Paying The Bratva’s Debt, Cole, Jagger [best motivational novels .txt] 📗

Without waiting for an answer, he strides forward to the door to the shop. He rings, and two Italian guys who are obviously armed under their suit jackets step out.

“Come in, Mr. Drucci is expecting you.”

Even though I’m with the most dangerous man in the city, along with four other equally huge and tough looking Russian mobsters, I still tremble when we step into the shop. Inside, a few more of Drucci’s men quickly frisk everyone. One guy finishes with Lev and grins lecherously as he approaches me.

But suddenly, Viktor’s hand shoots out. He grabs the man by the collar, twisting tightly. He snarls and shoves the man back.

“No,” Viktor grunts.

“Mr. Komarov,” one of the senior-looking Italian guys sighs. “Business meeting or not, Mr. Drucci—”

“Attempt to put your hand on her again, and I will cut them off,” the Russian hisses icily.

I feel all the eyes in the room on me. My face burns, and I worry my lower lip as I look at the floor. The savage possessiveness in his tone makes me tremble. It scares me, but it also has my core tightening and my every thought on the kiss last night.

The man who just tried to frisk me down clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll tell Mr. Drucci you’re here.”

“Wonderful,” Viktor growls.

The Italian’s file out. Viktor, Lev, his men, and I all take seats in the waiting room area. Minutes tick by. Then more. When half an hour has passed, Lev suddenly stands. He turns to Viktor and starts growling something furiously in Russian. Viktor answers in the same language, though his tone is much more level.

“Viktor!” Lev hisses. “This is disrespectful. We should leave.”

“I need that space, Lev,” Viktor grunts back quietly. He glances at me. I blush, simmering under his gaze. But then suddenly, the door to the room opens and two of Joey’s men step in.

“This way.”

Viktor says nothing. But even just looking at him, you can tell his silence doesn’t mean acceptance of being made to wait like this. He’s more calculating than he appears to be, and I get the feeling that’s one of the biggest reason’s he’s managed to build the empire he has.

“Ey! It’s Viktor! Get in here, comrade!”

Joey Drucci is a paunchy, sleazy looking guy with slicked back thinning hair and a sweaty collar. He’s sitting at the head of a conference table in an expensive looking but badly fitting suit. But he doesn’t get up when Viktor steps inside. He pats the top of the table next to him.

“Come, have a seat.”

“Our meeting was half an hour ago,” Viktor says coolly.

“Well, you know how it is,” Joey shrugs.

I frown, trying to make sense of it. I’m hardly an expert. But even I know that in the criminal food chain of Chicago, Viktor Komarov is way higher than a guy like Joey Drucci. But the Italian mobster is almost taunting Viktor—making him wait, playing everything so casual.

I think back to the documents I was pouring over earlier. This property that Viktor wants from Joey is objectively garbage. It’s a condemned building on land that’s been deemed an environmental hazard. It would take more money to clean the site up than you would ever get back developing it. If you could even somehow get the permitting to do anything with it at all.

But obviously, Viktor wants it. And even more obviously, Joey knows it, and is using it as a shield to act as rudely and cavalierly as he wants to the more powerful man.

Viktor crosses the room and sinks into the chair to the left of Joey. He glances at me, and his eyes gesture to the chair next to him. Feeling my face flush, I quickly take the seat, with Lev on the other side of me.

“So, where were we last time?”

“I believe I was making you a more than generous offer for your abandoned sneaker factory.”

Joey grins. “Yeah, yeah that’s right.” He throws his hands up, shrugging. “What can I say, comrade. I’m attached to the place.”

“So attached that you couldn’t agree to forty million?”

My jaw drops. Forty freaking million? Who in their right mind would pay that for the all but unusable land in the terrible section of town?

“Like I said, comrade,” Joey grins smugly. “I’m attached to it.”

Viktor says nothing for minute. “So be it. Forty-five. But that’s my final offer.”

The Italian mobster sighs and sits back in his chair. He pulls out a cigar and slowly cuts the end off. One of his men leans forward to hold a lighter as Joey puffs it slowly.

“You know what? I think I’m gonna wait and see what I could get from other interested parties.”

I roll my eyes. Before I can stop myself, I’m opening my mouth.

“Other interested parties?” I say incredulously. “Mr. Drucci, the property is basically useless. It’s a toxic hazard site, for God’s sake. If you could even get the city permitting to develop it—and that’s an enormous ‘if’—you’d need to excavate at least ten feet of soil off of the entire property, raze the building within an enclosure because of chemical particles, and send everything through detoxifying facilities before you could dump it. And all of that is before you even talk about building permits and land usage.”

I shake my head, bewildered. “It would take fifty-million dollars to put a lemonade stand on that property safely. And you think someone’s going to top forty-five million? If you got a quarter of that for that property, I would honestly be amazed.”

The room goes utterly silent. Suddenly, I freeze, like I’ve just snapped out of a dream state. I realize what I’ve just said, and who I’ve just said it to, and I pale in horror.

“Um, I—”

Joey’s face cracks as he starts to laugh deeply. “Well holy fuck, comrade Vik!” He chuckles. “I thought this was your side piece or somethin’!” He turns to look at me with a mix