Page 7 of Deceptive Vows
My Pakhan slid in first and I followed.
"Marco will likely make an entrance," Pasha spoke low.
I nodded. In the few months we'd worked for the Don, he'd shown a flair for the theatrical.
A few minutes later, the door creaked again and Marco Moretti entered.
He was squat and beefy. Thick through the middle with the kind of belly that came from eating well and lifting nothing heavier than a fork. His suit was dark and tailored, the lapel of his coat slightly bulged where a holster might sit. The signet ring on his right hand glinted as he adjusted his cuff.
Three men flanked him—two in front, one behind. All looked like ex-military, middle-aged, and dangerous. One stayed at the entrance. The next peeled off to stay at the bar, and the last took up a position by the bathroom hallway, blocking the back.
Marco didn’t acknowledge them. Didn't need to.
“Mr. Morozov." He gave Pasha a nod beforeturning his gaze on me. "And Mr. Volkov. It's good to finally meet."
Pasha returned the nod. "Likewise."
The Don eased into the booth. "I appreciate you coming all this way. I prefer meetings in places where the walls don't talk."
For a man who was supposedly on the run from his twin brother, he was remarkably relaxed. I kept that commentary to myself.
"The auction preparations are progressing," Marco continued, folding his hands on the table. "But there's another issue I need handled. One that's costing me time, money, and patience."
"We're listening," Pasha replied.
“The Kalantzis family has been a thorn in my side. Five siblings. United, coordinated, problematic. They’ve disrupted shipments, interrogated—killed—my men, and three weeks ago, they intercepted a container with twenty women. Women who were already sold.”
Two months. The realization crashed through me. We'd been facilitating this… Every security protocol I'd designed, every entrance I'd secured, every safeguard I'd recommended… all of it had been to ensure Marco could traffic women moreefficiently.
Pasha and I remained neutral, but I knew my friend. He'd lost the love of his life to trafficking twenty years ago. Rada. He'd even talked of leaving the Bratva for her. I'd envied their love. My friend never recovered. If it felt like a physical blow to me, I could only imagine how it hit Pasha.
“Elite girls. High yield. This wasn’t some street-level scrape. These were million-dollar clients." Marco's lips twisted into a snarl. "And those siblings made me look weak.”
“Which means the auction you’ve been securing…” Pasha let the sentence hang.
Marco jerked his gaze to Pasha. "Yes. Women—is that a problem?"
"Nyet." Pasha's voice was firm. "We don't care about what's being sold. We're here to do a job."
Marco studied us for a long moment, as if weighing the truth behind our words. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Good. I can't afford moral complications, not with the Kalantzis family breathing down my neck. That's why I need them eliminated. Permanently. I believe it could serve both our interests."
"We're listening," Pasha said.
The Don ran his fingers over his signet ring. "In return for your services, you gain part of their territory."
"What sort of timeline are you talking?"
We'd already discussed the auction taking place between Christmas and New Year's to conceal any high-profile clients who might be attending. What better excuse to be in Chicago than the coming holiday?
Marco leaned back. "As soon as possible. They seem to anticipate my moves. I believe you'll have an advantage since they don't know you." He shrugged. "Plus, it'll give you a reason to be in Chicago other than providing security for me."
My friend took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. "That's quite the undertaking."
"Yes, but based on our current working relationship, I believe your organization is well suited for it." Marco's expression grew calculating. "If we can agree on terms, would you take the job?"
“We will need to consider it and the complications it could present.” Pasha gestured toward me.
Marco’s jaw tightened, a flicker of impatience breaking through his polished exterior. “I’d prefer an answer now.”
