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“Here.” She reached for a glass bottle from the top shelf. It was a flashy bottle that Kole didn’t recognize. “This is one of my favorites, imported from the motherland.”
He was captivated by her accent and the way she poured his drink in a short clean glass, just how he liked his vodka.
He reached for the glass as she handed it to him. Their fingers brushed, and Kole felt the jolt of electricity between them.
Yes. She would be his.
“Is this where you and your brother play good gangster, bad gangster?” he asked with the glass paused against his lips. She smiled and leaned forward against the countertop toward him.
“This is no game, Mr. Bozovic,” she murmured. She knocked back her shot of the clear liquid and sat her glass down. “There’s nothing good about either of us. Especially me.”
“Is that so?” His eyes locked on hers and he couldn’t look away. Slowly, everyone else on the balcony seemed to disappear.
She smirked and shrugged her tattoo covered shoulder.
“What could be so bad about joining the Tokhan family? You would still run your business, and wouldn’t have to worry about the organization. We would take care of you.”
“That’s a very nice gesture, but as I just told your brother, the answer is no.” He was done with this conversation. He pushed off the counter and turned to walk away. He paused and glanced back at her. “Thanks for the drink.”
He signaled for his men. A Bozovic didn’t bow down to no one. He nodded to Pasha as he left the balcony. There was nothing else left to be said to the head of the Tokhan Bratva. This wouldn’t be the last they saw of him, especially Mila. She would definitely see him again. He would make sure of it.
