Page 93 of The Beast of Moscow

She wasn’t even being dramatic.

With her elbow resting on her knee, and her other arm still wrapped tight around her stomach to help keep her bladder under control, she almost fell asleep while her chin rested in her hand. It was only the sound of footsteps and laughter that had her blinking back awake faster than she could even comprehend.

God.

She needed some sleep.

Soon.

“One last thing,” she heard Vaslav say downstairs.

“What’s that?” Mario replied.

“Was it just for the bragging rights—to say that you’d done it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

A harsh sigh followed before Vaslav said, “That you could do this; pull me away from Russia and sit down with the beast.”

“You aren’t the only man who needs to flex his control.”

“But I am the only man who can get your cocaine into my country,” Vaslav returned. “And according to my information, you need that. A new boss, too young, no wife—”

“That’s quite enough,” Mario said, quiet but still firm.

Vaslav hummed under his breath. “You need to show you can grow; prove your place before someone deems you unworthy. I may be just one aspect, but it only takes one wall to crumble an already weak house. You see, a few years ago I was the new boss with the bloodstained seat, and vengeful men waiting to kiss my fucking feet. It would be wise to remember that.”

Tension silenced the two again.

But not for long.

“Fair enough,” Mario muttered first. “The Frenchman will be happy to know he’s made another successful deal. I heard he likes the cut you give him off the top.”

Vaslav’s dry chuckles ended in a low grunt. “Look around—Pierre already knew he was going to get paid.”

A second passed.

Then, two.

“This is his place?”

“It appears so,” Vaslav replied. “Have a safe flight.”

“Hmm, and you also, Mr. Pashkov.”

Vera stayed at the top of the stairs long after the two men ended their meeting, and the front door had clicked shut. After Vaslav headed back into the kitchen and turned a tap on, she was suddenly reminded of the issue she didn’t even know how she managed to forget.

Her full bladder.

Positive she would have time to slip down the stairs and to the bathroom at the rear of the apartment without being noticed, she did just that. But her feet barely hit the bottom level before the loud heaving in the kitchen sent her running that way.

She found Vaslav vomiting violently into the stainless-steel trash can while the half-filled glass of water sat nearby on the corner of the kitchen island. He couldn’t possibly have heard her coming; his heaving was so loud, it could wake neighbors.

“Vas, are you okay?”

She touched his back at the same time he leaned further into the can to spill what remained of the water into the black bag. He spat and swore.

Every fuck became louder than the last, and he didn’t shove her away, but it was like he didn’t see her at all when his fist slammed down into the marble countertop, either. His anger should have scared her, but she was more concerned with the clear vomit he wiped away from his mouth and the freshly bruised knuckles he drove into the side of his head with enough force to make her wince.