Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
She expertly cinched the ribbon tight and tied a bow, then held out the package. And now I’d calmed enough to see that she was breathing fast, and her cheeks were flushed. Excited. Nervous. Not completely in control. I held my card out to the card reader, and it beeped, far too quickly.
“I’ll keep a copy of the third book for you, Mr. Aristov.”
I wasn’t walking away without knowing her name. “Radimir.”
She swallowed. “Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn. It sounded faraway and magical, like she should be walking through a misty forest, and it suited her perfectly. I nodded, then turned and walked out.
On the sidewalk, the freezing air slapped me in the face and my steps slowed. What just happened? The way my stomach had plunged when I thought I’d never find her again. The way I tried to spin out the encounter as long as possible. Something about her made me lose control and I’m always in control.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at the gift-wrapped book in my hands. This is dangerous. Feelings make you weak.
Then I shook my head and marched across the street with long, determined strides. Ridiculous. Of course I didn’t feel things for her. I just wanted to fuck her, and I’d been disappointed when I thought she wasn’t there, and of course I’d wanted more time with her so I could gaze at the swells of her breasts under her sweater and the ripe curves of her hips under those tight, tight jeans.
Feelings make you weak. And that’s why I never felt anything for anyone.
Life went back to normal for a few days. But then I started to get this...itch. I could feel a certain street on the west side with a certain, warmly lit storefront calling to me. No. Not until Lina asks for the next book.
A week came and went but Lina didn’t message. By now, the itch was more of an ache. What’s taking her so long?
Two weeks passed. I started checking the messaging app every few hours to see if Lina had messaged. This time, I’d paid extra to courier the book to Russia in twenty-four hours, so she’d had it for over twelve days, now. What’s the matter with kids today? Don’t they read anymore?
Then my stomach knotted. What if it wasn’t any good? What if the author had gone off the boil and the second book wasn’t as good as the first?
What if Lina doesn’t want the final book?
After sixteen days, I couldn’t take it anymore and I messaged Lina.
Have you finished the new book yet?
She messaged me back immediately.
Haven’t started it yet. I have exams.
I kicked my desk so hard I bruised my foot.
It was three days after that, still with no word from Lina, that my assistant, Irwin, poked his head into my office. He’s a civilian, like all the workers at Aristov Incorporated, and doesn’t know about our illegal activities. He’s nervous and awkward, with a slender build and thick glasses. But he’s an excellent assistant and he’s a lot less distracting than some gorgeous woman in a short skirt and high heels.
Bronwyn. She’d look amazing dressed as an assistant. With that red hair all piled up and pinned tight, so I could have the fun of unpinning it when I pulled her across my desk. And an indecently short skirt, and four—no, five-inch heels. And she’d call me Mr. Aristov in that soft, slightly teasing voice and—
I shook my head and forced myself to focus. “What is it?” I asked Irwin.
“Your brothers are here.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Send them in.”
Gennadiy and Valentin strolled in, followed by Mikhail and his dogs. Gennadiy made sure the door was closed, then stalked over to my desk, his face grim. He glanced at the ceiling, the walls, then raised a questioning eyebrow. Are we safe?
I nodded. “I swept for bugs this morning.” I leaned forward in my chair. I knew it must be urgent: we don’t discuss family business at my office if we can help it.
Gennadiy leaned close. He looked shaken and it takes a lot to shake him. “I had a call from The Eight this morning. They want us to end someone.”
I nodded, confused. It didn’t seem like a big deal. We’d kill the person and then—
“Brother,” said Gennadiy, “it’s Borislav Nazarov!”
I froze, horrified.
“It will start a war, Radimir,” said Mikhail. “One we’ll lose.”
He was right. The peace deal with the Nazarovs had allowed us to move into legitimate business and mainly white collar crime. But the Nazarovs had used the peace to build up their drug empire. Spartak was in business with a drug cartel in Mexico and sold their product all over Chicago. Plus, somewhere in the city—no one knew where—he had a factory churning out hundreds of thousands of pills. The money from those two operations had bought him a lot of soldiers and a lot of guns. If it came to war—and Spartak Nazarov would absolutely go to war with us if we killed his beloved brother—we’d be wiped out.