Page 45 of Sweet Deception

I rarely stood at the forefront of deals. I preferred to watch from the sidelines, letting my consigliere be the face of our mafia.

“Open the truck,” the Chicago boss ordered.

A signal from my consigliere, and the truck doors swung open. Two of their men moved forward, inspecting the weapons. After a few minutes, they exchanged a look and gave a small nod. Confirmed.

“Now ours,” my consigliere said.

The Chicago man carrying the case clicked it open. Inside, neatly packed bricks of weed. My consigliere took a handful, sniffing it.

Once.

Twice.

A second sniff was all I needed to know something was wrong.

“Clear?” the Chicago man asked.

But my consigliere hesitated.

I stepped forward, reaching for the product myself, but the Chicago man snapped the case shut.

“And who’s this? Your watchdog?” he sneered. “Step back. Your boss is already checking.”

Fool. He had no idea who he was talking to.

I smiled, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Can we be civil, gentlemen? I know this is our first time doing business, and trust isn’t exactly in abundance. But let’s not turn this into something it doesn’t have to be.”

A tense pause. Then, at a signal from their boss, the man reopened the case.

I took a handful, brought it to my nose, inhaled deeply.

Fake.

I dropped it and leaned back against the car.

“It’s fake,” I murmured to my consigliere.

My instincts told me we were seconds away from bullets flying.

“Confirmed?” the Chicago man asked.

“It’s fake.”

The moment the words left my consigliere’s mouth, our guns were drawn. The Chicago men moved just as fast, weapons raised, fingers on triggers.

“This is Russia,” I said, my voice cutting through the tension. “Not America. This is our land. And you think you can walk in here and deceive us?”

Then my phone rang.

I glanced down. Zoya.

I frowned. She knew better than to call me during a deal. Unless...

I answered, my voice low. “Zoya, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Anna is sick. Her temperature is high. The doctor has already come, but she’s not getting any better.”

Something twisted in my chest. My grip on the phone tightened.