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What People Mean By Dining Out

Summary:

With the Albanian gun-runners out of the way, a new face moves into town. Milan is intrigued.

Notes:

This could be a slight re-working of the Power timeline (the Albanians smuggling weapons are only mentioned near the end of Season 3) - unless you take it that it's an ongoing gang war, with Milan's crew slowly gaining the upper hand.
(Either way, Vladimir lives, because his meditation made him bulletproof or something....)

Work Text:

“I want to meet him,” Milan says with uncharacteristic suddenness.

“I don’t know who it is in charge,” Vladimir admits as if it’s a personal failing, hunching his shoulders and pulling at the hem of his towel. “I know them , but not their names.”

“I will find out.” Milan waves a hand; this is a trivial undertaking. He can unearth their network as easily as turning over a stone. “If he is here,” meaning their territory, “he will sell to us as well,” which is non-negotiable, “and to our friends. We secure the routes for him, he lets us have his….”

“Merchandise,” Petar suggests - either Milan has forgotten the word, or he doesn’t want to say out loud what they’re getting.

“Military hardware?” Vladimir says hopefully.

“You just want a rocket launcher,” Petar accuses in his direction.

“I want more than one,” Vladimir tells him, apparently oblivious to the disapproval. “And I -.”

“I’ll see what we can do,” Milan interrupts, before he can start a long and exhaustive list. “When I get to see him. I will invite him for dinner.”

--

Naturally, they are eating out: the speed of light is meant to be a universal maximum, but reputation is surely faster. Their new armourer concentrates on his food; Milan has developed the art of eating and watching people at the same time. He likes what he sees. He likes the quiet confidence too, and the unspoken demand for respect. And the ink, which is part of it all.

He moves for the bill, but Milan moves faster.

“Allow me. I am the host, after all.”

His hand comes down on Knyazev’s, and it’s warm, and although the touch is brief and friendly, he doesn’t think it’s his imagination - there is something there. Their eyes meet, and there’s definitely something there.

It would be immensely foolish to act on it right now, as they part ways in front of the hotel. He wants to, and he suspects it’s mutual, but they’ve both survived this long by thinking mostly with the brains in their heads and there’s no reason to break that trend.

 They both hold on a little too long when they shake hands, which gives him a reason to smile.

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