Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Vaska leaned his forearms on his thighs as he wiped the sweat from his face. “What’s complicated? I thought we agreed we couldn’t have her in Chicago.”
I nodded. “We did.”
“So, is there a reason you were playing slap and tickle with her yesterday at the Four Monks?”
This will not be pretty.
I covered my mouth with my hand as I muttered, “She didn’t get on the plane.”
Anton raised an eyebrow as Ivan leaned forward. “What was that?”
“She didn’t get on the plane, alright? I dropped her off at O’Hare with the money, and she didn’t get on the freaking plane.”
Maxim sat up. “Let me get this straight. You went to her apartment to scare the crap out of her so she’d leave the US. Instead, you fucked her brains out. And she’s not only still in the US but in Chicago? That’s one magic dick, my friend.”
I flipped him the bird.
Besides, it was the other way around.
I couldn’t get enough of Vivian. Her pussy was so tight and sweet. Her breasts were what men’s wet dreams were made of, and that mouth… my cock hardened at just the idea of slipping inside its wet warmth.
I was entranced in a way I’d never experienced with any other woman. I didn’t just want to fuck her.
I wanted to know everything about her.
I wanted to be around her every minute, so I didn’t miss a single snarky bit of sass that fell from those crimson lips. I wanted to know what her favorite food was so I could feed it to her naked in bed. I wanted to see what she was like drunk and how beautiful she looked in the morning with no makeup on. I wanted to see her face when I bought her a designer purse for her obvious, unhealthy addiction.
I wanted it all from her.
Vaska stretched out his arm and pointed. “Don’t forget inside the Four Monks today. Are you sure she wasn’t wired?”
My lips twisted. “I’m sure.”
“You checked.”
“Thoroughly.”
Ivan leaned back. “Is she at least giving us intel? Have you found the forger fucking up our money laundering streams?”
“No and no,” I responded with certainty.
Maxim swiped a towel over his chest. “Well, we have the Mona Lisas. If they had gotten into the black market, that would have been a clusterfuck.”
I nodded. “Exactly. They are secure at the Four Monks. Serg is trying to track down who owns the original, so we can tell them to call off the scheme.”
In the meantime, a few more forgeries that I was certain were from the same artist had raised eyebrows at another international auction with their final price tag. Usually, the art was only just good enough to maybe be an unknown masterpiece, which kept the bidding muted. Then a pre-arranged buyer would bid with filthy money, and the fraudulent seller would return the squeaky-clean money.
The issues with the latest ones were that they were not only done too well, but there were also too many of them.
If any more surprise-find masterpieces miraculously turned up after being tucked in the back of a fictitious grandmother’s attic for decades, the entire scheme could collapse from too much scrutiny.
And I heard from Serg that we weren’t the only ones who’d noticed the issue.
There were several other high-profile mafia organizations in China, South America, and Eastern Europe who’d started asking questions.
It was only a matter of time before their inquiries led them to Chicago, which would only lead to even more scrutiny. Members of the mafia were not exactly subtle. If they started rolling into town, the US Feds would start asking some tough questions. Questions our usual bribes would not cover.
I wiped the sweat out of my eyes. “I need a drink.”
After changing into white robes in the men’s lounge, we slipped on slides and headed upstairs to the restaurant. Sitting in the back where it was decorated to resemble a train car, complete with small windows with curtains and a scrolling video of the Russian countryside, we ordered a bottle of vodka and several trays of caviar.
After Anton poured the shots, we each raised our glass. “Za nashu druzhbu!”
Vaska shook his head. “You are all wasting your money on this expensive shit.”
Shaking my head, I reached for a crepe. Vaska’s infamous taste in vodka was legendary.
Placing a small dollop of sour cream and crumbled hard-boiled egg on the crepe, I folded it, topped it with caviar, and ate it in one bite.
Anton placed some diced pickle on his. “Explain no and no.”
“Vivian hasn’t told me much, but that doesn’t mean she knows nothing. Now that we know the Southside gang will not be a nuisance, I’ve decided to keep her close so I can learn more.”
Maxim picked up the shell spoon and scooped caviar onto a crepe. “There are faster ways to get information.”