Chapter 7 - Iosif
I wouldn’t say I’ve been avoiding her.
It’s a stereotypical rite of passage for a man to seal himself away in his office. People do it all the time. Just like they hit the gym at five o’clock in the morning. They even have the occasional meal in their office. I haven’t done anything exceptionally out of the ordinary.
The fact that it’s keeping my ass out of trouble is nothing but a bonus.
It’s not a big deal.
That said, when my phone buzzes and Leonid’s face lights up the screen, Thank fuck, I think. A distraction.
I answer it and switch it to speakerphone. “What?”
“Good evening to you, too, asshole,” my brother’s voice fills my office, accompanying a snort of laughter. The room instantly feels less vacant. “How’s it going? Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. I was beginning to think Zakharov had you bound and gagged.”
I guffaw. “I doubt his kinks are that interesting.”
“Oh yeah? Surveillance still uneventful then?” Leonid asks.
“No, it’s riveting,” I drawl, and grab another file of intel Dmitri dropped off this morning.
I start cross-referencing dates. I’m only half-listening to my brother launch into an update on his own recon. Something about the Genovese crew trying to tap into another territory and working on a truce with Anton Zakharov.
I refuse to look at my laptop screen, like my brother will be able to tell.
The majority of it displays what it has been for the past twenty minutes—Viktor Zakharov smoking a cigar in a club with his hand up a redhead’s skirt.
But then there’s the tiny rectangle in the corner, where the security feed from my apartment runs too.
Currently, it stars Janella curled up on the living room sofa, idly flipping through channels, looking both cozy and delectable in a champagne silk blouse she paired with leather trousers.
I don’t have to look at her again to know she has her hair piled on top of her head, leaving the long, elegant column of her neck exposed, tapering down toward…
“Iosif? Did I lose you, man?”
I blink and shut the laptop’s lid for good measure.
“Nope,” I say hurriedly, shoving away from my desk to stand.
I need a fucking drink.
Leo goes quiet for a moment. I frown down at my vodka, splashing a couple of fingers into my glass. If it weren’t for the fact that I could hear his dogs excitedly panting on the other end, I’d think the call had dropped, too.
Though maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if it did. He only indulges me with five more minutes on Zakharov before he’s saying, “So. You gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on with you, or am I going to have to guess?”
The art of subtlety isn’t a trait either of us brothers has.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist. “Did you just call to bust my balls about Zakharov? Because I’ve got it handled.
It makes sense that he’s not being obvious after the warning, but we all know he’s up to some shady shit.
He’s just being careful. He’s bound to slip up sooner or later. ”
“Don’t—” One of his Dobermanns interrupts with a series of yaps.
I take the moment to take a big swig of my drink, swallowing vodka like a sword.
He’s back, a quick reprimand later. “Right. I agree. I know you’ve got it.
I didn’t call to bust your balls. That’s just a fun perk.
I called to check in. Can’t a man do that with his baby brother without getting the third degree these days? ”
“Sure, so call Miron. I’m three years younger than you. Doesn’t qualify as baby anything,” I quip.
“Speaking of Miron…” Leo segues right to it.
I should’ve known. Fuck.
“He’s doing great,” I add, cutting him off.
Leonid refuses to be deterred. “Sure,” he says, brushing it off. “He’s got great instincts. Even picked up on a pattern Dmitri missed last week, noticing one of Zakharov’s men switching routes based on patrol schedules. But he also said—”
“He’s smart,” I agree, like he never said the last four words at all. “Is Trifon less worried about him being involved?”
Leonid pauses.
I pour the rest of my drink down the hatch and drop back into my chair.
“Iosif. What’s going on with you, bratan?” he demands.
I’m on thin ice. I can tell. My brothers will always call me on my shit, and vice versa—but Leonid’s not the one who gets firm with me. He’s not going to let this go. Whatever the hell this is.
“Nothing’s going on. I’m working on an op. Distraction comes with the territory.”
He lets out a chortle, dripping disbelief. “Is this because of what Trifon said about keeping your head in the game? Man, you know he didn’t mean swear off women entirely. Just not to let it spiral into your usual brand of reckless crazy.”
Well, it’s safe to say it’s too late for that.
“I’d ask about your women,” I try ribbing him. “But we both know you don’t have any. So, how’re your dogs?”
He barks out a laugh. But it’s short-lived. He doesn’t drop it. Honestly, I didn’t really think he would. “When’s the last time you even went out? Hit up a club besides that shady place you go to beat shit up?”
“And collect intel,” I counter.
“Iosif.”
“Leo.”
“You’re being unusually evasive,” he accuses.
“Or maybe,” I suggest, “I’m just fucking busy.”
“Busy,” Leonid echoes, skepticism a shadow for every syllable. “Right. Because you’re usually so good at being cooped up? Yes, you, the guy who likes to disappear on three-day benders and come back with stories that’d make Dionysus envious.”
A smug grin sprawls despite myself. “That was one time.”
“Five times, motherfucker,” he crows. “Seriously, though—what’s up? I get it, you’re trying to be good, but isn’t this overkill? No clubbing, no women, not even a game of good ol’ poker. It’s not like you.”
“Leo, I’m telling you—”
“Surveillance. Sure. I got it. But you’ve never let this shit get in your way before. You remember the Alanis bust? You blew that op wide open and were fucking Ivanka and her cousin the—”
“This is different.” I cut him off before he could rehash that particular story. I’d learned the hard way not to fuck women from the same family. At least not more than once. I fuck no one more than once.
“Or,” Leonid counters, unstoppable, “something else is up.”
You have no idea, man.
My lack of an answer is apparently enough.
“Holy shit,” he curses softly. “You are fucking someone.”
I groan, burying my face in my hand. “Trust me, man. My balls are way too blue for you to be making allegations like that.”
“But you have your eye on someone,” he guesses, switching gears seamlessly.
“Leo—”
“I fucking knew it. You’ve got your eye on someone. Thank fuck. Who the fuck’s managed to get you in knots?” It helps nothing that he is cackling at my expense now.
Swiping my hand over my face, I huff out a sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” he demands. “You’ve never had trouble getting a girl before. No idea why, but—”
“Fuck off, it’s not that.”
“What is it then? Because I know that you haven’t gotten laid in months, bratan. What’s the holdup? Why aren’t you sealing the deal? What, you need a wingma—”
My fingers catch on the silver ring in my ear, tugging at it. “When have I ever needed a fucking wingman, Leo?”
“So, what—”
Movement in my peripheral vision hijacks my attention. Instinctively, I end the call right there.
The phone hits the desk with a clatter.
Janella is standing in the doorway. I never even heard her open the door. But if the appalled look on her face is any indication, she heard plenty.
“Janella—” I start, but she’s already whipped around and taken off.
I vaguely register the phone starting to buzz, furious and insistent. I’m already out of my chair and down the hall.
She’s faster than she looks.
“Janella,” I roar after her.
She doesn’t stop, though she whips her head back to snap, “I don’t need a babysitter, Iosif. Leave me the hell alone.”
It breaks her momentum enough for me to catch up to her. I seize her by the crook of her elbow, yanking her to a standstill. The touch sends an electric jolt shooting up my arm. “Hey, you came to my door, remember? Is something wrong?”
She refuses to look at me, glaring adamantly at my chest. “Nope.” The p pops. “You can go back to your conversation. It sounded captivating. All that talk about your—”
My eyes narrow. “My what?”
Janella swallows thickly. And then she raises her head, meeting my gaze head-on. My stomach lurches.
“Your conquests. Did you not factor those in when you decided to sign me under your protection?”
That’s one way to refer to a marriage certificate. It isn’t technically untrue, so I don’t argue it.
“Sorry about the state of your balls, I guess,” Janella says sourly.
I let out a derisive snort. “My balls are fine.”
To be honest, I haven’t been thinking about it. About fucking anyone. Not since…
“Why, because you’re so sure you’re going to…
” she pauses, pretending to mull it over.
“How did the man on the phone put it? Oh, yeah—seal the deal. You’re so sure you’re going to seal the deal with the latest conquest you bought for yourself?
It’s a bit much for playing the long game, isn’t it? I know men like y—”
My patience has evaporated to nothing. “The men you know must be desperate. I’m not.”
“That’s bullshit,” she fires back. “You’re just waiting for the right time to take advantage. That’s what the other night was about, too. Wining and dining me? Spoiling me with stuff? Your playbook is full of the oldest tricks in the book.”
“Oh, doll, I fucking wrote my own playbook,” I scoff, stepping closer to her until her back is flat against the wall.
“You heard me tell my brother that I don’t need a wingman.
I don’t. I can have any woman I want. And I don’t need tricks to make them beg me to take them.
Make no mistake, if I wanted you, I would have you begging, too. ”
“You’re insane!” she gasps, shoving at my chest. It doesn’t move me an inch. “If you were all that, you wouldn’t have to buy your women, would you? I’ll bet I’m not even the first.”
My laughter tastes dark and sweet, fanning over her rosy face.
“You’re a betting woman, are you?”
“What, your research didn’t tell you that?” she asks sarcastically.
“No,” I say. “You surprise me.”
“Well, you don’t surprise me. It’s not even a bet. It’s a sure thing. You are exactly the kind of man I think you are.”
My palms splay on either side of her head. I don’t have to look down her body to know Janella is shaking. I can feel it against me. It stokes the fire she has sparked within me. The look on her face is gasoline.
It heats my every word. Every nerve-ending is set alight.
I am playing with fire. And I’ve never felt more alive.
“I’m a betting man, too,” I tell her like it’s a secret.
“The thing about a bet… is that you have to be prepared to lose something. Are you, Janella? You offered that first night, didn’t you, to let me fuck you and throw you back to your father?
I didn’t. That is the kind of man I am. Even now, I could have you on your knees, moaning, pleading for me.
Right here, in this hallway. Do you honestly believe I’d have to trick you? Force you?”
Her breath hitches. Her mouth opens.
The fucking elevator chime interrupts whatever had been about to fall from those lips.