Savage Sinner: An Enemies To Lovers Russian - Italian Dark Mafia Romance (Sinfully Savage Mafia)

Unfortunately for us, Patrick is a little more well-known in the city, especially since he looks like the rest of the Mulligan brothers. But he refused to let me go in alone. If Conor is pulling something with the Russians, he wants to see it for himself.

Patrick’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. The bar is packed and loud, the restaurant overflowing with patrons.

But we’re not here for food or drink.

What we’re interested in is what happens beneath all of this drunken chaos.

I lead the way to the bar where we find a spot on one end. The bartender is a tall blonde with clear blue eyes and deep red lips. She saunters toward us, and I order two double shots of Stolichnaya vodka on the rocks.

Patrick grins at her and I roll my eyes once she walks away. “Dude, we’re not picking up tonight.”

“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish smile. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Well, try,” I grumble, rubbing the back of my neck. “Now let’s go through it all one more time.”

“Like I told you, he didn’t tell me anything direct. Shit, he barely talks to me at all anymore because he knows I report everything back to Heaven, and that pisses him off to no end.”

“So who knows?”

“Quinn,” he says, nodding at the bartender when she places our shot glasses on the bar.

“He overheard Conor on the phone in his office, talking about a new business opportunity in this area. He’d just gotten there for a meeting, so he hung around outside the office to catch any bits of information since Conor never mentioned Brooklyn, or the Russians, to any of them. He heard the names Tatiana and Vigo and today’s date. Then when the call ended, he waited a few minutes and went inside. He asked some vague questions, just to see if Conor would give anything. He didn’t, so Quinn got suspicious and came to me.”

“He was smart to do that. The last thing he should have done was to tip Conor off.” I rub the back of my neck. “Vigo Kosolov is the right hand to Ivan Volkov. I’d bet my left nut that’s the Vigo he was talking to. Conor is too much of an egotistical prick to talk to anyone low level.” But that connection has warning bells going off in my mind. I’d heard that the Russian bratva is trying to edge into Manhattan, and Matteo doesn’t want them closing in on our territory, especially since there’s some bad blood between us. My brother Roman and I had an altercation with some soldiers from the Volkov Bratva months ago, and while we haven’t gotten caught in each others’ crosshairs since then, this hits a little too close to home.

It could just be Conor building himself up, looking for quick cash opportunities with new partners whom he hasn’t yet fucked over.

Or it could be something else.

Either way, I don’t want any of his dealings to touch my family.

I’ll fucking kill him if his poison seeps into anything of ours.

That’s why I’m here, to make sure that doesn’t happen.

And by that, I mean presenting Vigo with a very clear picture of what will happen to him if he tries to invade the empire we’ve built. A little charge zips through me when I think of pulling the trigger of my Glock 19…

It’s been too fucking long.

“Yeah, but then why not tell us? Why hide it?” Patrick asks.

“Well, that’s what we’re gonna find out, yeah?” I toss back my shot and slam the glass on the table. The bartender catches my eye and walks back over, with a seductive swing of her hips. She leans over onto the bar, her tits practically spilling out of her tiny top. “What else can I get you gentlemen tonight?”

I run a hand through my longish hair and lean toward her. “We’re looking for a seat at the chef’s table,” I murmur. “Can you get us in?”

Her eyes sweep over us both, and a slow smile lifts her lips. “Let me see if there’s space.” She backs away and picks up a phone hidden behind the alcohol bottles, speaking into it as her eyes travel back toward us.

“I didn’t think we were gonna eat, Dante,” Patrick mutters. “I figured we were gonna do a little recon.”

“Relax,” I mumble. “And finish your shot.”

The bartender comes back. “They’re holding a spot for you downstairs.” She nods toward the far right corner of the place. “There is a staircase beyond a black and gold door down that hallway. It will lead you to the private dining area.”

I flash a grin and drop a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar. “Thanks.”

“If you want to come back for a nightcap…” She grins at me. “I get off at two.”

Ah, fuck it. Who needs sleep?

I wink at her and give a small nod.

Patrick grumbles the entire way to the back of the restaurant. “I thought you said no hooking up tonight. And what the hell are we doing at the chef’s table? I didn’t come here to eat! I came here for fucking answers!”

I grab his arm and pull him toward me once we’re out of sight. “There is no goddamn chef’s table,” I hiss at him. “It’s an underground casino, for fuck’s sake. You have to ask for the chef’s table to get entrance.” I shake my head. “Jesus, Patty.”

He lets out a snort. “Look, I don’t do all of the business-y shit for my family. I’m a fixer, not a fucking secretary.”