And unlike some of my colleagues, there will be no queue jumping for me.
I might be standing amongst students, office workers, and yoga moms, but there’s no way in hell I’m using my status to push myself to the front. When I’m out in public, it’s all about moving through the crowd unseen, going about my business like I’m a lawyer waiting for his casefiles to upload, or whatever it is they do to justify their damned extortionate prices… I digress.
“Double espresso,” I say, making brief eye contact with the barista as he whirs back and forth between the counter and the coffee machine. “Make it the Bolivian.”
“You got it,” the barista replies, smiling briefly before getting back to work.
He’s certainly got hustle, that’s for sure.
I glance across the counter toward what looks like a specialist juice bar at the other end. I could always pick a juice up later.Hell, it’s not like I’ve eaten healthily this last week. Between an overnight flight, a late night drinking session with my oldest friend, and a lot of high pressure business, I’ve barely eaten. The extra vitamins and minerals from a healthy juice would probably make all the difference.
Or I could just have an extra espresso and worry about my health later…
But just as I’m about to turn my attention full back to my impending double shot of Bolivian caffeine, I catch a glimpse of the hottest boy…
Sandy blonde hair.
Alabaster skin, plump lips.
Cheekbones and a smile to die for…
Fuck. He’s gorgeous. And by the looks of things he knows how to make an appetizing juice too. But there’s something different about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
The barista making my coffee is a coffee lover, a seasoned pro—the way he moves and the look in his face when I asked for the Bolivian bean told me that coffee is his passion. But juice boy looks distracted, like he’s a million miles away as he preps his customer’s strawberry and passion fruit drink.
“One double espresso. Bolivian,” the barista says, bringing me back into the real world. “Oh, and take this.”
I absent mindedly take the flier from the barista, say thank you for the espresso, and head over toward a window seat in the corner alongside the lush greenery and rich, plaster colored walls.
As I sit, the aroma from the espresso takes me a million miles away from the coffee shop, memories of the warehouse, and pretty much all the other day to day tribulations of being Viktor Volkov.
I cast a quick eye over the flyer, something about an art show, a gallery opening of one kind or another. I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to art. Sure, I know what I like. But to be honest, it’s never been an area of my life that I’ve been able to devote much time to.
No, I’ve got bigger things on my mind.
As stable as the business has been since I became pakhan, there have been murmurs about other families building their business assets quicker than us. Now, I don’t give a damn about status. Or money for that matter. But the cold, hard reality is that unless we’re seen to be keeping up with the other families, it could give an impression that we’re weaker, unambitious, and vulnerable.
And if that’s the perception, then I’d be a fool not to expect hostilities—from both inside and outside the family. I might have a fearsome reputation, but that will never make me immune from threats.
So with that in mind, my business advisor has found some properties downtown that are ripe for purchase and redevelopment. And not only will that enhance our commercial value—and legitimately too—it will also show the other families that we’re looking to grow rather than stagnate. Anyone getting any ideas about either me or the family in general would then be wise to think twice before trying anything stupid.
I’m broken out of my thoughts though as my phone vibrates and flashes on the table. I can see it’s from Niko, one of my generals. After a quick sip to finish off my espresso, I pick my phone up to find out…
Niko: Message received. Operations clear on my side, problem resolved. Limited breakages required. Whisky tonight?
I reply with a single thumbs-up. Niko knows that I can’t resist the offer of a whisky. Niko and I grew up together. School, the streets, a life in this business, we’ve been by one another’s side the whole way.
I might be the pakhan, but when it comes to our social life, it’s very much a case that we’re operating on even terms. Niko is tough, brutal, and utterly ruthless. But in times of grief or tragedy, he’s always been there for me when I’ve needed him. And I’ve done the same for him too.
We might not share the same biology, but we’re as close to brothers as you can get. I’m the older brother, of course—even if that does piss Niko off from time to time.
I’ll look forward to meeting Niko later and sinking a whisky or three.
But right now, it’s time to grab an espresso to go and pay a visit to this gallery. Suddenly, I’m in the mood for making the current owner an offer that he’ll find very,verydifficult to refuse…
I take a look around the gallery space. It’s big, bare, and seems like it’s being prepped for a new show. Unless thisisthe show, some kind of modernist commentary on something or other. Whatever. Like I said, art ain’t really my thing.
But business on the other hand…
