But I don’t hear anything else. I am too busy blinking to make sure he’s real. Ransome is actually standing there, dressed in a dark burgundy button-down, no tie, and the darkest glare I’ve ever seen.
I don’t know why he is here. Or how he knew that I was here. But one thing is for certain…
He isnothappy.
9
RANSOME
AN HOUR EARLIER
The last thing I want to see right now is Tristan Chadovich’s ugly mug.
The man is the bane of my fucking existence. The moment I walk into the little cocktail bar where we agreed to meet, I can feel his reptilian smirk from across the room. Something about this entire setup is rubbing me the wrong way.
I make my way through the lounge. It’s a dimly lit, swanky little place that serves upscale cocktails and small plates, all not enough to whet an appetite, all egregiously overpriced. The fact alone that we are here and not at a steakhouse tells me one thing: My mother picked it. Not because this is her type of joint, either, but because she is catering to the Chadovich women.
Thisisa Katya and Jenica Chadovich kind of place.
And all of that tells me another thing: There’s an ulterior motive behind this meeting.
“Well, well, well, look who decided to show up.” The words slice at me as soon as I approach the booth in the far corner of the lounge. But I’ve been dodging jabs and bullets from that voice for a long time now. They don’t even scratch the surface of my skin anymore, let alone break it.
I incline my head in his direction. “Tristan.”
“Son, how are you?” My father squints. “And why aren’t you wearing a tie?”
I situate myself next to my mother, across from Jenica and at the opposite corner of Tristan. Maybe the distance will keep him from speaking to me so much. If I’m lucky.
“I thought we were just having drinks amongst friends.”
That’s a lie and everyone knows it. The Rozanovs and Chadovichs are anything but friends and these meetings are exclusively for business purposes. The only reason we don’t hold them at an office or a private setting is because someone would most likely get shot.
Cocktail lounges are better suited for collateral damage.
“Cheers to that.” Jenica smiles at me and raises her glass in my direction. My eyes skim over her only in passing. Her blonde ponytail is so tight that it tugs at the corners of her eyes and her face is painted with enough makeup to supply half a Sephora. She’s wearing a silver-sequined dress and she smells like coconut and fresh spray tan.
It’s all fake, in other words.
And I fucking hate fake. Fake tans. Fake tits. Fake smiles. Fake friends.
I take a sip of the whiskey that is already waiting for me, sucking my teeth before looking at my father who is holding a tight smile on his thin lips.
“When I tell you thenatureof this meeting, Ransome,” he sighs, “I feel you will wish you’d worn a tie.”
“I’m on the edge of my seat,” I drawl.
“The Chadovich family,moya sem’ya,would like to see a truce between us and the Rozanovs,” Dmitry Chadovich starts in. His Russian accent is thick.
I roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Under the table, my mother, Arina, places a hand on my leg. It’s both a warning to behave and a soft gesture of support. She doesn’t want to be here, either.
“I think it would be wise to listen to what Dmitry has to say, son,” my father suggests. “A lot of blood has been spilled due to… misunderstandings… between our families.”
I nearly choke on my whiskey. “‘Misunderstandings’? You mean unprovoked attacks?”
“Some would argue it goes both ways,” Tristan interjects. We haven’t ordered any food and my guess is we probably won’t, but Tristan has his black cloth napkin splayed open and is turning the knife over on the table. It’s not a threat—he’s just being an ass.
