“Over there,” he snarls, his thick accent a dead giveaway. He jerks his head toward a metal box bolted to the wall. I know the drill, my SIG P226 goes into the box. Next comes the pat-down before they let me through. I pass two more guards outside the main room, not recognizing either of them. More mercenaries.
Fucking joke.
Most of the chairs around the long table are already filled by the time I step inside. The only ones standing are the guards, their eyes moving constantly, tracking every movement.
Across from me, Dimitri is already pissed off but trying to hide it. He needs to try harder.
Alexei sits beside him, confusion written all over his face as he keeps glancing at the unfamiliar men lining the room. Further down the table, Pasha stares at the vodka bottles like he wants to drown in them. Yuri sits near Sergei, my father's longtime advisor, both of them quiet, just watching.
The door swings open and the Pakhan enters. He takes his seat at the head of the table, flanked by two more mercenaries. If his paranoia wasn’t bleeding Volchya dry, it’d be almost funny.
The second he sits, he leans back, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes locked on me. Nothing new. The room goes dead silent. Everyone knows better than to make a sound before my father speaks. But he doesn't speak, he studies me, my face, my posture, the way my hand rests on the table, hunting for tells. He needs a sign of guilt, something he can build a case on.
My face stays blank, my breathing steady. The silence stretches for minutes. Dimitri shifts in his seat. Alexei clears his throat while Pasha reaches for a bottle, then thinks better of it.
Still, my father says nothing, just stares at me. Finally, he speaks, "I see you all showed up. I’m pleased." His voice is calm, never a good sign. "I’m sure you’ve all heard what happened.”
No one answers.
"Let me refresh your memories. Three days ago, there was a fire." He pauses, letting the words settle in the room. "My brothel. Mine. Not Volchya’s. My personal motherfucking brothel."
Dimitri’s the first to speak. "Fires happen all the time, it’s an old building. Why call a meeting for this?"
"You think I give a fuck about that building?” My father’s gaze sweeps the table, cold and measured, watching for reactions. “Someone took something that belongs to me during that fire. Something valuable."
"What was taken?" Pasha asks, suddenly interested. "There have been talks. Was it money? Product?”
“A girl was taken."
The room goes silent.
Volchya doesn’t deal in human trafficking. I don’t know what my father expected the reaction to be.
Yuri frowns. "A girl from the brothel? I don't understand. They’re free to come and go. If a girl was kidnapped, how does this concern us?”
"The girl wasmine,” My father rages. “Someone stole from me. Took her.”
"Took her,” Sergei asks, cocking his head to the side. “Or she ran?"
My father whips his head toward him. “Are you deaf? I said she was taken.”
"How can you be sure?" I ask, cutting in, my voice even.
As expected, the Pakhan swings his gaze to me, fire blazing in his eyes. I'm in his crosshairs now. I had to do it. My silence would’ve been worse.
"Because I know.”
"That's not an answer,” I press.
"It's the only one you're getting.”
Dimitri scratches his jaw. "I don't understand why we're here discussing a missing prostitute when we have more important matters to discuss.”
“Ohhh, you want to discuss matters, Dimitri?” My father’s fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “You really want to discuss matters with me right now? Would those matters be your territory, whichI, your goddamn boss, decided you no longer need?”
No one moves a muscle, cough or make a sound.
“That’s what you want to discuss instead of what I lost in that fire?”
