“Possibly.” The silence stretches out between us as I mull over the possibilities. Sully mentioned a man called Mikhail, but despite our best efforts, we’ve not tracked him down. Either he doesn’t exist, or Sully’s info was wrong. Knowing Sully, either is possible. The idiot was high as a kite most of the time.
“The Russians usually stay out of our business.”
“True,” Kane agrees.
It makes no sense. I’ve rubbed shoulders with Kyril Orliov a few times, most recently at the Serpent. He has no reason to fuck with me or mine.
I pull Orliov’s private number up and hit call. It’s late, but whatever.
“This better be fucking good,mudak,” he snarls. A woman’s voice murmurs in the background, but he shushes her.
“I won’t take up much of your time. Someone’s fucking with our product, and I wondered if you knew anything about it.”
He fires off a stream of Russian before there’s a pause. “No. I have no interest in your business,mudak. Now fuck off.” The line goes dead.
“Not the Russians,” I confirm. No doubt Orliov will make me pay for disturbing him the next time we meet in the ring, but whatever.
“So if it’s not the Russians, who else stands to gain by fucking with us?”
30
Luka
Why am I here? This isn’t even my home. I have a perfectly serviceable apartment in an exclusive building downtown. One that I paid a designer a fuck-ton of money to decorate so I could post cute photos on Instagram.
It’s the perfect pad for a guy like me. There’s a hot tub on the terrace, a large open-plan kitchen/living space, and even a fucking music room.Like I give a fuck.
I let myself into my brother’s mansion, smirking to myself at the thought he’s getting an alert to say I’m here. Sure enough…
Angelo: Why the fuck are you at my house again?
Me: Came to borrow some sugar.
Angelo: Go home, Luka.
I don’t bother replying. He’s too far away to turf me out, and I don’t feel like being alone tonight.
Silence washes over me as I slip my sneakers off and pad through the family room and onto the terrace. Steam rises from the glowing pool while insects hum, and in the distance, beyond the manicured lawns, creatures of the night call to one another.
I feel like a creature of the night sometimes. Sleep has been elusive lately, and when I do finally nod off, nightmares wake me.
A camera winks from the corner of the gazebo as I drop onto a recliner and light a joint. The sweet, pungent aroma of weed fills the air as I exhale slowly. The tension in my body slowly releases, and I relax for the first time all day.
Chiara is not around, so she must have gone to bed already. Part of me—okay, all of me—wants to go to her room and crawl into bed with her, but it’s late. Like, really late.
Besides, I doubt Angelo would appreciate it if I joined his wife in bed. Even though I’ve crossed that line, he’s not said a word about it. I can’t help wondering why not. He must know. He has access to the security cameras. As does Kane.
Perhaps he likes to watch Chiara get freaky with me? It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s fucking obsessed with her. Why Chiara can’t see it, I have no clue. I wasn’t around when they got married, but I don’t believe for one minute our father forced him into the arrangement.
From the way he watches her constantly when they’re in the same room, he’s way more invested than he pretends to be.
I take another long drag of my joint while staring into the night. It’s peaceful out here. Unlike my apartment, where I can hear the sounds of the city all night: horns beeping, sirens blaring, and music from clubs and bars in the surrounding streets.
Everyone assumes I’m a party animal who loves to drink and be social, but that’s not me at all. I much prefer it here, where silence reigns and I don’t have to pretend.
Tonight was worse than usual. Another public date with a woman my agent claims can help my career. Whatever the fuck my career is. I’m not exactly clear on that.
Nolene says that making connections is important. She thinks if I can build my profile big enough, I might score some small movie roles.
