Chapter 12

Petter leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer and studying me over the rim of his glass. I delved into my mind for something to say and remembered he once commented that I could go anywhere I wanted and set up my own restaurant if I so desired. What would he do?

"What would you do if you weren't a Mobster?" I asked.

His eyebrows lifted a little, and his face relaxed. "I'm not sure. I haven't thought about it that much. I've been with them all my adult life. I might open a bike shop or something like that. I do all my own repairs and modifications, and for the others guys who don't know how to." He carried on talking, about his first bike which he still had, various modifications he'd done to another one, and so on. He clearly had a passion for it and although I wasn't a biker and didn't know anything about them, I listened with interest and prompted him with questions. And there it was. We were talking.

He leaned forward again, animated. It was easy to slide my hand into his as it rested on the table. He squeezed my fingers as he wrapped up what he was telling me. "What about you? I know what I said before, but would you do that if you had the chance? Open another restaurant?"

"Probably. It's all I've known. We had a restaurant back in Croatia when I was a kid. It was destroyed in the war and we lost everything. When we came here, my mother borrowed money from friends and opened a little pizzeria. Kind of like this one, but much smaller. Gradually, we started to make money. Vino Mondana is Croatian. There was nothing like it in Stockholm, so we quickly became popular. If I left the city, I suppose it would depend on the place I was in, as to what I'd choose. If you offer similar food to a bunch of others, you have to be either cheap, or perfect. Do something no one else has, and you can charge what you like."

"Makes sense." Petter drained his glass.

"Do you want another?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "No, I have to ride the bike."

"Do you want to stay here tonight? I mean, in a hotel?" I stroked circles in his palm with my thumb.

He smirked. "Can't you wait an hour to get back?"

"I can wait, but why rush? We might as well enjoy ourselves while we're here."

"All right." He pulled his hand free. "I was going to pay for this, but I'm not sure what the rules are."

I chuckled. "There aren't any. You pay for dinner, I'll pay for the hotel. Okay?"

"Okay." He raised a hand and summoned the waiter with our bill, which he paid in cash including a generous tip.

When we stepped outside, the temperature had dropped noticeably, and I was glad we weren't going to ride back to Stockholm. I checked out the options on my phone and called a hotel, rather than ride around wasting time. The first one I tried had no vacancies, but the second had some, and didn't seem to care about letting two men have a room together. I reserved it under a fake name and hung up.

"Who did you say you are?" Petter raised his eyebrows.

"Hugo Jonsson. It's one of my fake IDs. I don't want to leave a trail all over."

"Good point." He put on his scarf, helmet, and gloves, and started the bike. I climbed on the back, shivering despite the warm gear. Fortunately, we only had to travel a mile.

The hotel was of average quality—large and impersonal, with so many staff and other guests, they would never remember a face. I paid for the room in cash and took the key card. Five minutes later, we were in a large en suite room with two queen size beds, a minibar, and a TV mounted on the wall.

Petter removed his bike gear except for his trousers, then glanced from one bed to the other, face serious. "Which bed do you want?"

My jaw dropped a little. "I, um—"

"Your face." He snorted with laughter, charged at me, and threw us both into the middle of the nearest bed.

"You fucker." He was on top of me, almost crushing me with his weight. Rather than push him off, I slid my arms around him, and parted my legs so he rested between them. It felt surprisingly good. I stroked my hand down his back and tucked it into the back of his trousers. He groaned, then made to pull himself off me with apparent reluctance. I held him still.

"Hey." I touched his face. The usually clean-shaven parts were rough and stubbly. "I know you want to fuck me."

"And I know you don't want that, which I can understand."

"I want you to get what you want, too," I murmured. "Give me some time. We can try it."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure, but I'm willing to experiment. You have to remember, I was pretty out of it that time. I know what happened, but for most of it, I wasn't actually aware of what was going on. I'll let you know when I'm ready, okay?"

"Sure. No hurry. Whatever you want." He lowered his head and kissed me. I closed my eyes and melted into it. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst, and I felt a little queasy now I'd voiced what I'd been thinking. I hadn't meant to tell him that—not yet. I was getting in way too deep, but I didn't want to stop.

Eventually, we stopped kissing long enough to get undressed. We sucked each other, I fucked him, and we showered together, before we tumbled into the other freshly made bed to sleep. It was only then that I remembered something—something that had once been an insurance policy, and could be a potential problem to us both if I didn't warn him. I knew the police were sniffing around the Mobsters, because they hadn't figured out yet that it was the Family they should have been spending more time looking into. Only one cop so far had spent time investigating, and Majmun had dealt with that.

"Petter, I need to tell you something."

He was lying with his back to my chest, my arm around him and his hand gripping my wrist the way we usually lay when we slept together.

"Mm? What?" he said sleepily.

"It's important." I licked my lips. He could hate me for this.

"Mm. Am listening."

"You need to get rid of your gun. The TOZ."

"Why?" He yawned.

"Majmun used it to kill that cop, Sven, whatever his name was. And the farmer who tried to help him. And, uh, Sara Andersson." I cringed as I mentioned Ulrik's wife.

"What?" Petter twisted around and sat up.

"Majmun found the gun in your garage. We needed to get rid of Sven, and we wanted the trail to lead, uh, somewhere else, if the cops found it. He always wore gloves, so it will only have your prints on it. He put the it back where he found it after. I bet you didn't even miss it."

"No." His jaw twitched. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Why do you think? You're important to me. The whole thing was fucked up. He could have used any gun and got rid of it, but we thought it'd be better to use one that led directly to, um, to someone else."

"To me. You wanted me to go away for murder?"

"I didn't know you then." I sat up, groaning. "There's no excuse for it. I'm my mother's son. She's a viper, and I grew up to be the same. I'm sorry. I'm telling you now. Before the police find anything out, if they ever do. Doesn't that count for something?"

"I'm not sure." He pulled away from me completely and got out of the bed. "I need to think about things."

The fact that he had actually killed Ulrik came into my mind, but I didn't voice that. He hadn't used the TOZ to shoot his president, because Majmun had only put it back the day after the meeting. Assumedly the weapon he used had already been got rid of.

"I should have told you earlier," I said with a sigh. "I only remembered it just now. I'm sorry, Petter."

"So am I." He sat on the edge of the other bed, head down, and fiddled with the bracelet on his left wrist.

I wanted to go to him and try to make things better, but I stayed where I was. He was angry, or maybe upset. Maybe both. How would I feel if he'd done that to me? Probably as if the bottom had fallen out of my world. I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to do or say something. Perhaps an hour passed, and despite my anxiety I had almost fallen asleep, when he slid back into the bed beside me, and pressed up close. He was freezing cold, but I hugged him against me in relief, my throat tight with an emotion I wasn't used to.