Page 26 of Worth Risking It

“That is a two hundred-thousand-dollar loss to my fiancé, Mr. Morozov. Not only are you costing his company money now, but you are asking him to take a risk with no profit. Just exactly who is insulting who, here?”

Wyatt snickered from behind us at the door, while Milo peered at the man sternly. “If I recall, Mr. Morozov, our falling out last year was not on account of my family. I do believe it was your carelessness that got us raided. Thankfully, your men caught on in time enough for us to clean up before the authorities showed up, but that cost a lot of money and set us back months since they were watching us.

“Now you want to shortchange me? How are you ‘rebuilding bridges,’” he asked, hooking his fingers.

“One point five,” I stated, crossing my arms and legs, my foot bouncing in the air.

The Russian did a doubletake, dropping his jaw in astonishment. “Are you crazy?”

“Watch it, Morozov,” Milo growled, his brows veeing low over his blackening sneer.

“Your client wants the goods, you want to redeem a relationship with the Pampinella’s, that comes with a price.”

“You ask too much!”

“One six. Keep it up, the price keeps rising.”

He made a jerky movement and the next thing I knew, Wyatt was bounding forward, brandishing a handgun. Though I was stunned, for I had never once seen him with a weapon, I acted aloof.

“You will never leave this building alive if you dare draw on this woman,” he wheezed sinisterly. “This is not the woman to even think about something so foolish, my friend.”

Milo stood, tugging me to my feet. I was terrified, my insides rattling around and making me nauseous. My expression, however, was blasé. I would not let this man know I was two seconds from pissing myself. Why did I say anything? Why could I never keep my mouth shut?

Tugging his jacket and smoothing it, he placed his hand at the small of my back. “Mr. Morozov, how many men did you lose last year after that fiasco?”

He was heaving, his sight bouncing between the three of us, but didn’t answer. His woman had barely moved through the entire evening, acting as if she were high as a kite.

“The only reason you are still alive, and the Pampinella’s are even willing to speak business with you is because of what went down with our grandfathers. You want to mend ways and keep a war at bay, I suggest you pay the price my lovely fiancée suggested or forget about ever calling on us again.”

Leading me from the room, Wyatt backed out, not harnessing the gun until the door was closed.

“Walk fast,” Milo muttered in my ear, rushing me down the steps without being obvious.

Wyatt’s head constantly snapping around, his hand held under his suit’s jacket, we wove through the dancers to the front of the club and hurried through the exit. Handing the valet the ticket to our vehicle, he continued to scan the surroundings, shielding me more than Milo.

“You want to explain a few things to me, young lady?”

“What?” My voice trembled, showing my fear.

He draped his arm across my shoulders and held me close, kissing my temple. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The rented SUV pulled up and Wyatt opened the back door. I climbed onto the bench and slid across, Milo sitting next to me. Taking the keys from the valet, he rushed around and hopped behind the wheel, skidding tires to pull away from the curb.

About half a block away, the dam broke, and I started trembling, my teeth clattering, sobbing. “I’m going to throw up.”

Tires screeched and he pulled over. Putting the car in park, he hopped out and opened the door. Milo rubbed my back as I bent over and hurled on the street.

“How long has she known Italian?”

“I have no clue, boss. News to me.”

My stomach empty, I swatted at Milo, needing his help to sit up.

“You good?” Wyatt asked gently.

I flipped a dismissive wrist. “I think so.”

Closing the door, he returned to the driver’s seat and drove off once more.