Page 93 of Bratva's Intern

“On it, sir.”

Archie perched his ass on my desk, his arms folded. “Think he’ll do it?”

I poured myself another drink and took a slow sip. “He’ll do it.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “And if he doesn’t?”

I looked at the monitor, now black. “Then we go on to phase two.”

Which I hated.

I never wanted to leave any of my men behind, but they understood the risks and signed off on the possible outcomes when they decided to work for me. If they were caught, they would lie about who they worked for. Preferably one of my enemies.

But that was the worst-case scenario. If that happened, I had a contract that said I would take care of their families for life.

Archie gave a quiet nod. “I’ll prepare for both outcomes. Since you are here…”

I picked up my phone, smiling when I saw Wren had sent me another message. A picture of himself naked with his phone held high so I had a perfect view of his round ass. He was in the shower at the gym.

Wren:

Is it tight enough for you?

“Maxim, are you listening?”

I rose to my feet. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m done with business tonight.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you want to have a late meal together then? You skipped dinner earlier.”

“I’ll have room service delivered to the hotel.” I grabbed my coat from the back of my chair. “Night, Archie.”

Sergei met me at the exit, moving ahead of me. Another bodyguard flanked me as we used the private elevator to the first floor. Usually, whenever I visited, I stayed at the nightclub for much of the night, found a willing partner to fuck.

But not tonight.

We exited Power through the restricted back entrance. Chicago always smelled like ambition and exhaust fumes, and tonight was no different. The car was already waiting because Sergei was efficient and always one step ahead of me.

By the time we reached the penthouse suite of the hotel, my patience was thinning. The adrenaline from the meeting with Calloway was fading, replaced by something more aggravating. The hollow of distance.

I loosened my tie, kicked off my shoes, and dropped onto the edge of the bed, reaching for my phone.

I called Wren.

It rang once, then cut off.

I frowned and called again.

This time it rang three times before going to voice mail.

Annoyance flared like a struck match. I shot off a quick message:

Maxim

Pick up the phone, Wren.

A bubble popped up almost immediately.

Wren

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