Page 4 of Samuel

“Bad luck?”

“If you hadn’t been with a member of the Navarro family, you wouldn’t have been involved,” I point out.

“Oh,” she says, surprised. “I guess you’re right. Although, it was a good thing for Ivan that I was.”

“Averygood thing,” Ivan agrees, winking at her—making her giggle.

“You’re not what I expected,” she says, studying him.

“You’ve heard of me?”

“Ivan Levkin? Hasn’t everyone? I might not be related to Natalie, but I’m aware of your reputation.”

“I don’t see fear in your eyes,” my uncle responds.

“That’s because I don’t feel afraid. I’ve known bad men. I mean, Iamfriends with Natalie. You don’t give me the same vibe.”

“I can be very bad,” he says with a smirk.

This time the woman laughs out loud. “I bet you can.”

“If you’ve heard of my uncle, you must have heard of our whole family,” I point out.

“What’s your name?” she asks, giving me her attention.

“Samuel,” I respond.

I expect some sort of acknowledgement. Yet, she stares at me blankly. “Never heard of you,” she says with a shrug.

Ivan cackles, before hissing out a muffled, “Fuck.”

“I told you not to pull at your stitches. I don’t suppose I could convince you to take some pain meds so you can sleep?”

“That depends,” Ivan answers. “Would you crawl up here and rest with me?”

“If I agree, can I give you a pain shot?” she asks, shocking the hell out of me.

Ivan is not the type of man a girl like Isabel would flirt with. Or at least, I don’t think he is. She’s apparently studying to be a doctor. It’s not like she’s part of the Bratva or an allying family looking for power and position. Maybe she’s just looking to get laid. I push away that thought. She’s not my concern.

“Yes.”

I watch as Isabel stands and goes to a cabinet, grabbing a small bottle and a syringe. Ivan pats the bed for her, but she shakes her head no. “Shot first,” she chuckles. Ivan dutifully holds out his arm. She sinks the needle and grins down at him. “Now, when you wake up, you might be a tad upset with me.”

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“Because you’re going to be asleep before I count to ten,” she quips with a wink.

“You’re sn-sneaky.” My uncle’s words are already slurring.

“You have no idea, I.T.”

“I-I … I.T.?”

“Ivan the Terrible,” she supplies, her whole face lit up in humor. “Sweet dreams, big guy.”

“What did you give him?” I ask, stepping close to peer down at my uncle.

“Nothing bad, I promise. He’ll be fine. I.T. will probably sleep for the rest of the night, which he needs. The stitches will dissolve on their own. He should be good to go. You just need to make sure he takes it easy.”

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