I crouch in front of him, slow. Controlled.
“You know what I was doing tonight?” I ask.
He stares at me, mouth open like he’s trying to summon a goddamn prayer.
“I was getting married,” I say. “Inside a church. With champagne. And vows. You know, traditional shit.”
Arseny hums behind me.
“Straight from his wedding night to a meth lab. Boy, you are lucky!”
I ignore him.
I lean in just enough to make the guy in the chair lean back.
“Only three people knew the location of that building. Timur was one. So, unless he started cooking meth as a side hustle—”
“I swear I didn’t know!” the guy blurts.
“Then you’re an idiot,” I say. “And I don’t make space for idiots. Not in my business. Not in my city. Not under my name.”
Timur steps forward, reaching for the zip ties.
I raise a hand. “Wait.”
He pauses.
I walk over to the folding table, pick up a cracked flask crusted with white residue. Hold it up. Tilt it toward the idiot’s face.
“This yours?”
He nods too fast. Sweat drips down his jaw.
I tip the flask, let whatever’s inside spill onto the floor, and then drop it.
The glass explodes.
“Make him clean it up,” I say. “With his hands.”
Arseny sighs like he’s bored already and checks his watch.
The idiot stares at the broken glass like it’s going to stitch itself back together. His fingers twitch like he’s actually thinking about it.
Arseny sighs again—longer this time, dragging it out like I’m inconveniencinghim.
“So,” he says casually, like we’re discussing lunch orders, “remind me—why the hell are you even here?” He pushes off the cabinet. Smirking. “Because last I checked, this was cleanup crew work. And you, boss, are fresh off a wedding night with a war crime of a sex haze still stamped on your neck.”
Here we go.
He gestures to my throat with the pen like he’s circling evidence at a crime scene.
“Look at you. Disheveled. Distracted. Radiating that freshly ruined man energy.”
I say nothing.
He keeps going.
“You got married. There should be room service. Or at least a post-orgasmic coma. Instead, you’re here in a meth-scenteddeath trap with a guy who thinks chemistry class was a personality.”
