Page 13 of Drowning in the Deep
“Hi,” I said, taking the flowers he extended to me. “This is an odd choice.”
He shrugged. “Something different. Also, poppies are significant flowers. They’re often given in remembrance or for hope for a peaceful future.”
I held the flowers to my nose and breathed them in, thinking about how poppies were also worn in times of war to symbolize those that had been lost. I wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at, but it was a kind gesture, and I certainly wanted a peaceful future, though I wasn’t expecting one. “I’ll just get a vase.”
This time, I put the flowers in the kitchen, not wanting to see them spilled all over the floor like when Ragno had been here.
A few moments later, with my arm through Daemon’s, I made my way down to his car. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Silver and more round than any other car I’d seen, I thought I was climbing into a spaceship.
“What is this?” I asked him as he climbed behind the wheel.
“It’s an Italian prototype,” he explained. “They aren’t in production yet. But fuck if they don’t go fast.” He pulled away from the curb so quickly, I almost got whiplash. Within seconds, we were speeding toward the interstate, and I had no doubt he would mash the gas pedal to the ground without thinking about it twice.
I envied Daemon in some ways, wishing I could live with that sort of abandon. “Can I drive?” I asked him, teasing. I’d be terrified.
He laughed. “Over my dead body.”
Since I wanted to avoid that scenario at all cost, I let it go. A few moments later, we pulled off the highway into one of the parts of town where there were a ton of clubs and bars. Daemon stopped for no one as he navigated his way to the parking lot of a place I’d never heard of before. A blinking neon sign over the door read “Casbah Club,” so I had a feeling this had to be one of the businesses the Petrov family was associated with in one way or another. It was no wonder I’d never heard of it before, being a La Rosa and all.
Loud rock music blared as we walked inside, and all around us people were moving either toward the bar or the dance floor, voices speaking fluent Russian mingling with the music. Glancing around, I searched faces, looking for anyone else who might be in the same boat as me and not know a lick of the language. I saw a few people who might fit that description, but for the most part, this was Petrov turf for sure.
The dance floor was full of writhing bodies. Women in short skirts rode the muscular legs of men whose pants were tight enough to show off all their assets. Chiseled bare chests covered in sweat glittered from the neon lights above that pulsed in a myriad of colors but mostly blue and green, and women with the tops of their breasts bounding out of their dresses gyrated in time to the beat.
“Want a drink?” Daemon offered, leading me through the crowd toward the bar.
“Yes, please.” I leaned in close to his ear so he could hear me. A few seconds later, he thrust a fruity-looking drink into my hand, and I swallowed half of it down, trying to calm my nerves.
With a beer in his hand, he walked toward the dance floor, pulling me close as he began to move in time to the music. It wasn’t dancing, not exactly, but when the two of us pressed up against one another, the heat of his body mingling with mine, I didn’t care what he did as long as his form was nestled next to mine.
The longer we danced, the more I drank and the more I wanted him. When he leaned in close to me, his warm breath bathing my cheek, I steeled myself for a kiss, ready to fuck him right here in front of everyone.
Instead, he turned his head sharply toward the door at the front of the club, dragging my gaze along with his. An older gentleman in an expensive suit walked in, flanked by some even bigger dudes who appeared to be bodyguards of some sort. The crowd parted for him, patrons tipping their heads in respect. Confusion washed over me. Who the hell was this guy?
Turning back to Daemon, I parted my lips to ask him the question, but I could tell by his expression he wasn’t going to answer me. He had something else on his mind. I stared at him, dumbfounded as he whispered into my ear, “Ready to get to work?”
“What?” I asked. Once again, he hadn’t actually asked me out on a fun date—he was working. And I was coming along with him. He grabbed my arm and pulled me after him as he approached the man in the suit.
CHAPTER10
DAEMON
Things had just been heating up between Elisa and me when Nico Chernoval showed his face, and I had to cut off the fun stuff right before it was about to begin. This was about business, though, and now was the time to strike, not later. If things went well, I’d happily take Elisa back to my bed and fuck her hard and long again, but for now, we had a Russian capo to talk business with.
Weaving around gyrating bodies, I made my way to the back offices of the club, noticing a couple snorting coke off a table in plain view of everyone. Shaking my head, I let it go. Chances were if cops came in here, they’d be corrupt cops anyway. Most of them were around here. And it was nice to see Nico was able to push our other lines while he ran the club.
The two goons who’d escorted him in stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the door at the end of a long, dark hallway where the word “Private” was written in white and glowed in the faint light streaming from the dance floor.
“I need to speak with Nico,” I said, not asking permission.
The two of them looked at one another. Obviously, they knew who I was, and they weren’t going to dare to fucking argue with me, but they were having some sort of silent conversation about who would get to interrupt. Finally, the one on the left pulled out a cell phone and made a hasty call to the boss. “Daemon’s here,” he said. “Yes, sir.”
Then, the two of them stepped aside, and I entered the room, dragging Elisa behind me.
Nico sat behind a large mahogany desk, a fifth of whiskey in front of him and an expensive cigar hanging from his lip. For a moment, he reminded me of my father, always with the booze and the stogies. But unlike my asshole dad, Nico wasn’t a rat bastard. At least, not most of the time—not to me.
“Daemon Petrov. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his eyes focusing on me for a moment before he turned to look at Elisa and let his gaze roam. I couldn’t blame him. She looked unbelievably hot in the tight blue dress she was wearing. And it wasn’t like I owned her—not anymore—though if he tried to touch her, I’d break his hand off.
“Nico,” I said, swallowing back my possessiveness of the woman next to me. “I wanted to come to speak to you in a location away from the eyes of the other capos.”
