Devil's Truce

Kaelia

Ivanov’s restaurant in Brighton Beach was supposed to be neutral ground, but with Russian muscle at every corner and the ocean mixing with the stink of expensive cigars, it didn’t feel like it. I told Valen I was coming, no matter how much he argued. “If we’re making deals with the devil, I want to see his face,” I’d snapped back.

He had after all set me and my business up.

Now I sat across