We wait a minute before the front door opens and a woman steps out. She’s dressed in the usual black and white maid’s uniform.
“Our housekeeper will search, Miss Torrisi,” the guard informs us in English.
I keep quiet about understanding Bulgarian, and so does Raya.
Because it’s part of our heritage, Raya and I learned the language. I never thought it would come in handy until I crossed paths with Petkov.
I nod to give my permission and watch as the woman pats down Raya before checking inside her handbag.
By the time we’re allowed to enter the mansion, five minutes have passed.
Keeping my pace unhurried, I take in the room as I move deeper into it. Stone floors, dark wood along the walls, narrow windows set high, and a staircase at the back.
I count six guards and know there must be half an army scattered throughout the house and at the back of the property.
When I stop in the middle of the room, I’m aware of Raya, positioned slightly behind me. She knows to always stand to myright so I can easily reach for her or block any bullets aimed at her.
Atanas Petkov suddenly stalks into the room while handing a document to a bald man with glasses and a nervous tick. The man blinks rapidly, glances at us, then scurries out the front door.
My eyes lock on the head of the Bulgarian mafia, recognizing him from all the photos Rosie, our IT expert and hacker, has managed to get of him.
He’s wearing a dark suit, tailored to fit his body. It’s clear the man works out, and from the way he moves, I can tell he’s a good fighter.
I can feel the power radiating off him, and I’m almost impressed, but then his eyes land on Raya, and he stops dead in his tracks.
Petkov stares at my sister until it makes unease coil in my gut.
I turn my head slightly and glance at Raya, who’s returning the intense stare, her lips slightly parted and her breaths coming a little too fast.
Fuck.
For long, intense seconds, neither of them breaks eye contact. It’s like I’m not even here.
I grab Raya’s wrist and pull her right to my side, breaking the moment between them.
Petkov’s eyes flick to mine, then he moves closer and holds out his hand to me. “Welcome to my home, Georgi. This meeting is long overdue.”
I let go of Raya’s wrist and shake hands with Petkov. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
Raya holds her hand out to him, and the moment he takes hold of her, his dark brown pupils dilate. His fingers and palmswallow hers whole, and just like with the stare, they touch for way too fucking long.
My muscles lock in place with the effort it takes to keep still while Petkov says, “Such a pleasure getting to meet a Cosa Nostra princess.”
The fuck it is.
He finally lets go of her hand, then looks at me again. “I understand why you’re so protective of your sister. I would be too if I had one who was as beautiful as yours.”
Annoyed, I clench my jaw, and it snaps Petkov out of whatever spell Raya weaved around him.
I shoot her a look, silently ordering her to tone it down, and she answers with an apologetic expression.
“Let’s go to my office,” Petkov says.
We follow him down a corridor, passing by a couple of shut doors and a formal sitting room, before we step into his office.
The room opens wide, with black marble floors and gold decor. There’s a seating area to my left, with low leather sofas around a black coffee table that has a decanter with amber fluid and tumblers situated on it.
His desk stands at the far end, broad and dark, and shelves line the wall behind it. Floor-to-ceiling windows give us a view of the backyard, where I see more than twenty men.
