our pakhan. Especially not me, not after I already opened my mouth once, not while it could draw any further scrutiny toward me. Not while I'm protecting Penny.
"He got another job for us," says Petrov, looking at me. "A hit."
I nod.
"You're best man. Make this go smooth. Or all our necks on the line." Petrov has always been Grigory's right-hand man. If even he's nervous now, Grigory must be fucking pissed.
"Alright." I can handle the pressure. I got no issues following through on a hit. That's my bread and butter. It's just this damn trafficking that fucks with my conscience.
"Just tell me who," I say.
"Sanchez. Guatemalan that has that gun-running ring in Brighton Beach."
"That's our territory," says Valentin.
"Yeah," says Petrov.
"He's in Guatemala Grill restaurant on Friday and Saturday nights. It's front but he takes seriously as cash source."
"I hear you can make a killing in the restaurant business," says Luka.
"Right. Havok, take him out while he's on clock."
"Roger that," I say. "I got it covered."
After the meeting, I run a couple errands. I stop by the hardware store to pick up equipment for the hit. Steel wire for a garrote. Some steel wool to stuff in that fat fuck's mouth after I do the job.
That's just a stylistic touch.
Finally, I stop by a Mexican take-out place to get food for me and Penny. She's been home alone for nearly five hours now. She should be safe, squirreled away in my house, but I wouldn't put it past Grigory to have Igor "check up" on my place, what with all the shit going down right now.
"Penny!" I shout as I step into the front door. The scent of enchilada sauce and fresh corn chips wafts into my nostrils. I didn't realize how hungry I was.
Penny doesn't respond to my call. It shouldn't faze me, but as I jog up the steps to check on her, I can't help worrying.
But when I get to the bedroom, there she is, fast asleep on the love seat, one arm draped over the bed and handcuffed to the frame. Her long, auburn hair spills over the side of the seat, contrasting perfectly with the white leather. God, she's beautiful. My cock stirs against my leg, and my gaze lingers on her lips. Fuck, to feel those lips wrapped around my cock just once.
But soon enough, I'll get her out of here, and put an end to this dangerous flirtation. Get my head screwed on straight, and get my focus back.
I place the take-out bag on the nightstand and put a hand on her shoulder. My cock stiffens at that simple touch, like I'm a naive schoolboy. I prepare to shake her awake, but I hesitate. Instead, I turn my hand over and brush it over her soft, bare arm. Blood surges into my cock. I imagine her waking up to me, looking up into my eyes, and unbuckling my pants. She'd wrap those delicate fingers around my rock-hard cock, work it up and down, and taste the glistening pre-cum I can feel on the tip of my cock.
"Havok?" she mumbles, stirring. I instinctively withdraw my hand. She opens her brown eyes and looks up at me.
"Dinner," I say. I almost add "honey," something I used to call Irina. The fuck is wrong with me, anyway?
I think I detect a faint smile, but it fades before I'm certain. Penny rattles the handcuffs. "Let me go," she says.
I pull the keys out of my pocket and toss them in her lap. "Do it yourself."
She cocks an eyebrow. "Trusting me with the keys now?"
"Only in my presence."
"What're you so afraid of?" she asks. She fumbles with the keys, trying to figure out how to insert them in the lock.
I'm afraid of you leaving, I think.
"You turning me over to the cops," I say.
She finally succeeds in freeing herself. "I wouldn't do that."
"I have to be sure," I say. "Come on. Let's eat."
Downstairs, we sit opposite each other at my dinner table. The base is Incan carved wood, the surface pure crystal from the caves of Morocco. One of my more prized pieces. I watch Penny as she wolfs down a double order of cheese enchiladas. Sauce spills over the edge of the white Styrofoam container, dotting the crystal surface.
I take small, controlled bites of my tostada, using the side of the fork to cut my food.
"We need to talk," she says, pausing her consumption to dab a napkin at the corner of her mouth.
"Is that right?" I say.
"You