“A restaurant,” I explain, “I killed the Albanians in the alley behind the club there.”
“Of course you did,” he sighs, helping himself to something stronger on my bar cart.
“She pointed out that everyone with ties to Russia and the neighboring countries eats there at some point. They hold meetings in the club section.”
“Meaning?” he asks.
“Meaning that Gregor Siderov, the owner, has seen everyone come and go. He insists that he is a neutral party. But the Wozniaks, Rurik Dubrovin, and this unknown party benefit from destabilizing our Bratva. The people who go there want to relax, be around familiar surroundings and food.”
“Letting their guard down,” he nods. “Information is currency.”
“I think we should take you to dinner tonight,” I say, “welcome my little brother to Boston. Introduce you around.”
He taps his glass to mine. “You’re a genius. Actually, yourbrideis a genius.”
Welcome Homeis bustling tonight, nearly every table in the main dining hall is filled. Lucya looks edible in a dark green dress with a demure neckline, but it fits almost too well on her little waist and hips. I’m going to have to stab half the diners in this fucking place if they don’t keep their eyes off my wife.
Including Boris Siderov. The little bastard comes bustling up to Lucya, arms spread wide. “You’ve returned! Please tell me you’re looking for your old apron?”
I step between them, and he halts instantly. “I’m afraid not,” I say coldly. “We’re here to dine tonight.”
His round, earnest face droops, but he recovers quickly. “I have the perfect option. Would you like a kitchen table?”
Lucya bounces happily. “Yes, please!” Turning to me and Nikolai, she explains, “This is the best seat in the house. You get to watch Chef Siderov prepare the dishes. It’s fascinating to watch the line cooks and the pastry chefs add in their own touches.”
Boris sweeps his arm out grandly. “If you will follow me?”
The kitchen is impressive, a giant space filled with gleaming stainless-steel surfaces and state-of-the-art ovens and stoves. There’s surprisingly little clamor, everyone focused on their part of the line with surgical precision.
Aside from Gregor Siderov, who slams down his enormous meat cleaver when he sees us. “This is the man who has stolen my best waitress?” He pulls over another rack of ribs and angrily chops them into pieces. “You have much to answer for, Alexi Turgenev!” Leaning closer, he snarls, “And don’t think I didn’t know about the bloodbath you created in the alley.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gregor Siderov,” I say. “But if you have time to join us for a drink after dinner, we would be honored.”
While the meal was excellent and I enjoyed watching Lucya catch up with her former co-workers, Chef Siderov’s mood has not improved. At one point, I glance over to see him vigorously sharpening an enormous knife without taking his eyes off us.
Lucya manages to coax him into his cluttered office and somehow produces an extremely rare bottle of The Eye of the Dragon, a vodka that sells for over five hundred thousand dollars, blithely adding it to our tab.
“Vashe zdoroviye,to your health,” I say wryly, lifting my glass to clink it against Gregor’s.
“And to yours,” he says before folding his arms, eyeing us suspiciously. “What do you wish to talk about?”
“You know our father died,” I say. “We believe that whatever is left of the Wozniak Mafia - among others - could be involved.”
“I had heard, Alexi Turgenev, that your father passed from a heart attack,” he says blandly.
Nikolai and Lucya remain silent, watching us.
I hold up the bottle. “Do you have more of this excellent vodka in stock, Gregor Siderov?”
He grunts irritably. “A case. My idiot son was certain they would sell instantly. It nearly put my restaurant out of business.”
“I would be honored to buy the case from you, along with a fifty percent markup for your gracious assistance.”
Nikolai’s eyes widen. That’s over six million dollars for the case. Gregor knows this, I know this. And I’m not buying the vodka for its taste, though it is the best I’ve had.
“I can’t help you, Alexi Turgenev,” Gregor says stubbornly. “I am… what do we say, Lucya?”
“We are Switzerland here at Welcome Home,”she sighs. “Chef, there is so much at stake here. Please help us.”
