Keep(Romanian Mob Chronicles 1)(9)

When she reached me, she settled atop my lap, the small curves of her ass pressing against my knee. She also didn’t mind using her looks and status to take liberties that others wouldn’t be allowed, something I wasn’t in the mood to indulge today, at least not too much.

“Whatever will you do with your new toy?” she asked.

It wasn’t at all surprising that she, and everyone else in the room probably, knew what had happened just hours ago. I gave her a lot of leeway out of respect to her father, but not even Natasha’s looks, nor her ties to my brother gave her the freedom to test me so.

“Natasha…” I said, letting the warning hang.

Her little smile dropped, but she recovered quickly, laying a hand on my chest. “Vasile, you know I worry about you,” she said.

“Don’t. And get off me,” I said, dismissing her.

“Some men would pay a fortune, give their lives for the pleasure of me sitting on their lap,” she said, eyes sparkling, completely undeterred and instead tossed a huge smile, one that had broken more hearts than she could probably count.

“I’m not some men,” I said, and I wasn’t. But I wasn’t dead either, and recognized Natasha’s beauty. In the past, I had respected her father and my brother too much to go there, and today, I couldn’t shake the thought of how Fawn would feel this close to me, how her fuller curves would fill my arms, and I needed to keep those thoughts at bay.

I’d kept my voice flat, my gaze on hers, and with a final slight nod, she stood.

“Wait for me. I have something for you to do,” I said.

“Fine,” she said.

Then she walked away, her heels clicking against the wood floor. I usually paid such things no attention, but watching Natasha again reminded me of Fawn, of how she’d managed to move so gracefully on those high heels. Natasha paused momentarily and tossed a mysterious smile at my brother as he entered and then continued.

“Salut, frate,” Sorin said as he came to stand in front of me, giving me a somewhat formal greeting, though his expression showed the underlying depth of our relationship.

“You seem in a good mood,” I said.

“I had a good night’s work,” he said, and then he sat next to me and waved a hundred dollar bill at the waitress, who soon returned with a single glass and full bottle.

His smile spread from ear to ear and after quickly tossing back his first shot, he poured another. It didn’t take much to get Sorin in a good mood, but I’d have to get details later, when we were alone and on safer ground. I turned toward him, catching the grin that still covered his face.

“Did Priest try to talk you out of it?” Sorin asked.

“Sorin, you speak in riddles and I have no energy to translate,” I said. My voice was harsh, but my brother knew there were no teeth behind it. He was many things, many bad things, but he was my brother, and I would never let anything come between us.

“You stole the accountant’s girl. I know he had something to say about it.”

“I answer to no man,” I said, echoing the words I’d said to Priest earlier.

Sorin smiled and nodded, then looked toward the front door. “You might have to answer to that,” he said.

I watched as Ashmore approached, still dressed impeccably, but even in the dim light of the room, his eyes were shifty with energy and animation. Only the presence of the person who accompanied him kept me from dismissing him.

Vargas, one of the most powerful men in the city’s criminal underworld.

Sorin stood, as did I. Priest’s place was the neutral spot where factions met to discuss business or on occasion, relax without fear of reprisal. But Familie belonged to Clan Petran, was in the heart of my territory. This intrusion would not go unnoticed and could not go unremarked.

Ashmore rushed toward me and then stopped. “I want her back. Now!”

At his sharp-voiced words, people began filing out of the room, first the women and staff, then the men, and finally higher-level soldiers. They knew when to make themselves scarce, and a visit from Ashmore and the Peruvian definitely qualified as one of those times.

Sorin moved closer to Ashmore, close enough to the other man’s face he could bite off his nose if he so chose. Something he’d done to others before.

“Do you know where you are?” Sorin asked.

The edge in his voice was razor-sharp, and he kept his eyes glued on Ashmore, waiting for the other man to do anything that would give him an excuse.

Vargas raised a hand, an attempt to placate Sorin. “We do. No disrespect intended. My associate is a little emotional.”

“Are you sanctioning this intrusion, Vargas?” I asked.