“Yelena’s had some leftovers. I heated them up for you.”
My stomach flips. I smile like an idiot, turn to him, get on my toes, and kiss him hard. A little too hard, honestly. He laughs when we break apart.
“I take it you’re hungry?” he asks.
“Starved. Come on.” I slip my hand into his. “Let’s go feed me.”
CHAPTER 22
GABE
Islip into a booth at the back of a seedy little diner an hour from the beach house. I hate leaving Nika, but half my men are there watching over her. She’ll be safe, even if Artyom decides to attack again.
It’s late, after eleven. I order a coffee, figuring I’ll need it for the drive back. The tables are laminate and the waitresses are old. It’s the sort of place locals come to hang around before and after drinking. It smells like grease and the menus are fading from use. I doubt they’ve been updated in a decade.
A few minutes after my coffee comes, a woman sits heavily in the seat across from me. She brazenly grabs my mug and takes a long slurp. I frown at her, sitting back.
“I needed that,” Lucy says, putting her phone on the table. She frowns down at it. “How’d you find this place?”
“Google.”
“Great. I hope your network isn’t compromised.” She taps at her screen. Always busy, this one. “How’s the wife?”
“Still alive.”
“That’s good.”
I lean toward her, voice lowering. “Did you know about Marat?”
She goes still. Lucy Hernandez is a dangerous woman. I have to keep reminding myself I can’t take her lightly. Her expression hardens. “Are you suggesting I somehow misled you?”
“I’m suggesting I nearly stumbled into a fucking trap.”
“If Massimo wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Fortunately, your sister’s husband is on your side.” She drinks my coffee again. “Despite my counsel against it.”
I take that in and let it settle. So Lucy doesn’t like me, or at least she doesn’t want me as a Dragon. No big surprise there. But she’ll do as Mass says, because that’s always been her job. He says jump and she breaks the Olympic fucking record.
“Why are we meeting again?” I wave the waitress down and get more coffee. Lucy politely asks for a refill.
“It’s our last chance to talk before the Dragons vote. It’s happening in Paris.”
I consider that. “Paris is a nice city. Nika’s going to love it.”
“Who cares what Nika likes?” Lucy jabs a finger into the table. “Paris is your only shot. Mass wants you as the next Dragon, which means I have to find some way to get your ass on that throne. Artyom’s strong though, and now that the Turk is in the ground, the other Dragons are beginning to line up behind him.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, your support is pretty fucking thin.” Her lips press together. “As in, you have nobody. If this comes to a vote, I think you’ll lose.”
I feel like someone kicked me in the chest. I search her face, trying to figure out if this is a joke, but she’s deadly serious. I slump to the side, cradling the warm mug between my hands, jaw clenched.
“All this fucking work, and I might lose because of some damn popularity contest.”
Her laugh is bitter. “It’s not that. It’s more because Artyom grew up in Medved’s Bratva, while you’re practically stealing it. They see him as the more stable choice.”
“He’s a god damn psychopath.”
“They’reDragons, Gabe. They’re all god damn psychopaths.”