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“And I you, which is why I’m calling. Are you in the city?”
“Why?”
“Meet me at Delirium, in the Ukrainian Village. One hour. Come alone.”
He disconnected, leaving me staring at the phone while ice water ran through my veins.
Misha Chernyshevsky worked directly for Sergei Sidorov, the ruling boss of Chicago. By extension, Viktor also worked for Sergei, taking orders and paying tribute, but Misha was different. He was special.
Fresh from Moscow, Misha made quite the stir when he arrived in America. He was a former Spetsnaz operative, yet he proved himself invaluable to Sergei’s organization in the few years he’d been here. They forgave him for working for the government and learned to embrace his expert marksmanship and eye for security. Part bodyguard, part hitman, rumor had it Misha was one of the few men Sergei trusted, which made him one of the most dangerous. If Sergei’s word was God’s, then Misha’s was the Holy Spirit’s.
So what the fuck did a man like Misha Chernyshevsky want with me?
* * *
I’d only beento Delirium a handful of times, whenever Viktor was summoned by Sergei to discuss business. Since I wasn’t sure what kind of meeting I was walking in to, I stopped by my apartment and changed, swapping the comfort of jeans and a t-shirt for a tailored black suit. I also upgraded my hardware — two guns I knew they’d confiscate, along with a third they’d overlook and a couple knives to round out the arsenal.
The club was technically closed, but when I walked up to the front door, it swung open before I could even knock.
An armed guard patted me down, taking the guns holstered in the small of my back and on my shoulder, as predicted. He turned and set them on a shelf, waving me forward and stupidly leaving me with the one on my ankle as well as all of the blades.
A large, blond man in a gray suit strolled forward, his sky-blue eyes bright. “You must be Aleksandr.” He extended his hand. “I’m Misha.”
“Sasha,” I replied, shaking it firmly.
He inclined his head and gave me a small smile before gesturing to a curved, black staircase. “Let’s talk privately.”
I climbed the stairs warily and hung back at the top, letting Misha take the lead.
He pushed open the door to a private room and gestured for me to go first. When I lingered at the threshold, glancing at the interior of what was clearly a VIP room, he chuckled. “It’s not a trap. At least, I don’t think it is.”
Brow furrowed, I continued into the room only to stop dead in my tracks when my gaze landed on the last fucking person I ever thought I would see.
Roan Sinclair.
Sitting casually on the couch like he was waiting for an old friend, Roan sat up straighter when he saw me, his chin tipping up in defiance. I didn’t miss the way his gaze raked over me, probably just as confused by my suit as I was by his mere presence.
“What is going on?” I asked Misha in Russian.
“This boy came looking for you.”
“What?” I couldn’t help my jaw dropping before I snapped it shut.Roancame forme? I’d been searching for him all night. Every hospital, police department, public transport. I even drove out to his university and checked his townhouse. Nothing. Yet, here he was, apparently of his own free will.
“He said he has something to discuss.”
“So what amIdoing here?”
“He only wanted you.”Misha chuckled softly and I quickly erased any surprise from my face.“He wasveryinsistent on speaking with the Wolf of Verkhoyansk.” He glanced between Roan and I, an unsettling smirk lifting one side of his mouth. “I guess now I can see why.”
I shot Misha a look, but he was already gone, closing the door behind him on his way out.
“Sasha,” Roan said, giving me one of his little smirks.
“Roan,” I ground out, hating we were essentially on equal footing. But now he was in my sights, there was no way in hell I was letting him walk out that door unless it was straight into my SUV and back to confinement.
“You look confused,” Roan said, patting the arm of the chair kitty-corner from him. “Why don’t you have a seat? We need to talk.”
Clearing my throat, I moved closer, unbuttoning my suit jacket along the way. My, my, how the tables had turned. I went from calling the shots to having a twenty-two year old order me around in the span of a day.
