Page 25 of Worth Risking It

His focus darted to me, raking over me so slowly, it was as if he were memorizing every detail, taking stock for a later purpose. “Hm.”

He opened his light gray suit jacket and pulled out a silver case from the inside breast pocket. Tapping the button on the side, the lid popped open to reveal thin cigarettes that were dark brown, not white. He pulled one out, snapped it closed, and bounced the butt a few times. Sighing, he replaced the case, pulled out a silver lighter, and lit it, inhaling deeply.

Jutting his chin, he asked, “And who the fuck is that?”

Milo snorted, crossing his legs, as well, smoothing the thigh of his trousers. “Mr. Morozov, let’s not pretend like we are friends here. Since our disagreement last year, you’re lucky I even agreed to see you tonight, so let’s skip the chit chat and get down to business.”

The corner of his mouth curled but the smile was more bitter than genuine. Clearing his throat, he took another drag, exhaled, and switched to Italian.

Neither Milo nor Wyatt knew, but I had been taking lessons the last couple months, so I was picking up enough of the conversation to understand they were discussing using Milo’s shipping company to illegally import liquor into Russia.

“I find it hard to believe Russia has restrictions on alcohol,” he chortled in Italian.

“It is true. Just last year, after Moscow’s annexation of Crimea, there was a revolution of sorts in Donbass. Since then, many things have been banned, including Ukrainian vodka, which my client wants.”

“And you want to use my company to smuggle some in.”

“Yes.”

“What are we talking here?”

“He wants two thousand crates of Staritsky & Levitsky.”

Milo’s brows lifted. “Why so much?”

“I don’t ask questions, I deliver products.”

“All right. Price?”

He took a long inhale, his irises lifeless and cold. “Six hundred thousand dollars.”

Milo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s it? Really? You want me to make a shipment for less than a million dollars?”

Another lingering puff, his lids narrowing through the smoke. “It is for good faith, yes? To rebuild burned bridges.”

I tipped my head just a bit, doing some math mentally. Lowering my sight to my thigh, it looked like I was playing with my sequins, but I was doing invisible addition and multiplication.

“I have never agreed to something so small—”

“And you won’t today, either,” I interjected, not even attempting to speak Italian.

The Russian sneered, his complexion immediately turning red while Milo stiffened.

“Uh, sweetheart, what are you doing? You need to be quiet.”

Tilting my head to the other side, a brow arched, refusing to back down. “If you want to rebuild burned bridges, why are you trying to rip off my fiancé?”

“Chastity!” he hissed, turning to glare at me.

“You insult me!” the Russian barked, throwing his cigarette to the floor and bounding to his feet. “You are just a woman, what do you know?”

“I know for a fact that a case of Staritsky & Levitsky is going to cost about four hundred dollars, so why are you trying to pay only three hundred? Not to mention the handling fee.”

“Handling fee?” he roared, his face sheening with sweat.

“My fiancé is the one taking the risk here, not you. There should be a handling fee.”

“Three hundred dollars, huh?” Milo asked, crossing his legs.