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I pull on my suit pants and grab a dress shirt. "I want surveillance on them twenty-four-seven."

"Done."

After buttoning the shirt, I step into a pair of brown leather shoes. "How are things in Europe?"

Usually, the Albanians would be Nikolas' problem, seeing as Albania is right next to Greece, but for some fucking reason, they're coming after me.

"Quiet after we took out the fuckers four months ago," Marco replies. "Lorenzo and Diego have everything under control."

I tuck my Heckler & Koch behind my back in the

waistband of my pants and pick up the phone just as Mariya

comes out of the bathroom. She stops to glance at me, frowns,

then leaves the bedroom.

"By the way." I mutter into the device, "I got married yesterday."

"What?! To who?" Marco exclaims.

"Mariya Koslov. We got drunk in Vegas, and one thing led

to another." Worry laces his words as he asks. "Christ, Luca. Do Alexei

and Viktor know?"

"Relax. They know."

"Fuck, my heart can't handle that kind of shock. Dealing with the Albanians is stressful enough without you adding to it."

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