“Nicolo?”
She steps closer, her gaze drifting from me to that fucker Nestor. Her hair’s still loose, dress soft enough to catch the breeze.
Nestor’s grin shifts, sharper now. “And there she is.”
Mara’s eyes narrow, scanning him like she’s measuring the threat. “And you are?”
“Nestor Vasilios. And the pleasure is all mine.” He inclines his head slightly.
Her chin tips up. “I didn’t say it was a pleasure to meet you. I doubt it’ll ever be a pleasure meeting a Russian.”
I almost laugh.Almost.
Nestor whistles low. “Feisty.” He looks at me, amusement glinting behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “You really know how to pick them.”
“Watch your mouth,” I warn.
“Relax,” he says, holding up his hands. “Just pointing it out.” His gaze returns to Mara, studying her like a man cataloging a weakness. “Word of advice, signorina. Nicolo doesn’t like talkers.”
She crosses her arms. “Then he must really hate you.”
He laughs, sharp and deliberate.
I step forward, close enough that the laughter dies on his tongue. “He’s right. I don’t like talkers.” Then, lower, so he only hears me, “I don’t like people, period.”
A glint of mischief enters his eyes, but I just shake my head at him. Mara’s eyes flick between us, trying to read what’s unsaid.
She shouldn’t be here. Not for this.
“Go inside, Mara,” I tell her, still looking at him.
She hesitates. “Nicolo?—”
“Inside.”
Something in my tone makes her move, door closing behind her. Silence folds over the courtyard.
Nestor exhales, a lazy smile crawling back into place. “Always the gentleman.”
This sleazy motherfucker always knows how to piss me off.
I step closer. “Say what you came to say before I shoot you myself.”
His grin doesn’t falter. “Careful. I might think you want to kiss me, Nicolo.”
He tosses his head like it’s a joke. But his eyes are hunting. Always hunting.
“Not funny.” My hand finds the grip of the Glock beneath my jacket. It’s habit. “Get to the point.”
He holds up both hands in mock surrender. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” His smile drops, all business, the charade sliding off him. “The Pakhan wants to meet you. Face-to-face. He says there’s money on the table and opportunities worth your time.”
My jaw tightens. “I don’t make deals with men who show up unannounced.”
“He’s not asking for a favor. He wants to discuss business. Nothing…” He waves the word like he’s dusting crumbs from his suit. “Nothing that’d compromise you.”
“Set up a call,” I say, slow and controlled. “If it’s important, we’ll talk on a secure line. If it’s worth me hearing in person, I’ll send a formal invite. Otherwise, tell him to take his opportunities and find someone with less… standards.”
Nestor studies me, like he’s trying to figure out if he can push his luck. “You always did hate the phone.”
