Lev: a Shot Callers novel(2)

I didn’t believe it possible, but I paled further then whispered, “I just want something to eat. It doesn’t have to be much. I-I,” I stuttered, “I don’t want to do that. Please.”

His scowl returned, harder than before. “Obviously not hungry enough.” He jerked his chin toward the street. “Get the f*ck out of here, bitch.”

As he closed the door, locking it, I fell into full-fledged panic, my stomach turning violently. I threw myself at the glass door, pounding my fists against it until my knuckles throbbed sorely. My voice broke as I cried quietly, tears of regret sliding down my cheeks, “Please! I-I’m sorry! I’ll do it!” But the man left my vision as he walked into the back room, turning the lights off behind him.

My shoulders shook as I sobbed in complete silence.

Angry with myself, I yelled a broken, “I’ll do it, dammit!” and slammed my fist against the glass.

But the door remained closed. I slid down the glass door to sit on the icy-cold cement of the sidewalk, crying weakly. My head pounding, hungry, heartsick, and humiliated, my tears stopped suddenly as I closed my eyes and realized my situation was worse than I thought.

I was officially at an all-time low. But not for long. I was desperate, and desperation was a damn good motivator.





Chapter Two

Lev



I stood by the door staring at my brother as he spoke to the man trembling in the chair by the solid marble desk. It didn’t take much for me to recognize he was angry. That familiar bored glare told me everything I needed to know. He didn’t raise his voice. He never raised his voice. That wasn’t Sasha’s style.

“How long we been friends, Paolo?” He spoke slowly but firmly.

The man didn’t answer. There was no point in answering. Sasha wasn’t friends with anyone. He merely tolerated people.

Sasha looked up at me, his light brown eyes hard. “How long we been friends with Paolo, Lev?”

My mind was quick to calculate. I answered immediately, “Three years, two months, and four days.”

The moment I finished, Sasha repeated, “Three years.” He stood up from his sitting position. “Two months.” He moved around the desk and sat in front of the short, stocky man. “And four days.” Then he scowled, lowering his voice to a hush. “That’s a long time, Paolo.” He made a show of removing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves. “So when I hear my friends are leaving me to work with Laredo, I begin to wonder if my friend was a friend at all.”

Paolo blanched before straightening. “Who told you that?” He tried to scoff, but it came out a wheeze. “That’s bullshit, Sash. I told you I’m taking some time off. My Vera doesn’t like the hours I’m keeping. Keeps saying I don’t spend enough time at home. Missing out on the kids growing up and all that shit.” Then he forced a smile. “You know what they say. Happy wife, happy life.”

Sasha closed his eyes, running his hand, decorated with thick silver rings, through his hair with a sigh. His cheek ticked. “I don’t like liars, Paolo. You know this. You’ve seen what happens to liars.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his neck from side-to-side, working out the kinks. “Why are you lying to me?”

Then he did something stupid. He lied again. “I’m not working with Laredo. I swear to God, I’m not.”

I shook my head. The man was an idiot. You didn’t lie to Sasha. You didn’t lie to any Leokov.

Sasha’s eyes opened with a flash. He took a deep breath before laying it out there. “There was a meet this morning at Aphrodite’s Kiss.” Paolo blanched, but Sasha went on. “It was kind of funny, actually.” The look on Sasha’s face told us there was nothing funny about this situation. “Laredo told the boys that I needed to treat my staff better, or else they’d follow your lead. Said he’d welcome any and all of them with open arms.”

The short man blustered, turning bright red. “W-well, he’s full of shit!”

“You embarrass me,” Sasha said in a calm hush.

Paolo stood when he realized it was over. It was done. He was caught. “I never wanted this, Sash. You forced my hand. I can’t keep working like this. You’re so f*cking demanding.” He panted before begging for understanding, “I had a goddamn heart attack last month! I nearly died. This job is killing me!”

Sasha nodded thoughtfully. The near silence in the room felt thick with the soft sounds of Paolo’s wheeze. Finally, Sasha stood, and to the complete disbelief of the short man, he held out his hand. “Good luck.”

Paolo, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, took the outstretched hand and shook it. “I’m sorry, Sash. Really, I am.”

Sasha shook his hand firmly before letting go. “Me too.” He added, “We’ll miss you ‘round here.” He walked back behind his desk. “I’ve got a couple of things to finish up. Go down to the bar and we’ll have a drink before you leave.”

It was clear that Paolo couldn’t believe his ears, or his luck. “Don’t go to any trouble—”

But he was cut off with Sasha’s firm, “I insist.”

Paolo smiled then, the idiot. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

He turned and moved to walk out, but I stood my ground, eyeing him. The little man looked up at me. He seemed afraid.