“You could just confront her,” I tell him. “We know where she is.”
Dima sneers. “I have nothing to say to that traitorous bitch.”
The urge to roll my eyes has never been greater. So is the urge to choke this motherfucker. “You may not. But your dick surely does.”
Dima growls.
“Shut it.”
I chuckle. “Did I hit a nerve?”
The glare my enforcer sends me is enough to reduce a grown man to tears. Luckily, I happen to be immune to his charms.
“We should be landing in half an hour, sir,” Stephanie, the stewardess, smiles coyly, batting her fake eyelashes at me. Any appeal she might have held washes away with her desperateness. “If you need anything before we land please let me know. I’m happy to assist.” Another bat of her fake lashes, another teasing grin as her eyes roam my body.
“Your resignation will do.”
Dima coughs, the vodka he just sipped spewing over his lap.
“I’m…sorry?” Stephanie’s face twists into a state of confusion and panic, her eyes widening as her drawn on eyebrows bury themselves in her hairline.
“This will be your last flight with us,” I snap, handing Dima my handkerchief. “I employ you as a stewardess. Not a whore. Fucking Dima is one thing. Blatantly hitting on a man you know is married, is another. Seek employment elsewhere, Miss Wise. It’ll be in your best interest.”
Her red lips wobble uncertainly, her pleading eyes darting to Dima hoping he will save her.
He won’t.
With a subtle shake of his head, he turns his attention away from his latest conquest and onto the screen in front of him.
“You were shitty lay anyway,” she sneers at Dima and stalks toward the front of the plane, her heels stomping against the plane’s lush carpet.
Dima cackles delightedly once she is out of sight. I run a hand down my face and give a frustrated sigh.
“Male fucking stewards,” I mumble, which just causes Dima to crow louder. “Stop fucking laughing,Svoloch’and tell me what the fuck we’re looking at when we land.”
“Okay. Okay.” Dima’s laugh settles, and he straightens his shoulders as he scrolls through the data Mark sent over about Kirill. “Looks like he took over the oldPakhan’shouse on Old Queen Street. It’s a luxury townhome, built in 1775, Georgian style architecture, five bed?—”
“Dima,” I snap. “You’re not the house’s real estate agent.”
“Right.” Dima’s cheeks take on an uncharacteristic blush. I am trying to be patient with him since he rarely gets to be point man on anything like this. He is an enforcer, not an intelligence gatherer. This situation is new to him, and I try my best to remind myself of that.
“What’s his schedule like?” I ask. He is frozen, searching through the information Mark provided, his confidence wavering as he tries to find the exact info I want.
“Creature of habit,” Dima informs me. “He rarely deviates from his routines. Leaves for the warehouse every morning at seven in a black Mercedes G-Class with two guards and one driver. No decoy car and no extra security.”
“Bold,” I murmur. Dima nods his head in agreement.
“It’s like he thinks he’s untouchable.”
Kirill would. His ego rivals the greatest cities. Even as a meager mafia runner, he always walked and talked as if he was a king among men. A Cesar amongst the Romans. Learning about my father’s heritage explains why he always thought himself better than the men he worked alongside. How he puffed out his chest and crowed at them, flaunting authority he didn’t have.
Only, he did. It was that no one knew of it and if they did; they didn’t care. It is one thing that constantly made him soangry when I was growing up. He would then take his anger and aggression out on my mother.
“You were right,” Dima admits. “The moment he heard you were dead, he dropped all the extra security measures.”
I smirk.
Kirill is anything if not predictable. It is no surprise that my death lessened his hold on the strenuous security protocols he has in place. Satisfaction blooms in my chest, knowing I’ve caused all his fear. How many times has he jumped at the surrounding shadows, believing I hid behind them, ready to strike? Has his life been fraught with nightmares of his death just as mine was?
