“LaVander, I’d like you to meet Danika’s mother, Dr. Melissa Jefferson. Melissa, this is LaVander, a native New Yorker and an institution in this city. No one comes to the Big Apple without eating at LaVander’s.”
“Oh, pish, Professor. I’m just a measly, humble man who enjoys food and company,” the cheerful man stated happily as he greeted Melissa by kissing both her cheeks.
Melissa smiled, but her eyes flickered with surprise at the enthusiastic greeting, unsure whether to laugh or blush. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, warmth rising in her cheeks as she tried to match LaVander’s exuberance. Watching her, I wondered if she could get used to this kind of old-worldhospitality, away from the dangerous world she grew up in and knew.
“It’s a wonderful pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jefferson.”
“Please call me Melissa.” She smiled, returning his warmth. “You have a lovely restaurant. I hear you make a mean steak.”
LaVander laughed as Melissa smoothed her hair, taking in the cozy restaurant. The clatter of silverware and bursts of laughter blended with the savory scent of roasting garlic, making my stomach rumble in anticipation. The aroma of fresh bread mingled with the gentle hum of conversation, and the soft glow of candles flickered across white linens, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.
“I have a full house for lunch today, but I know just the place for you, if you will follow me.”
Doing as LaVander suggested, I let Melissa go first as I followed with Danika, her eyes wide with excitement at everything around her. LaVander stood at a table, holding out a seat for Melissa, who happily sat as a server rushed over with a highchair for Danika. After ensuring she couldn’t escape, I took my seat and silently cursed when I noticed that at the table next to us sat Maxim Fedorov, his wife Illyria Valentinetti, along with their son, Little Max, and Illyria’s nephew, Henry. Maxim Fedorov was not just an acquaintance; he was thePakhan, the head of the Russian Bratva, and known to do business regularly with Sinclair.
Nodding to them, I reached for my napkin, quickly putting it in my lap, trying to steady myself.
“Do you know them?” Melissa whispered, leaning close, her gaze flicking curiously between me and the neighboring table.
I simply nodded as Maxim stood from his seat, his presence commanding attention at the table. The atmosphere seemed to shift as he approached.
With a quiet groan, I rose to my feet as the Bloodletter, Maxim himself, walked over and extended his hand in greeting. “Rowen,” he said, his tone even but unmistakably authoritative.
“Maxim,” I replied, accepting his handshake, aware of the weight behind his simple gesture.
Catching sight of Melissa, Maxim’s expression softened just slightly. “And who is this lovely lady?” he inquired, his attention shifting with genuine interest.
“Dr. Melissa Jefferson, allow me to introduce you to Maxim Federov,” I said, performing the introductions with care. “He is a business acquaintance of Sinclair’s.”
At the next table, Illyria couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s a polite way of saying it,” she remarked, her amusement evident to everyone within earshot.
Maxim groaned, shaking his head at his wife’s remark. “Please excuse my wife, Dr. Jefferson. Apparently, she has no manners today,” he said, though the warmth in his eyes suggested he was more amused than annoyed.
Melissa reached out and shook Maxim’s hand, her smile warm and genuine. Accepting his apology with grace, she said, “I think your wife is lovely, and so are your children. My daughter looks to be about the same age as your youngest.” Her words were sincere, a gesture of goodwill that seemed to ease the tension at the table.
Maxim’s stern expression softened as he returned Melissa’s smile. “I believe you’re right. Today is my son’s third birthday. He takes after me and loves a good bloody steak,” he replied with a hint of pride and humor, his gaze shifting affectionately toward his son.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at Maxim’s innuendo, finding his comment both unsurprising and a little exasperating. As I made a move to retake my seat, Maxim flashed a knowing grin in my direction. “Join us, Rowen. My wife can keep Dr. Jeffersonentertained while you and I talk,” he invited, the authority in his tone making it clear that his offer was not a request.
I glanced at Melissa, immediately noticing the concern in her eyes. She sat rigidly, her posture tense as she watched me, silently questioning what would happen next. I didn’t want to ruin her good mood after such a promising day, but ignoring Maxim wasn’t an option—not when I knew the news would surely reach Sinclair. I felt trapped, and Maxim—the Bloodletter—was fully aware of my predicament. Illyria, too, seemed to realize the situation. She rose from her seat and approached Melissa, quickly introducing herself and engaging her in rapid conversation. Before I could process it, we were all seated together at the same table, the course of the afternoon subtly but unmistakably redirected.
Lunch had come and gone without incident, or so it seemed. The calm was deceptive, a gentle lull before the inevitable storm. As LaVander walked over with a large birthday cake and ice cream, Maxim leaned in toward me, his voice low but direct. “Why are you looking for Rurik?”
As LaVander meticulously lit the candles atop Max’s cake, I kept my eyes on the flickering flames, my voice barely above a whisper. “I was hoping he would help me locate some information.”
Maxim’s eyes stayed fixed on me, his question pointed. “Why not ask Sinclair?”
My answer was immediate, edged with frustration. “Because Sinclair’s a dick and gives nothing away without a price.”
“So what information are you seeking?” Maxim pressed, his curiosity undeterred by my evasiveness.
I hesitated, unwilling to share more, but managed, “It’s personal.”
Maxim’s response came with a chuckle, though his words carried an unmistakable weight. “Nothing is personal in this world, Professor. Either you tell me now, or I find out later.”
I sighed, my defenses faltering. “Information about my birth parents.”
The effect was immediate—Maxim tensed, his eyes darting briefly to his wife before returning to me. The motion was subtle, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. He regarded me with a seriousness that left little room for argument. “It’s best to leave the past dead and buried, Rowen. Don’t open a door unless you’re ready to accept what you cannot change.”
