Page 122 of Give Me What You Will

“It would be a shame for anything to happen to Dr. Samuels as the result of his actions against me.”

He let out a shaky breath. Fear like nothing he had ever experienced before sliced through his guts. He never resorted to violence outside the arena, but here, right now, the idea of something happening to Sam made him consider it.

Kozlov sensed this, and his smile, casual and almost flippant, returned, as if he had all the time in the world and had not threatened to hurt Sam.

“What do you want?” Frankie bit out.

“I’d like that drink now, if you don’t mind?”

He nodded and reached over the counter, pulling a glass out along with a bottle of… he hesitated.

“Whiskey, please,” Kozlov instructed. Frankie grabbed the bottle and placed it before the gangster.

He scrutinized the label and shrugged, “It will do. Thank you.”

Frankie placed a clean glass in front of the man and impatiently waited for him to take a drink so he could hear his terms. He hoped to God he could somehow fulfill it, because he would do anything to protect Sam.

“Considering I didn’t much care for those men and what happened to them—inherited from my uncle, like your bar from your father.” Kozlov fingered his cut lip, frowning as he twirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I have decided to be lenient.”

He released the breath in his chest.

“This time,” Kozlov finished.

Frankie’s back molars clenched.

“I do have a request,” Kozlov said. “One that I believe only you could accommodate.”

“Me?”

He hummed, “I heard another rumor that you were recruited to be one of Cassidy Chapel’s coaches.”

He hesitated, fingers nervously tapping on the glass, wondering how his new job as a coach would benefit a Russian mobster. A job he worked hard to get. He spent an hour on the phone with Caz two weeks ago, telling him everything—that he loved Sam, and that was why he had acted so insanely jealous that night at Ryan’s fight. Caz had understood, and seemed even more understanding of his reaction, and accepted his apology. When Frankie mentioned he was moving to LA and intended to keep coaching, Caz, perceptive and eager, immediately offered him a spot on his team.

“I would like to meet him.”

“Meet Caz?” Frankie asked, confused.

“Cassidy ‘the Brawler’ Chapel. Yes. Him.”

“That’s it?”

“I would like you to formally introduce us,” Kozlov explained patiently.

He hitched his chin back, assessing the man closely, his mind whirling. “Just a meet and greet? You want nothin’ else from him?”

Kozlov nodded, thumbing his lip. “That’s all.”

“Why him?”

“Why not?”

“He’s a friend—so you tell me why, or this ain’t happenin’.”

“You are very loyal and protective of your friends, I can appreciate that.” He sighed, “We would’ve made such a great team, Mr. Casavani.” He hummed again, taking a sip. “I can also appreciate courage. It takes incredible strength to beat a man with his bare hands, but something else entirely to come out publicly in one of the most brutal sports since the gladiator games.”

Frankie’s jaw nearly dropped, and he stared incredulously at the gangster before him.

Kozlov was impressed by Caz and interested in him because he was… gay? He wondered if he should warn Caz that he had caught the attention of a mobster, who had definitely killed a few people to get where he was.