“What I think, Trifon's asking questions about where you go and who you're meeting. You missed the shipment check yesterday. He was pissed.”
I keep a straight face and lie because explaining Gela will never work—they’ll never get it. And there is no way to logically explain that I was outside her apartment building until well pastmidnight, sitting and watching her window till the lights turned off just to make sure she was safe.
“I'm handling something.” I keep it vague. “Personal business.”
“Personal business, huh?” Leonid's eyes narrow. “What personal business can you have? Unless it’s a woman…” His eyes widen. “Valentin, if you're risking our operation for pussy—”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I snap, the words out before I can stop them.
His eyebrows shoot up, and I immediately regret my reaction. My younger brothers have been known to talk loosely about women. Once upon a time, I did too, and snapping at Leonid for a loose tongue isn’t like me at all.
But Gela does that to me. She brings out this fiercely protective side I can’t explain to anyone, not even to myself. She’s sunshine in human form. Smart. Driven. Utterly oblivious to the evil she’s surrounded by, and as long as she works in that Zakharov building, she needs to be watched over because she’s entirely in the dark about where she works and who funds that business of hers.
“The Zakharovs,” I say, changing the subject. “Any movement at their headquarters?”
Leonid takes the hint. “Nothing unusual. There are some new security protocols. They're recruiting, though. Bringing in more muscle.”
My chest tightens. Gela works in one of their building. If something goes down there for some unforeseen reason...
“We need to step up surveillance,” I say.
What I don't say: I need to know she's safe.
“Already on it.” Leonid checks his watch. “He's here.”
I turn to see our arms dealer and his cronies entering the bar, and force all thoughts of Gela from my mind, for now. But at the same time, I feel like the noose around my neck’s only getting tighter. My brothers have started asking questions, and it’s about time I figure out a way to keep work and Gela on either side of a well-drawn line. Somewhere along the way, over the past two weeks since I started talking to her, I’ve forgotten who I’m supposed to be watching: The Zakharovs or her?
And the hardest part?
I can’t give up either of my missions.
One I have to protect, while the other I have to protect from.
***
Like clockwork, I show up and park outside the café on Sunday at 9:00 AM. I’ll walk in there later and pretend to act surprised at the sight of her, like I always do.
I hate lying to her.
But sweet, innocent, Gela Jones isn’t exactly the kind of woman to invite a Bratva second-in-command over for pancakes, is she?
I’m only keeping an eye on her because she’s surrounded by danger. I know how hard she’s worked to get to where she is now. Graduated with student loans, working her ass off to pay them off while running a hard-core business, and with her family back in Minnesota?
She needs to be protected.
I take a table I now call my usual, and Gela comes in around a quarter past nine. She walks straight up to the barista, orders her skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot, and takes the window seat in the back corner where she can spread out her laptop and notes.
I know this because I've been watching. Learning her patterns. Convincing myself it's because she works in the Zakharov building, that it's just surveillance, not obsession.
I'm full of shit.
I give her half an hour to settle down and dive deep into her work before I walk in, only when I’m certain the timing won’t look too suspicious.
When I spot her, my heart does an unprecedented, ridiculous little flip in my chest. I swear, my heart’s never flipped for a woman before.
I walk by her table and notice she’s bent over her laptop, her fair hair loose around her face. She's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans today, and I’m starting to think casual Sunday Gela is my favorite version so far.
I order my coffee and casually scan the room as if looking for a seat, then let my gaze land on her as if by accident.
