“Mr. Petrov.” The older of the two associates greets me as she steps out from behind the counter.
It’s not the first time I have been here, but it is the first time I have spent my money here.
“I have everything ready.” Her hand waves to the rack that holds garment bags from other boutiques besides Chanel.
“Thank you,” I offer, along with a wad of cash for her time.
“Goodness, no.” She averts her eyes and steps back.
It’s not pride that moves me forward; it’s that I’m positive Quinn would be grateful people went out of their way for her. “I insist. Share it with the others.”
I drop the wad of cash on the edge of the counter, as opposed to pushing it into her hands, leaving it up to her if she accepts. Nalla sits relaxed at the large glass doors as I roll the entire rack to the car, packing it quickly so we can get on to the tedium of going to the warehouse.
I call Sergey as soon as I merge into traffic, not at all surprised it goes straight to voicemail. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The lie rolls off my tongue. I mean, I could be there in under ten, but first I want to pay a quick visit to see if Larisa has anything final to share.
On the flight to and from Ireland, I must have watched the video of Larisa and Quinn a hundred times or more. Am I up forhurting women? Not particularly. But in our world, it’s an eye for an eye, irrespective of your designation or gender.
If Larisa was simply being a cunt to Quinn, I’d punish her differently. But Larisa is currently gagged and blindfolded in a small cell in one of our storage facilities because, despite her telling everyone she and Dmitri are over, I’ve got proof otherwise. The two of them acted too soon. They should have waited until after the wedding before trying to kill Quinn.
I won’t let myself get caught up in all the what-ifs. Instead, Larisa won’t see another sunrise, and Dmitri will follow her straight to hell as soon as I find him. The gutless bastard has gone to ground, leaving his lover to face the consequences on her own.
The storage facility I have hidden Larisa in is one of ours. And this business has paid off, though the running expenses are high. But that’s because of the level of security we offer to people looking to store whatever it is they need, with a few exceptions. It’s shocking that all the small criminals who use our facilities actually trust us. I never would, but we have a waiting list of people keen to be clients. As I pass through the first lot of gates, the guards roaming stay in position. The second checkpoint provides access to the huge warehouse, and I drive past other customers unloading their goods down to the final area, which is where we keep absolutely nothing of value. It would be bad for business, though, if we didn’t show up and do something here.
Leaving the car running, I flick off a text to the “cleanup” crew, letting them know I’ll be leaving something for collection within minutes.
“Nalla.” I call her into the passenger seat and lower the window so she can get out if needed.
Unlocking the roller door, I find Larisa where I left her. Although, she’s as dead as a fucking doornail. The dry white foam around her mouth is a telltale sign she killed herself. Ican’t be fucking bothered to figure out how she did it; there’s a handful of ways to conceal a lethal dose.
On my way out, I hit the start button for the industrial fan, in case there’s any noxious fumes lingering. By the looks, though, she’s been dead long enough for her not to be toxic. But just in case, I unlock the locker we use as a temporary office and change the suit I’m wearing. Dropping my clothes at the door for the cleaners to get rid of, I’m back on the road in minutes. Not at peace but not disappointed, either.
The drive from the city to the port passes quickly as I call my contacts. Sergey loathes how I include theshyestyorkasas part of my way of staying in the loop. He thinks these associates are too low level to be of use; I think he’s been top of the pyramid too long.
I’m only just out of my car, Nalla’s still doing a sweep of the warehouse, when he arrives. Only his driver is with him.
He climbs out of the car wearing his favorite suit.
“What are you worried for?” I ask, nearing him with my arms open for an embrace.
He does the same. His scent wraps around me as he holds me close, not saying anything. I can’t see in his eyes to get a read of his mood, and he’s surprisingly quiet. It doesn’t happen often anymore, but tonight there’s affection in his touch. “Brother.”
I pull back to get a better read of him. He’s not usually so sentimental, and I get a better understanding of where he is coming from by the dilation of his pupils.
“You had a good time in Saint Petersburg?”
He claps me on the back. “Very good. The sample of what Victor promised was delivered. It is good.”
“Tell me about it.” I lead him away from his driver. Probably unnecessarily, considering Sergey and his girls would have been talking freely on the way back. Not about everything, but enough.
“Do you remember the MDMA from London?”
“How could I forget?” I smile pleasantly, not showing a single hint of emotion.
Although, I am entitled to being more than fucking angry at my brother. We’d flown to London after Christmas, my mother wanting us to see the lights in Oxford Street during school break. My brother had spent his nights sneaking out to nightclubs after she’d gone to bed, returning before dawn, then making us wait for him to wake up in the afternoon before we could do all the touristy things she’d planned.
He’d ruined our holiday, then he’d placed a thousand tabs of pure MDMA in my luggage. I only got off the charges because my father was blackmailing the Russian Ministry of Police. The beating I got from my father for bringing shame to our family created the first crack between me and Sergey. He could have stepped up and admitted the truth, but instead, he stood there, consoling my brokenhearted mother while my father threw me at the burning fireplace. I was lucky I didn’t fall into the fire and only split my cheek on the edge of the hearth and ruined the vision in that eye.
