Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            A single window in the center of the door was blocked by a small wooden shutter. Colton knocked three times in quick succession and then twice more. A moment passed, and someone from inside knocked once. Colton followed with two more knocks. The shutter slid open, and a pair of dark eyes peered out.

            “Coin,” a voice said.

            Colton held up the round silver disc that proved his membership in this clandestine club. The shutter closed with a snap and was followed by the sound of heavy locks turning. The door opened, bringing a burst of cold air and a sour smell.

            Colton slipped into the darkness, Vlad closely behind. As soon as they were inside, the door slammed shut behind them.

            “Back again so soon?” The stern voice that demanded their coins now mocked them. Vlad clenched a fist, but Colton stepped between them.

            “Our money no good for you or something?” Colton snapped.

            The man, a scrawny little cuss who made up for his slight build with an attitude that would’ve gotten him knocked on his ass on the ice, just smirked and pointed. “Wait inside. He’ll be with you shortly.”

            Vlad and Colton walked down a short hallway that ended with a slight ramp, where a thick black tarp hung low to the ground. Vlad pushed the curtain aside. When he walked through, bright lights automatically turned on, momentarily blinding him. But after blinking a couple of times, he adjusted to the light, and his mouth began to water.

            The inner room was as sterile and pristine as the outer entryway was disgusting and dirty. Stainless-steel refrigerators lined an entire wall, and matching countertops were lined up classroom-style through the center of the room.

            Atop each table, a line of platters displayed the source of his weakness. The names were scribbled on tiny chalkboards, an alphabetic smorgasbord of the world’s greatest delights. Ädelost. Burrata. Fontina. Passendale.

            Cheese.

            So much cheese. Cheese from everywhere in the world, made from original recipes without the fillers and artificial flavors and preservatives that could irritate his stomach. Cheese that he couldn’t get anywhere else. Underground, black-market cheese that tortured his dreams as darkly as the memory of what Elena said to him before bursting into tears. I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want.

            Only one person could give him what he wanted anymore. A tall, dangerous man who now smirked darkly at him from across the shiny room. “Knew you’d be back.”

            So did Vlad. Deep down, he always knew he’d be back because this was all he had left. Hockey and this dirty, secret cheese shop.

            He should have known better than to tempt Fate.



* * *



            * * *

            Of all the mistakes Elena Konnikova had made in her life, and there had been so, so many, this would probably count among the top five.

            Because this—meeting a source in the middle of the night without telling anyone where she would be—was exactly how her father had disappeared.

            But what choice did she have? She was running out of time. She would graduate from the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University in less than a month, and after that, she would return to Russia. This might be her last chance. So if a creepy, abandoned building was the only place her source felt safe meeting her, then that is where Elena would meet her.

            Go where they’re comfortable. It was one of the many lessons Elena had learned from her father. Indirectly, of course. He never taught her anything on purpose, because he never wanted her to follow in his journalism footsteps. But if that’s what he’d wanted, he shouldn’t have been so good at his job.

            There was a time when Elena would have been happy to oblige him. A time when she made some hasty decisions that created a ripple effect until it eventually caused a tsunami of damage to people she cared about most. But time had clarified things. Opened her eyes to something that pain and selfishness had blinded her to.

            Her father was a hero.

            And all that pain and selfishness that had once driven her to flee both the country and the profession that had stolen her father from her had been replaced by a determination to make things right. Though Elena could never change the mistake she’d made the night he disappeared or any of the mistakes she’d made since then, she owed it to everyone to attempt to try to undo whatever damage she’d inflicted. And she was going to start by finishing the story that had most likely gotten her father killed. It wouldn’t bring him back, but it would at least give his disappearance, and everything that happened afterward, some kind of meaning.