soon."

My jaw clenches. Is this a stalling tactic? A lie? I force myself to relax, to maintain the facade of calm. "I appreciate your... diligence," I say carefully. "Our partnership is important to me."

"To me as well. Which is why I'm here personally. I want you to know you can trust us, Vlad."

Trust. Such a loaded word in our world. I take a sip of water, buying time. "I'm sure you know trust is earned, Esteban. Not given."

He nods slowly. "Of course. And how might we earn it back?"

The question hangs between us. I lean back, studying him. Is he truly an ally or a snake waiting to strike? My instincts war with each other. "By starting with telling me if you figured out how an assassin was able to get into your compound."

"We suspect he was sneaked in as part of the staff, probably the gardening team. That is currently the main focus of our investigation."

By focus, he probably means they have someone locked up in a basement somewhere and being interrogated for information.

"Perhaps," I say finally, "if you could be more… transparent with me is all I ask."

Esteban's expression doesn't change, but I catch a flicker of something in his eyes. Surprise? Indignation? Suspicion. It's gone too quickly to tell.

"Transparency," he repeats as if tasting the word. "An admirable goal. Though in our line of work, sometimes the less known, the better. Wouldn't you agree?"

I smile thinly. "Not when it comes to attempts on my life, Esteban."

"That is very true. That's why I made this trip—to show that the Arellanos want to do business with you and take the situation seriously." His mask falls away for a second and he says with a smile, "We love those damn Russian guns, Vlad."

The air between us grows warm and I return his smile with one of my own. It's not real but I'm sure it looks friendly enough. Just then our food arrives and we both concentrate on the dinner.

When the waiter clears our plates and we are getting ready to leave, Esteban's shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. He extends his hand again. "I appreciate your candor, Vlad. Rest assured, we're committed to finding who's responsible for the... incident."

I grasp his hand, feeling the tension in his grip. Our eyes lock, a silent agreement passing between us. "Good," I say. "And Shtyk?"

"My men are searching," Esteban replies, releasing my hand. "We'll find him."

I nod. "Hopefully soon."

As I exit the restaurant, the cool night air hits my face. I savor it for a moment. Nights like this will be a rarity in this city when the heat comes. I slide into the waiting car, Ivan already behind the wheel. My mind races, replaying every nuance of the conversation with Esteban.

I pull out my phone, fingers hovering over the screen. Nico. The thought of him sends an unexpected thrill through me. Dangerous, but... pleasant.

11 PM. I have a room at Eclipse

I type, then pause before sending the message. Too public? Too risky? Too needy? I delete it, try again.

11 PM. Room 2103. Eclipse

I hit Send before I can second-guess myself. We've been meeting at his spots mostly. Never in the ones I set up.

"Where to, boss?" Ivan's gruff voice breaks through my thoughts.

I glance up, catching his concerned gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Are you texting him again?" he asks with a judging look in his eyes.

I don't grace his question with an answer.

Ivan's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "Vladimir," he starts, his tone thick with uncharacteristic hesitation, "about the Italian..."

I raise an eyebrow, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "What about him?"

Ivan exhales sharply. "It's not my place, but... he could be a spy. Getting close to you, gathering intel. It's textbook."

I've considered this possibility, of course, but hearing it from Ivan makes it feel more real, more dangerous.

"I appreciate your concern," I say, struggling to keep my emotions in check all of a sudden. "But I can handle him." Even if he is a spy. We made an agreement not to talk about our respective family matters. So far, neither one of us shared anything of importance with each other. Except for frequent orgasms.

"Can you?" Ivan challenges, his usual stoic demeanor cracking. "With all due respect, but you're not thinking clearly when it comes to him."

I close my eyes, trying to shove the confusion down. Ivan's right–Nico could be playing me. But the memory of his touch, his scent, the way he looked at me... it feels too raw, too real to be fake. Is he that good of an actor?

"Maybe..." I start, then stop mid-thought. An idea rushes through my mind. Maybe we need to be more discreet . The hotel is very exposed.

"So where to, then?"

With a decisive swipe, I unlock my phone again to see if Nico responded to my last text, but to Ivan I say, "The club."