“She might ask you for help. You are Bratva adjacent.”
“That never happened. Okay?”
Rastelli nods, and I think she’s satisfied with that answer. She takes another sip of coffee, finishing it. Then she slides the cup to the side.
“So, we’ve noticed more of a presence of Mr. Orlov’s men in the club recently,” she says. “I have to assume that’s because of whatever happened with your friend.”
“Mr. Orlov has recently asked some of his people to work security for a few nights. Something that I’m in agreement with, actually. I’m setting up interviews to hire people we can put on the payroll.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she says. “This might be a very good idea to lean into Mr. Orlov’s solution to whatever security issues you are having. It’ll make him feel like he can move more freely in the club, don’t you think?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Of course that makes sense to her. Roman feels more comfortable around me, I get to bear witness to whatever his illegal dealings are. That’s the whole deal.
“Yeah,” I say.
“So, the next time we meet, you’ll have something for me. I mean, that is why we’re here, right? I’d really hate it if we connect him to something outside of these meetings and you end up getting caught up in it.”
Veiled threat received. I nod and say, “I’ll have something for you soon.”
“Good. I’m so glad we understand one another.” She takes out her wallet and pays for her coffee. “You have a good day, all right?”
And with that she leaves. I watch her through the window as she walks to her car, and all I can think about is what I’m going to do when Roman actively does something in front of me. I’m already cherry picking which illegal thing I should talk about. God, how quickly my moral compass has degraded in these few short weeks.
“You want anything, honey?” the waitress asks me. I turn to her and smile politely.
“I think I’m good. Thank you.”
I get up and leave. The drive back home is going to be a long one…
It tookme an hour to choose the right outfit and even now, I’m still doubting it.
I chose sexy over conservative for this date. If the goal is to muddy the great Bratva boss’s mind, then this little red dress is sure to do it. It’s cut so low I can’t wear a bra with it and the hem comes to the middle of my thighs. The silky material clings to my body like Saran Wrap and, admittedly, makes me look ten times hotter than I think I’ve ever looked.
As for my hair, I went back and forth as to whether to wear it up or down before I just settled on down. Looking at it in my rearview mirror, I fuss with it again, separating the curls at the ends to give it a little more volume.
I look good. I say it one more time in my head.I look really good.
I get out of my car and make the walk toward the front door of the restaurant. It’s a busy night tonight. The second I walk through the front doors, the din of the restaurant nearly fills every space around me. The smell of Italian food is just as thick as the sound, wrapping around me like a warm hug.
It’s a nice little place, with white tablecloths on the tables with vases of flowers in the centers and little candles sitting against the shiny silver and gold wallpaper pattern around the room. Almost every table is occupied with couples of all sorts and ages. I guess Sunday nights are date nights for everyone.
I don’t see Roman right away. I walk over to the hostess table. The hostess, a petite redhead with big blue eyes, looks up at me with a smile. “Welcome to Georgio’s. How many?”
“I’m actually here to meet someone? Last name Orlov.”
She looks down at her list, then back up at me a second later. “Follow me.”
The hostess leads me through the restaurant and through a door in the back corner of the room. We walk down a short hallway that leads to an outdoor patio. It’s fenced off with an iron fence that has little metal roses in the rods. The patio floor is constructed from flat, stone blocks, and every table has a white linen cloth with little red roses embroidered in the hem and a votive candle burning in the center…
And every table is empty except the one in the center. Roman sits there in a tailored suit and tie, his muscles and broad shoulders barely hidden under the fine material. As soon as we enter, he looks up and his eyes widen, then drift down to my outfit.
He stands as we approach. The hostess sets down our menus and excuses herself, but I don’t really notice. He always looks good in a suit, but tonight there’s something sexy about the way it’s hanging on his body. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s slicked his hair back and his ocean blue eyes look as though there are stars in them as he gazes at me.
“You look good,” he says. “Really fucking good.”
I snicker. “Smooth, Orlov.” Then, “You look really fucking good, too.”
He pulls the chair out for me to sit and our dinner date begins. The waiter appears almost out of nowhere and takes our order. The whole time, I can see him doing his best not to look at my cleavage. Weirdly enough, I want him to. I kind of like the attention that he’s giving me tonight.
