“Thanks, but no. I’m kind of here on business.”
We both sit on the couch, but Ares is sitting on the edge as if he means to get right back up again.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s a rumor going around about a certain individual who’s looking to have a word with you.”
I frown, the code he’s using translating perfectly. Somebody wants to cause a problem with me. “Anybody I know?”
“Oh, yes. Sergei Durov.” I must have a confused look on my face because he adds, “You know him.”
I have to pause. Apprehension creeps in. “I know the last name.”
“Yeah. Apparently, he’s been claiming to be Pyotr’s son.”
I shake my head. “Pyotr no longer has any sons. We made sure of that, Ares.”
He shrugs. “I guess we missed one.”
An old, ancestral rage ignites in my chest. This is old business. Business that should be long over and done with. “But this is just a rumor. You don’t know for sure if this Sergei person is really Pyotr’s son or if he even exists.”
“I wouldn’t bring this to you if I thought it was just a rumor, Roman.”
It’s a valid point. Ares has been mysovietniklong enough to know better than to mention it unless there is some truth to it. And a surviving son of Pyotr Durov is definitely a problem I need to be aware of.
“What do you want to do about this?” he asks me.
“Keep your ear to the ground for now,” I tell him. “If you can, find out more about him. See if you can uncover his movements.”
“You don’t want to tighten security?”
“No, not yet. What happened was years ago, and we don’t know exactly what this person knows about us. He could be just sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“That’s also a problem.”
“Yes, but not one what necessarily requires force… yet. Just keep your eyes open.”
“Yes, sir.” He stands and says, “I’d better get back down there. I leave your men for too long, they might cause?—”
There’s a soft knock on my door. “Yes?” I call out.
The door opens slowly. One of the waitresses peeks her head in. “One of the customers asked for you… Mr. Orlov?”
My brother and I exchange a glance. Not sure which one of us she means, but it doesn’t matter. If there’s somebody causing trouble, it’s both our business.
I thank her, then Ares and I leave my office and make our way down to the club. Immediately, I spot the issue. Boeviks of mine are gathered around two or three of the dancers. Everyone’s on their feet and even over the music, I can hear raised voices…
And I catch sight of blonde hair between the shoulders of two of my men. Shit.
I rush over. As soon as one of them sees me, they nudge the closest guy to them and the arguing stops. They step to the side and there’s Ember standing next to three of the dancers. She staring up at the one closest to her, her eyes wide with anger.
“What’s going on over here?” I ask. “Is there a problem?”
“You'd better believe there’s a problem,” Ember says. “I need you to tell your little friends that this isn’t a charity. They want lap dances, they need to pay for them.”
“Hey, watch that little friend shit, bitch,” one of them says. I backhand slap him on his shoulder and he flinches.
“You watch your fucking mouth,” I growl at him. He shrinks from me and puts his hands up in surrender.
