Page 7 of Desperate Crimes
About the politics.
But there’s something he doesn’t know. Something I keep locked behind steel.
I’m not just thinking about business.
I’m thinking about her.
Leanna Volkov.
Sammy’s first cousin.
I’ve been watching her for years.
Ever since she showed up at one of those charity galas in a clinging dress when she was barely legal.
The woman makes my world tilt off its axis.
But it’s more than obsession now.
It’s need. It’s inevitability. Destiny.
She’s mine.
And I don’t give a fuck if her family takes kindly to a snake in their midst.
I’ll wear the label.
I’ll hiss and bare fangs if I have to.
But no one—no one—is going to come between me and the woman who was born to be mine.
The secure line rings once before Gianni Caas picks up, and once more I am focused on this deal.
Smarmy bastard probably thinks he’s doing me a favor by answering this late.
“Fury,” he drawls. “And Ramirez. You boys don’t waste time, do you?”
“Time is currency,” I say. “Let’s talk status.”
“Everything is as it should be,” he replies, too smooth. Too calm. “My people have nearly wrapped it. Ministers are satisfied. The corridor’s cleared. We’re at ninety-nine percent.”
“Ninety-nine isn’t good enough,” I tell him flatly. “I want the signatures. I want the deeds. I want that land locked down by the time I touch foreign soil.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, “You’ll have them. Final pieces are falling into place. Just need a few more months. You know how politics works?—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I know how leverage works. You stall, and I yank yours.”
His silence stretches this time.
I let it.
I end the call.
Sammy lifts an eyebrow. “You trust him?”
“I trust that I’ve got my hand around his windpipe.” I rise from my chair and turn away, scanning the map again.
