Page 13 of Savage Little Lies

Once I touch myself up, I step out of the restroom to an empty office floor, silence ringing throughout the dimly lit space. It’ll just be me and Dmitri alone.

Perfect.

I head to the main conference room where Dmitri and I agreed to hold our strategy meeting, eagerness swelling in my chest with a side of nervousness. Flirting with a dangerous man requires precision.

“I ordered some takeout to be delivered,” Dmitri tells me once I enter the room where the soft, barely audible sound of jazz plays from the Bluetooth speakers. He already has documents laid out on the table and both of our laptops placed in front of our seats.

“Thank you,” I say as I take my seat across from him, delicately folding my hands on the table in front of me. “I’m ready to start if you are.”

Dmitri grunts in agreement and sits across from me, immediately sliding a few pages over to me. “Inventory.”

I pick up the papers and flip through them, trying to ignore the weight of the unwelcome, invisible buzz humming between us. My eyes scan over the various antique items and furniture that he has for sale. It’s a smart gig. He can easily clean cash by buying antique items with dirty cash and getting clean cash in return when customers buy from him.

He’s careful, but Bratva leaders have to be to avoid rotting in jail. Only the dumb ones get caught and thrown in prison.

The smart ones just bite a bullet at some point.

The thought of Dmitri dodging gunshots instantly cools my treacherous libido. Which is surprising. Why do I care what happens to a dangerous mob boss who likely has dozens of kills under his belt?

“How big are the packages that you’re trying to send on the truck?” I ask Dmitri as I lift my eyes, focusing again on the task at hand.

“About this big,” Dmitri replies as he makes a rectangular shape with his fingers.

About the typical size of a brick of drugs. I’ll put my money on meth or cocaine.

“And the antique items are a cover,” I state, keeping my expression carefully blank.

Dmitri remains silent for a moment before nodding. “I’m sure you’re thinking that I can probably just hide the packages in the antique items, but that doesn’t feel safe enough to me if the cops want to search them.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, chewing slowly as I think to myself. There has to be a way to use the antiques to his advantage. He needs their cover for business documentation and for a physical hiding spot during transportation.

Dmitri glances at my mouth before looking away. “That’s what I’m stuck on. My old transportation guy could get pretty creative but not creative enough to not get caught.”

“It’s easy to make mistakes,” I reply as I look back down at the inventory list, my eyes skimming what he has. “Are you up for doing a few renovations on some of the furniture?”

Dmitri raises an eyebrow at me. “Renovations?”

The corners of my mouth turn up a little as heat rises to my cheeks. “Can I tell you a personal story? I promise it relates to this.”

I expect him to look bored or annoyed, but he looks intrigued instead. “Go ahead.”

“So…my father was really strict. No boyfriends. No sleepovers. No anything in the summers when I stayed with him. But I wasn’t naïve. I got creative.”

The side of his mouth tilts up a little like he knows what direction this is heading in.

“Well, you know how teenagers are. I had hormones and urges, so I got…restless. And I’m eighteen at this point but still stuck under my parents’ roof, separate roofs since they were never married or together. Anyway, it was torturous,” I say with a sheepish laugh before leaning toward him like I’m sharing a secret. I guess I kind of am. “I bought myself…a toy.”

“Sex toy,” Dmitri clarifies. His right hand slowly curls into a fist as it rests on the table.

I didn’t think that I would feel this bashful telling this story. It’s supposed to be tantalizing to reel him in a little closer. Still, some of the details are a little different, but the main point stands.

“All the furniture in my father’s house was passed down for generations, so it’s old and handcrafted,” I tell him. “My nightstand in his house had a hidden compartment. It was small, invisible, and perfect.”

Dmitri chuckles, the sound rumbling deep and low in his broad chest. I hadn’t ever heard him laugh before. “I hope you weren’t stuck in your parents’ houses for much longer. Having to suppress your desires is no way to live.”

“It was nice to have my own place in college,” I say with a light laugh. “No need for secret compartments.”

Our eyes meet as an amused expression lingers on his face. My heartbeat quickens for a moment, catching me off guard. I don’t know what that was about.