“What?” Hart snapped.
“Oruzhiye zapreshcheno(Guns are forbidden),” I added.
Hart turned to Tess. “What is he talking about?”
“He’s right. Sasha has a strict, no weapons policy. There are metal detectors at every entrance, and his goons have a license to stop and frisk. The only guns allowed are the ones his bodyguards carry,” she replied.
“What’s the matter, Hart?” I asked. “Never been on a date without your gun before?”
“Consider yourself lucky I’m not here for you, or I’d be gone,” he replied, glancing at Tess.
“I can pull over and drop you off right now,” I said.
Hart leaned forward. “I’m the one that’s gonna drop you when this is all over.”
“Stop breathing on my neck,” I said. “You’re not my type.”
“Can we focus, please?” Tess growled.
“Tess is right,” I said, smugly. “It doesn’t matter that you won’t have your gun, because you won’t be in the meeting with us anyway.”
“You know, maybe weshouldpull over and straighten things out, you and me,” Hart said.
“I said, knock it off,” Tess snapped in what could only be described as textbook ‘mom voice.’ “Wallace is right. Sasha will insist on meeting alone.”
“I was told I’d be posing as Mr. B’s bodyguard,” Hart seethed.
“You are,” Tess said. “A bodyguard who will wait in the lobby if he’s told to do so.”
That was the exact moment I fell in love with Tess. She already had me on a string, and I’d certainly never felt the way I did about her with any other woman, but that was the precise moment I was able to define it in my mind.
“Why my Godfather agreed to help the two of you is beyond me,” Hart said, sounding like a pouting child.
Cameron
WE PULLED UP to Sasha’s villa, the scene in stark comparison to our last visit. Last time we were private guests at a stately manor. This time we were specks in a sea of partygoers at a music festival. Rows of luxury cars were parked neatly on the sprawling south lawn courtesy of the valet service. Adjacent to the residence was a large outdoor dance floor, packed with party guests, complete with a massive lighting rig, and an elevated DJ booth.
On the boards that night was FaxMa$hine. Europe’s hottest and most sought-after DJ. Dotted along the estate’s sprawling front lawn were various bars, serving everything from shots of Patron to doses of Mescaline, immersive 4D video game stations, and gift tables piled high with the latestcouture, watches, and most sought after tech gadgets. The bartenders and servers were all topless, male and female alike, adding to the bacchanalian atmosphere. This was far from your average birthday bash at Buster McMouse’s Pizza Village. This was a party for rich people, thrown by an even richer person.
As we made our way through the crowd of beautiful young women and rich old men, I kept my eyes peeled for bodyguards and security staff. Protection details were usually easy to spot in environments like this. Guards were typically at least six inches taller than anyone else on the dance floor and would also be the only onesnotdancing. There’s also a posture most men adopt when armed. A posture I’d clocked several times. Given his strict no guns allowed policy, I had to assume these were all Sasha’s guys. It made me wonder if the extra security was party related or due to the arrival of Mr. B.
Either way, it made me feel underdressed. I hated not having a weapon. More so with every brick-headed goon with neck tattoos and a bulge on the left side of his suit coat that I saw.
As we neared the house, I spotted Sasha along with his two bodyguards standing with six very well-dressed, extremely beautiful party guests.
“Alright, this is it,” Tess said, with a smile as our group neared Sasha’s.
“Ms. Finch, as punctual as she is beautiful,” Sasha announced to his group the second he spotted her. “Elenor, so lovely of you and your fiancé to make it to my little soiree.”
“Is that what this is?” Tess asked with a laugh. “Ithought we’d arrived at Glastonbury by mistake.”
Something about the way Sasha laughed reminded me of the SS officers depicted in old black and white World War II movies. His laugh unsettled me more than anything and he was a pretty unsettling guy.
“And the very fortunate Mr. Beck. Very nice to see you as well. As always, you and your guests are welcome in my home.”
I had to wonder if Sasha was giving himself some sort of alibi in case he had to kill us later. Should the local police ever happen to question his party guests about the group of Americans who mysteriously disappeared, these lovely ladies would swear that Sasha was happy to see us and welcomed all into his heart and home. No way could he be involved with our disappearance.
“And last, but certainly not least,” Sasha said, turning to Officer Hart. “The guest of honor. It’s a pleasure to welcome you.”
