"Sitnikov."

Vlad looked up from his place at the table where he had been sitting for the past twenty minutes. He didn't like waiting. It was an insult. Insults made Boris twitchy. Vlad was sincerely hoping he wouldn't have to kill the younger man, sent to check out the Bratva's American interests. It could cause problems back in Russia.

He watched the blond soldier's approach with barely concealed impatience, annoyed that this was the person who would be reporting on ...