Page 133 of The Bratva Sinner

I’m not losing. Not to the Albanians. Not to Arlind. Not to anyone.

The house is quiet when we pull through the gate. I expect it to be. It’s almost three-thirty in the morning. I didn’t tell her what we had planned.

I’m exhausted. I won’t be sleeping much for the next couple of days. Right now, I want to crawl into bed and hold my wife for a few hours before I get back to work.

I walk into my bedroom and see her sitting up in bed with the bedside lamp on.

“You’re up,” I say.

“I am.”

Immediately, I know something is wrong.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Nothing happened.”

“Lila.”

“How’d it go?” she asks.

She didn’t ask me about the club. My shoulders sag. I feel like a kid who just got busted with my hand in the cookie jar.

No point in lying.

“Fine. We hit three locations. No serious injuries on our side. We made our point.”

She nods. “Good.”

I pull off my jacket and drape it over the chair before kicking off my shoes. She’s pissed. I feel the tension in the air.

“Did you get your note?” she asks softly.

“My note?”

“The one I left on your desk.”

“I didn’t go to my office.”

She’s staring at me, waiting for me to say more.

And that’s when I realize she knows.

37

Lila

Maksim knows.

I give him a few seconds to sit with it. Let him decide what he’s going to say. Lie or tell the truth.

“I found the envelope,” I say.

He looks at me with intense eyes.

“There’s enough money in there to disappear for a long time.” I keep my voice even. “For good.”

“Lila.”