“He really has done a lot,” I commented.
He nodded, pushing the papers around me back and lifting me onto the desk.
“There are joint businesses that we run, and a number of them are covert, the sole reason being their large size. The authorities can’t possibly endorse them under any circumstances, regardless of the front. A few Bratva soldiers know about some of them.”
“And Vitya was one of them?” I chipped in as he stood between my legs, his hands on my naked lap.
He nodded. “Not just that. He got access to the database where information about every one of them is stored. That information, aside from the others he laid his hands on, is valuable. Valuable enough to give any other mafia or organization an edge over us. If the Feds get involved, we can expect a worse outcome.”
“I can’t believe I’m roped into the middle of something this complicated.”
“Someone from his network tried to slip you a phone. We caught him when he tried to bribe a guard to get it to you. The dead courier whose picture I asked you about the other day,” he divulged.
“To me? For what?”
“Guess we’ll never know.”
I sighed heavily.
“Why not let’s concentrate on de-stressing instead of all the headache, hmm?” he asked, his eyes on mine.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Making you come right here on this table,” he revealed casually, his fingers snaking under the shirt.
And he did just that.
**********
When I emerged from my bedroom, I found Mila sitting at the dining table.
“Good morning, Mila,” I greeted.
“Oh, just the person I was hoping to see,” she answered as I joined her at the table. “Good morning, Mrs. Lobanov.”
“Stop it,” I uttered, chuckling. “Hope you slept well?”
I took the seat next to hers, which was the seat Konstantin called my seat.
“I did, and you?”
“I did, too,” I answered. “You wanted to see me for something?”
“Yes,” she replied, nodding.
I was about to ask what it was when Greta came out of the kitchen.
“Ah, good morning, milady,” she greeted, placing a cup of coffee in front of Mila.
“Good morning, Greta,” I answered her.
She served both of us breakfast and retreated into the kitchen.
“So, what is it?” I questioned, curious.
“It’s about the Morozov case. I know Mr. Konstantin is my direct employer and all,” she mentioned, half-rolling her eyes playfully. And then all the humor was wiped off her face as she said, “But I think I should let you know about this first.”
“Okay…” I prompted, my hand leaving my fork.
