“Tell me, Lev,” Viktor finally says, leaning forward, “what’s it like being married now? Must be…different.”
My pulse doesn’t change. I keep the smile right where it is. “Different can be good,” I say easily. “You should try it sometime.”
He chuckles again. “I haven’t met the woman yet.”
I nod. “Soon. But I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to discuss my marriage.”
“Ah, yes.” He flashes another smile. “I hear you’re expanding your logistics operations into southern Europe. My family has…routes, Lev. The kind of routes even your Bratva doesn’t touch. I think there’s room for collaboration.”
I hum. “Tell me more.”
He swirls his liquor nonchalantly. “A joint shipping venture. You move product faster than anyone in Eastern Europe. I have the ports, the customs cover, and the men. Together, we could turn the Mediterranean into our playground.”
It’s a neat pitch. Too neat.
I lean forward. “But I don’t trust you, Viktor. I don’t do large-scale businesses with men I don’t trust.”
Viktor’s grin doesn’t falter, but I see the shift in his eyes—just a flicker, quick and telling. He leans back, swirling his glass again like this is all a casual conversation between friends.
“That’s a shame,” he says softly. “Trust is such a fragile thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s earned,” I reply. “And you haven’t earned it yet.”
He tilts his head, amused. “Then tell me, Lev, how does a man earn your trust?”
“By not lying about why he invited me here.”
That wipes the smirk off his face for half a second. Just enough to confirm what I already suspected. There’s more to this meeting. There always is.
He recovers quickly, lips curving again. “You think too little of me.”
“I think realistically of you,” I say, my tone still even. “You don’t extend partnerships to rivals unless there’s something you need.”
Viktor chuckles again, but the sound doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can see why the Rusnak name carries weight.”
“So tell me the real reason I’m here.”
Viktor spreads his hands, the picture of calm diplomacy. “Lev, please. You wound me. I have no ulterior motives. This is business, nothing more. You and I could make something powerful together. I came here with respect, not deception.”
I nod slowly, watching him, pretending to listen. But my phone buzzes on the table.
Mikhail.
I lower my gaze briefly and read the message.
“Black SUV breached the outer perimeter. Don’t worry—we’ll handle it.”
My jaw tightens. Just one line, but it’s enough to send my pulse spiking.
Sasha.
I picture her in that house—her stubborn mouth, her eyes still burning from our fight—and every instinct I have shifts from restraint to violence.
I lock the phone, slip it back into my jacket, and look up. Viktor is still talking, his voice smooth and pleasant, but I’m not hearing a single word.
Something inside me shifts.
He’s pretending.
