“I thought he was dull and did not take advantage of the life.” He rapidly tabulates the numbers and moves on to the next column. Yevgeny may be a cranky bastard, but he’s damn good with numbers. “I did not know thelifewas dull.”
“Not everything is booze and bullets,” I say, rising and cracking my neck. “However, I don’t plan on keeping you chained to your desk. The books are off in the construction division, but you’re not going to catch the discrepancy in your first twenty-four hours here in New York. Kir is going to take you out to one of our clubs. Have dinner, some drinks, meet a pretty girl…”
His dour expression lightens slightly.“Spasibo. I…” Glancing down at the spreadsheet he straightens his shoulders. “I finish this first. Do you come as well?”
I pull my jacket on, “I have something else to take care of tonight.”
Roman and Kir stroll into the office without bothering to knock. Even after hours, it’s unacceptable to barge into a sensitive financial meeting and Roman knows it. Not that corporate protocol has ever been my brother‘s strong suit.
“Privet,hello Yevgeny,” Roman says cheerfully. “Have you caught someone for us to torture and murder yet? I have this new technique where I tear their balls off and-”
Poor Yevgeny is our bratva’s forensic accountant. But based on his vaguely green complexion, he hasn’t had much exposure to the dirtier side of the business.
“Stop fucking with him,” I snap. “Kir’s taking him to the Heaven and Hell club to welcome him to the U.S. side of the family. Let him enjoy his first night in peace.”
Roman puts a hand to his chest, looking genuinely wounded. “Brother, I only wanted to-”
“That would be a great conversation to have with Bogdan, not Yevgeny,” I say, certain he’s about to spout more stomach-churning information.
“Bogdan…” Now Roman looks pale. Our father’s master of “interrogation” reluctantly retired last year after decades worth of tortures so imaginative and horrifying they even made us puke. By all appearances, Bogdan is a gentle old man with a kind smile and a fondness for slipping the children extrasweets at Bratva gatherings. Somehow, it makes him even more unsettling. AsVor, Roman took over his role.
“Did I tell you that he still calls me every few weeks, asking if I need him to consult on a ‘difficult case?’” Roman says, clearly a bit queasy. He deserves it after trying to scare Yevgeny.
Concealing a shudder, I say, “Let there never be a case difficult enough to require Bogdan’s special touch.”
Kir, who has been blessed with never seeing our old torturer at work, slaps Yevgeny on the shoulder. “Are you ready to get the hell out of here? Let’s get you a steak and a big drink and then you can decide what you’re up for tonight.”
Yevgeny’s finished the last column of numbers and he’s already stuffing files in his briefcase.“Spasibo.Yes. Please.”
As Kir guides him out of the executive suite, Roman turns to me, his grin stretching to feral proportions. “Are you ready to introduce ourselves to the poor, deluded fucks who have been selling product in our clubs?”
“After a week of bullshitting with the licensing division for those construction permits?” I know an equally concerning grin is spreading across my face. “Hell, yes.”
The Range Rover pulls up to the front of King’s Rest, our most exclusive club. This is code for boring as fuck and stuffed with old, rich men. They love the roaring fireplaces, expensive leather furniture and deferential waitstaff. Our curated cigar selection is the best on the East Coast, and we likely keep at least three Cuban cigar factories in business.
I glare at the stately brownstone building. “How did they get past our security for King’s Rest? That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Yeah, security is tighter than a nun’s ass here,” Roman agrees amiably, reading a text. “That is how they caught them so fast, though. Ivan says they’re in the Humidor Lounge right now. Do you want the team to discreetly remove them to the basement or do you want to grab ‘em?”
“We’re not going tograbthem,” I say, stepping out of the car and straightening my cuffs. “We’re going to let them see our faces, recognize us, lose all feeling in their legs and begin to cry.Then,Ivan’s team can take them into the basement.”
“We could put them in the meat locker for a while and tenderize them,” Roman says happily.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? We have a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of dry-aged beef in there.” I shake my head disapprovingly.
The next ten minutes go exactly how I expect them to. The two idiots selling drugs in our club are high enough up on the food chain to recognize us. The short, bald one looks like he’s ready to piss himself and I nod to Ivan to remove them quickly and quietly before he leaves a puddle on the antique Chinese rug. Roman subtly cracks his knuckles, following the security team.
“Dmitri! How are you, son?”
So close. I was so close to a clean getaway.
Turning around, I paste a polite smile on my face. “How are you, Will? I didn’t know you were a member here.”
“Aw, shucks, I’m not.” His chuckle is self-effacing but Will Grand is anything but. He’s the biggest real estate developer in New York - something that causes me great irritation - and always wears an ostentatious cross necklace and cowboy hat. He has a Texas accent but I know he was born and raised in New Jersey.
“I’m here as a guest of the mayor’s, talkin’ about this and that.” There’s a wicked little glint in his eyes; he knows the fact that he’s doing business with the mayor inmy fucking clubis making me want to punch a hole through the wall next to his head.
Will may be a billionaire many times over, but he’s a cheap bastard. He’d rather be eaten by a shark than pay the $250,000 club fee. Especially to us, we’ve been a thorn in his side for years as a competitor in the real estate industry.
