6
VIKTOR
Ihaven’t been able to get Tati in that nightshirt out of my head. Standing there in front of me, lifting it up so I can see the crease of her thigh as it meets with her hips, hints of her pussy just out of sight, covered by nothing but the hem of her nightshirt.
The fact that she wasn’t even wearing underwear… It’s like she was there for the sole purpose of tempting me.
I’ve known her since she was a teenager, and never once have I had the kind of carnal thoughts I’ve been having lately about her. Seeing her once rounded face slimmed out to an oval, her big, puppy dog eyes now sultry and dark, that mischievous smile turned suggestive…
And that body. She went from twig to thoroughbred over the half-decade she’s been gone. It was a challenge not to notice her nipples pressing against her nightshirt and that perfectly round bottom…
They way she talked to me was different as well. When she was a teenager, I knew she had a crush on me. The way she’d blushevery time I showed her even the smallest bit of attention. How she’d run away and hide behind doors and walls to spy on me when I was around. Little Tati was just a kid with a crush the last time I saw her.
But standing in that kitchen, I was talking to another person altogether. Nikita’s annoying little sister was gone. In her place was this beautiful thing standing before me in nothing but a nightshirt, her curly pink hair tied up in a messy ponytail. And all the confidence of a grown woman hitting on me.
I wonder what might have happened if we had met somewhere else. A bar or a club. Somewhere there would be no one to tattle on me for reciprocating. If we hadn’t happened to be standing in the middle of Nikolai’s kitchen…
I’ve been debating the second part of that thought since it first appeared after I left. Would I have taken advantage of the moment, the wrath of her father be damned? It’s not like he wasn’t home. But even if that was the case, would I dare desecrate my Pakhan’s house by fucking his daughter in the kitchen?
I’m meeting with Yanov to discuss who should be chosen to accompany me to Nikolai’s niece’s wedding, but… I also have some questions about Tati on my mind. Questions that he would know best, other than Nikolai himself. After all, he was the one who brought her back, or so it’s being said among the brigadiers.
I walk into the nearly empty coffee shop. The time between lunch and morning was always quiet in these places, especially on a weekday. But the smell of roasted coffee beans is still thick in the air. It hits me in the face the second I walk through the door.
The little shop is like every other place around here, a counter with a young barista behind it, bopping along to the music playing overheard. A chalkboard behind her with the specials written out in different colored chalk. The sound of hissing from the espresso machine.
I glance around at the little shop and all the empty tables and booths for Yanov and spot him through the window on the side of the building. He’s sitting at one of the tables outside on the patio, a small cup of espresso in one hand as he looks out at the street, leaning back, legs crossed. In his expensive suit, he looks the part of a gentleman enjoying a quiet morning at his favorite coffee haunt.
“Sir?” the barista behind the counter asks me. She pulls the earbuds out of her ears and smiles as she makes eye contact. “Can I help you?”
“Just a black coffee,” I say. “Can you bring it out to me on the patio?”
“Sure thing.”
I turn and walk the length of the room to the back door. As soon as I open it, Yanov looks up at me and gives me a quick smile. I’m a little thankful for that. He doesn’t have the kind of face that houses smiles or any pleasant emotions well. Nicki used to say that he always looks like he’s snarling. I don’t disagree.
“I expected you to be here before me,” he says. “You’re usually so punctual.”
“Traffic.” I sit down across from him. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“It’s fine,” he says. The door opens behind me, and the waitress sets a ceramic cup with black liquid down in front of me. I thank her, and she blushes a little as she leaves.
Yanov shakes his head. “Your way of thanking a woman has always baffled me. Two words and they walk away blushing like schoolgirls. I know men who would kill to have a fraction of your charisma.”
“It’s not charisma, it’s just charm. Maybe mixed with a good set of social skills.” I drink from the cup and savor it for a moment. It’s good coffee.
“You must be the onlybykiI’ve ever known with such things,” he says dryly. “The job is usually much better done by sociopaths.”
I shrug. “Sociopaths are limited. I’m not. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”
He sighs like a bored socialite. “So, why are we meeting, Viktor? I assume all is well with Nikolai.”
Of course, he knows I met with him this morning. Very little gets by my boss’s best spy. “He is well,” I tell him. “I was hoping you knew which of theboeviksmight be free for a night in a couple of weeks for some security work.”
He thinks for a second, then nods his head from side to side noncommittally. “I may know a few who might fit the bill. I assume this is for Nikolai’s niece’s wedding?”
“It is,” I tell him.
“Hmm. I’ll have some names for you before the week is out.”
