Daddy's Demands
But Alex is all business, and if he thinks he’s dragging me back to Chicago to face my father, he’s going to have a fight on his hands.
I kick and thrash and suddenly Yuri, the huge, tattooed Russian who sits and watches the DJ, Lucy, every night with a moon face, steps in front of us, blocking Alex.
“Put girl down.” His accent is as thick as his meaty arms.
You gotta love Yuri. I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s ex-mafia, too. Or bratva—whatever they call Russian mafiya. His tattoos read like a rap sheet and when he’s not looking moony at Lucy, his expression promises death to anyone who gets in his way or looks too long at his girl.
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