Sasha chuckles and cups my cheek. “I’ve taught you well. I brought more muscle for you to torture and they all know to do anything you ask. So have at ‘em. I’ll be back to check on you later.”
I step up on a desk to speak over the assembled masses. I whistle with two fingers in my mouth to draw their attention, which works on Lora and all of the Bratva soldiers that Sasha brought to do my bidding.
Gina and Feliks, however, don’t notice. They’re deep in the midst of locking horns over what sounds like perhaps the most inane bullshit ever used as argument fodder.
“… Listen here, you Russian Ken doll,” she snaps, “I told you that if you touch my Post-Its, I will end you.”
“Big threats from a little woman,” replies Feliks.
Gina whirls on him, her box braids swinging. “Keep laughing, Frost
