“No, it’s riveting,” I drawl, and grab another file of intel Dmitri dropped off this morning.
I start cross-referencing dates. I’m only half-listening to my brother launch into an update on his own recon. Something about the Genovese crew trying to tap into another territory and working on a truce with Anton Zakharov.
I refuse to look at my laptop screen, like my brother will be able to tell. The majority of it displays what it has been for the past twenty minutes—Viktor Zakharov smoking a cigar in a club with his hand up a redhead’s skirt. But then there’s the tiny rectangle in the corner, where the security feed from my apartment runs too.
Currently, it stars Janella curled up on the living room sofa, idly flipping through channels, looking both cozy and delectable in a champagne silk blouse she paired with leather trousers. I don’t have to look at her again to know she has her hair piled on top of her head, leaving the long, elegant column of her neck exposed, tapering down toward…
“Iosif? Did I lose you, man?”
I blink and shut the laptop’s lid for good measure.
“Nope,” I say hurriedly, shoving away from my desk to stand.
I need a fucking drink.
Leo goes quiet for a moment. I frown down at my vodka, splashing a couple of fingers into my glass. If it weren’t for the fact that I could hear his dogs excitedly panting on the other end, I’d think the call had dropped, too.
Though maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if it did. He only indulges me with five more minutes on Zakharov before he’s saying, “So. You gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on with you, or am I going to have to guess?”
The art of subtlety isn’t a trait either of us brothers has.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist. “Did you just call to bust my balls about Zakharov? Because I’ve got it handled. It makes sense that he’s not being obvious after thewarning, but we all know he’s up to some shady shit. He’s just being careful. He’s bound to slip up sooner or later.”
“Don’t—” One of his Dobermanns interrupts with a series of yaps. I take the moment to take a big swig of my drink, swallowing vodka like a sword. He’s back, a quick reprimand later. “Right. I agree. I know you’ve got it. I didn’t call to bust your balls. That’s just a fun perk. Icalledto check in. Can’t a man do that with his baby brother without getting the third degree these days?”
“Sure, so call Miron. I’m three years younger than you. Doesn’t qualify as baby anything,” I quip.
“Speaking of Miron…” Leo segues right to it.
I should’ve known.Fuck.
“He’s doing great,” I add, cutting him off.
Leonid refuses to be deterred. “Sure,” he says, brushing it off. “He’s got great instincts. Even picked up on a pattern Dmitri missed last week, noticing one of Zakharov’s men switching routes based on patrol schedules. But healsosaid—”
“He’s smart,” I agree, like he never said the last four words at all. “Is Trifon less worried about him being involved?”
Leonid pauses.
I pour the rest of my drink down the hatch and drop back into my chair.
“Iosif. What’s going on with you,bratan?” he demands.
I’m on thin ice. I can tell. My brothers will always call me on my shit, and vice versa—but Leonid’s not the one who gets firm with me. He’s not going to let this go. Whatever the hellthisis.
“Nothing’s going on. I’m working on an op. Distraction comes with the territory.”
He lets out a chortle, dripping disbelief. “Is this because of what Trifon said about keeping your head in the game? Man, you know he didn’t mean swear off women entirely. Just not to let it spiral into your usual brand of reckless crazy.”
Well, it’s safe to say it’s too late for that.
“I’d ask about your women,” I try ribbing him. “But we both know you don’t have any. So, how’re your dogs?”
He barks out a laugh. But it’s short-lived. He doesn’t drop it. Honestly, I didn’t really think he would. “When’s the last time you even went out? Hit up a club besides that shady place you go to beat shit up?”
“And collect intel,” I counter.
“Iosif.”
