“Sparkling water.”
“A refill for my drinking companion,” she said.
“Chianti,” Gabriel said to the server.
He hadn’t taken the prescribed painkiller, and he’d forgotten to pop the Tylenol. A glass of wine might help numb the pain—or his brain—and blur the last seventy-two hours.
After pouring the red wine, the bartender asked if they wanted to see a menu. Neither did, so he moved on.
Gabriel’s phone buzzed. He fished it from his pocket, read the text from Teddy.
You doing okay? Taking it easy?
He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
After pocketing his phone, Gabriel lifted the wine glass, shifted toward the Russian. “To the wicked and the brave.”
She smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”
Fuckin’ irony.
He’d been at war with the Bratva for years. Almost gotten himself killed by them. Three days later, a Russian woman cozies up at the bar next to him.
Fire streaked down his spine.
Dammit to hell. Those sons of bitches sent her. Is she gonna poison me?
He’d taken his eyes off her when he’d read the text. She could have slipped something into his drink.
He flagged down the bartender. “Let’s change this to a whiskey, neat.”
“Yes, sir.”
His favorite wine was exchanged for a top-shelf whiskey, but not a Santini Whisky. For him, it would be subpar. The bartender poured, he tossed back the alcohol, let the burn slide down his throat and into his stomach.
“That’ll kill any infection,” he murmured.
“Are you sick?” she asked.
He stared at her for an extra beat. She was attractive, but there was something off about her, like her hair and eye color didn’t work with the rest of her. “I was in an accident and my leg got banged up.”
“Ouch.”
“You got a name?” he asked.
Her lips curved as her gaze floated over his face. “No, I don’t.”
He chuffed out a laugh. This was a first. Most women were eager to share their names… and everything else about themselves. A lot were flirty with rosy cheeks, asking him to pose for a selfie. She was so chill, sonotinterested. It was a refreshing change.
Except she’s probably gonna take me out.
He stiffened his spine. “Do you want to know my name?”
“No.”
“What do you do Ms. No Name?
“Nothing,” she replied in her thick Russian accent. “Let’s just be strangers having a drink together. I won’t ask you any questions. Return the courtesy to me. I appreciate the company, but I’m not interested in you.” She extended her hand.
