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this table, had come from Russia to America.
    There was business to be done, and traitors to be flushed out within the organization.
    “We found a traitor in the Bratva. They’ve been stealing product and selling it on their own.”
    “Who?” Sergei asked.
    “Three foot soldiers,” Yvgeny said.
    “And you needed us to come all the way to America to finish the job?” Sergei lifted a brow.
    Yvgeny leaned forward, and all the other men focused on the two of them.
    “You were specifically called here by Boris, you know that,” Yvgeny said, his expression hard, unyielding.
    Yeah, Sergei knew the head of the America operation had called him, and he knew why, even if it had never been specifically said.
    “You’re the best in these situations,” Maksim said.
    “Boris wants this taken care of by you specifically,” Pasha replied.
    Sergei leaned back in the seat. Although they could have easily said this in a more secured area, without having waitresses and others around, Yvgeny owned this club, his staff didn’t speak Russian, and there was surveillance at every turn.
    “And there’s also another reason,” Yvgeny said, and that piqued Sergei’s interest.
    “Oh?”
    “One of the foot soldiers … you know him.”
    Now that did have Sergei’s interest rising.
    “I’d know if I was aware of a traitor.” He noticed several of them men glancing at each other.
    “One of them is Pavel.”
    Sergei felt his entire body tighten. He curled his hands into fists and looked among all the men at the table.
    Pavel, a man he’d known since he was a teenager, one that had grown up in poverty, violence, and had wanted to rise in the ranks of the Bratva. He’d considered Pavel a friend back in the day, but once Pavel had come to America a decade ago they’d lost contact, had others responsibilities within the organization.
    “Pavel’s had issues always,” one of the men said, and there was a murmur of agreement.
    Yes, he had. With drugs being a hard factor in many of their lives when they were younger, surrounding them, trying to control them, it was only the strongest that could resist the lure. Sergei had been one of those that hadn’t taken the temptation of escaping where his life was headed. This was his reality. It always had been, and always would be.
    Pavel had been weak.
    “I’ve been called out to kill a man I once saw as a friend,” Sergei said without forming it as a question.
    Yvgeny nodded. “Unless you want someone else to do it, which I’m sure you know won’t nearly be as gracious.”
    No, it wouldn’t.
    “You’re respected in the Bratva, and because of your loyalty Boris is giving you the opportunity to take out the traitor, and a man you once called a friend.”
    Sergei looked down at the table. He felt no remorse over what had to be done. Pavel might have been a friend at one time, but the Bratva came first. The Bratva was in his blood, and he’d kill for it without a second thought.
    “Tell me where he is and it’s done.”
    ****
    It was late, Zoey was tired, and as much as the exhaustion settled into her, she was thankful for the reprieve of her thoughts and worries. Yvgeny and the other men had stayed at the table for long hours, speaking to each other in Russian, their expressions fierce at times.
    She tried to push anything that had to do with Sergei out of her mind, but for whatever reason that was easier said than done. That man had controlled her thoughts and he didn’t even know it. Hell, she didn’t even know why she felt that way toward him. She knew nothing about him aside from the feeling of danger that came from him. But even with all that she felt no fear, not toward him or Yvgeny.
    She finished cleaning the tables, counted out the tips, and breathed out when she could finally call it a night.
    “Night,” she called out to the other two people working the VIP room, and left out the employee exit. She searched the main floor for one of the guys to walk her out to her car,