Page 35 of Stolen Compliance

I incline my head in thanks and wait for her to wander off before serving Luca and then myself.

I can feel his stare and meet his gaze, daring him to protest. Dominic only said I had to give the kid an opening, he didn’t say how to do it. If the point is to rip the rug out from under him…then showing him sides of myself I’ve locked away should do the trick. I know what it is like to have your entire world come crashing down around you. And if Dominic wants maximum pain…then so be it. After all, he holds my leash.

Luca flushes and looks away first, conceding to whatever he can see in my gaze. I bite back a smile and tuck into the appetizer, knowing better than to throw our contact’s generosity in his face.

Ten minutes later, Vasily Volkov slides into the booth opposite us, looking very much like he did the first time I met him; his graying hair is in disarray as if he forgot to comb it, his suit jacket is missing, top buttons of his shirt undone to show a hint of the tattoo underneath, and his smile is bright. His eyes, though… they are sharp and a history of blood and death lurks in the dark pools.

“Teo! So wonderful to see you again, and you brought a friend this time.”

“I did. Luca Martelli. He is here to learn how we do things on behalf of our East Coast branch. Luca, this is Vasily Volkov, one of our newer, but highly rated suppliers.”

“Ah, you flatter me,” Volkov states. “I do pride myself on being the best.”

As if on cue, the waitress drops off bowls of steaming soup, three glasses, and a bottle of vodka.

“Shchi,” Volkov says. “Cabbage soup, good for the gross city winter.”

With that, he digs into the food, and we follow his lead. I can’t deny the warm soup is comforting in a homey way, reminding me of a time and place that no longer exists.

When the soup is gone, the vodka is poured, and I cringe. Dominic gave an order but to refuse is to put the trust I’ve built with Volkov to waste.

I sip at the drink, fighting the urge to spit it back into the glass.

Talk flows easy between us, nothing more than formalities as we shoot the breeze and pretend there’s not a thrum of anticipation crackling in the air.

I am nursing my drink still by the time the other two finish theirs, and Volkov eyes me carefully.

“Not up to your standards?”

I laugh it off. “Nah, not that at all. I simply indulged myself a little too much over New Year’s. Should probably pace it.”

“Bah.” He waves me off. “No such thing. Vodka is good for you. Drink, then we can get to business and you can go be a pussy anywhere but my restaurant.”

I laugh as expected and fight a cringe when I finish my drink, hoping Dominic understands I didn’t have a choice.

Finally satisfied, Volkov wakes a tablet he set off to the side when he sat down and slides it over to us.

“There you are. Twenty beautiful men and women from various Eastern European countries. All ready to be tested and made useful.” The dark tone to his voice has nothing on the seductive edge Dominic gets.

Luca tenses a little beside me, and I knock my knee against his, reminding him to play the game.

We study the merchandise together, looking over the basic stats that were collected,—gender, eye and hair color, and weight—flipping through each photo carefully.

Luca stops on the image of a young man with ruddy cheeks, large green eyes, and hair nearly the same shade of his own. He looks at the image for far too long before finally taking a breath and swiping at the screen. I file that interesting moment under “Things To Inquire About Later”, and finish going through every piece of merchandise.

“How certain are you that the ages are accurate?” Luca asks when we’re finished.

Volkov’s expression darkens as his eyebrows bunch together. “Are you questioning my practices? I can guarantee I’ve been doing this for far longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Of course not,” he replies smoothly. “I was just made aware that the Boss is very strict on the ages of the merchandise unless it is a special request. I apologize for my poor wording. I am still learning the ins and outs of how operations like this work. I did not mean to offend.”

Volkov studies Luca for a long moment, and my heart leaps into my throat, wondering if the fucker is about to die right next to me. Finally, the Russian nods and says slowly, “We might be living in the twenty-first century, but the old methods still work. Promises of a better life, job offers, glitz and glamour, it all attracts the young people. We do our due diligence.

“Do you know how hard it is to smuggle a person into the city in the dead of winter? I am good at my job because I know the who, the how, and can procure anything you want. You want underage? I can get them to you like that.” He snaps his pudgy fingers. “You want more boys like number twelve? I’ll get them for you. What about girls? Number eight is pretty. Slight, built like a bird. I saw her in person while I was visiting family. She will make a great whore.

“Do not come into my house talking nonsense. I know what your Boss ordered, and I delivered.”

Luca’s expression remains blank, but he leans forward a little. “Ah, but did you? I saw the parameters of the Boss’s order. Ten of each gender, with a healthy weight and average or above average height. Blond or light brown hair. He was very specific and yet your ‘built like a bird’ is under the required weight, short, and will need breast implants and probably even some facial work because angular features like that? They’re not going to fill out right even if we start her on a diet right this minute. Oh, and we have to wait for her hair to grow out because it’s cut shorter than the others and will also require regular maintenance because we’ll have to bleach it.