My fingers drum on the armrest. My nostrils flare as the wheels turn in my head. “Any idea what to do about it?”
Arian snorts again. “Like what? Walk away? From Drazen?” He whistles, shaking his head. “Your funeral, Kratos.”
“What are you going to do about Chernoff?”
He smirks. “Well, the plan was nothing, and just wait for Krylov to cut off Chernoff’s head or something. But while I wait for him to do that, Chernoff is fucking me over every way he can. Dad owed him a sizable debt—more than I have on hand. Boris has been milking me for a percentage of all my business, and the interest just keeps going up.” He scowls. “He’s even got his new attack bitch on my ass about it.”
Something clicks in my head.
“What did you just say?”
Arian sighs. “I was saying the interest is fucking crushing—”
“No, after that.”
This is the second time I’ve heard about Chernoff’s new “attack dog”, his new “consigliere”. First from Tim, now from Arian.
“What, about his new number two, or whatever she is?”
“Yeah,” I frown. “Who is she?”
“Scary, that’s what,” Arian growls darkly. “That woman means fucking business.” His brows knit. “Arya, or something.”
My jaw tightens. “What?”
“Or maybe Maya?”
Holy fucking shit.
Arian shudders. “Scary-looking cunt with a mean scar down the side of her neck, anyway.”
My vision goes black for a second. My heart almost stops beating as a cold sensation twists in my gut.
“Amaya,” I mutter through grit teeth.
Arian looks surprised. “Yeah, that’s it. You know her?”
“We’ve met,” I spit.
Arian exhales, nodding before he glances at his watch. His face darkens. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Kratos. I’ve got a meeting I need to get to.”
Numbly, I stand and shake his hand in a daze.
“Look, I’m only telling you this because I’d like there to be no misunderstandings or bad blood between our families. I truly don’t give a shit about the crucifix. All I want is to get out from under Chernoff’s heel.” His clears his throat. “And look, I’m not trying to push any agenda here. But since your family is doing business with the man who I expect might be cutting Boris’ heart out in the near future…” He arches a brow significantly. “Perhaps you could put in a word with the Serbian to move things along.”
A million thoughts are roaring through my head. My pulse jangles like shrapnel in my veins as I force a smile to my face and shake Arian’s outstretched hand.
“I’m actually going to see him now.”
Right the fuck now.
28
KRATOS
I’m already angry when I arrive at the front door. After I’m kept waiting there for fifteen minutes by Drazen’s men, I’m fucking pissed by the time he finally deigns to greet me in his enormous penthouse.
The Serbian meets me in the foyer in one of his customary dark gray suits. He shakes my hand firmly. But when he sees the icy look on my face, his brow quirks up.
“Is this a friendly visit?” he growls in his deep baritone. “Or should I break out the dueling pistols. Because you look—”
“You’re fucking playing us.”
Drazen meditates on that for a second, stroking his chin before he turns.
“Why don’t you come have a drink.”
“This won’t take long,” I snap. “We can do it right here.”
“Suit yourself,” Drazen tosses over his shoulder. “I’m getting a drink.”
Glaring daggers at his back, I follow him into his spacious, double height living room with its views of all of New York spread out ninety stories beneath us.
Drazen steps to the bar cart by the fireplace.
“You’re sure you don’t—”
“I don’t need you to impress me, or glad-hand me, or placate me with expensive whiskey,” I hiss. “That’s not why I’m here.”
