The room quickly fills with air kisses and excited chatter. I wait until there is a lull in the crowd around Keke to make my move. Part of me hates leaving Sera here on her own, but the threat Anton presents is more important.
Besides, this crowd is as dangerous as a bunch of toothless tiger cubs. They’re more interested in fawning over a supermodel and showing off their personal Atelier Florian pieces, than causing trouble. Plus, the other French guards are in the room to help if anything kicks off. I work my way over to where Sera stands close by Keke’s side.
I press my palm to my stomach. “I don’t think that dinner agreed with me.”
“Do you need to go back to the room?” Her forehead creases in concern.
“No, I just need to… Are you okay here?”
“Of course,” she assures me.
In the hallway next to the ballroom, I thumb a text on the burner phone I picked up earlier while Keke napped before her event, to summon the French asshole. How fortunate for me, and potentially deadly for him, that it only took a few hours to discover that not only did Anton and I have common acquaintances, but that the Frenchman had a serious gambling problem.
It wasn’t hard to spoof the number of the man he owes the most to or to type out the words I know will bring Anton rushing outside to beg for more time. The criminal underworld is a surprisingly small world, and everyone is connected somehow.
Striding through the catering kitchen toward the back exit, I scan the room. The kitchen is almost empty now that the dinner is over. There are fewer than five people working. I focus my attention on the two young men washing large pans.
“Alyo.” They straighten exchanging wary looks. There’s no doubt they recognize the tattoos on my neck and hands. Some are similar to the ones that adorn their bodies. “Where are you from?”
“Odessa,” the one on the left answers in Russian.
“You have family here?” I don’t have time for niceties.
“The Zarya.” His chest puffs a little as he names the bratva he’s connected to. “You?”
“I am Liev Kovalyov.” I almost wish Sera were here to see how fast both faces pale.
I’mdefinitelytelling her this story the next time she calls me gangster with her sassy mouth. Maybe I should bring one of these dishwashers back with me so they can tell how scary I am to most people.
I curb my lips before they break into a smile.
What the fuck has happened to me?
The other three kitchen staff gawk, confused.
I nod to the dishwashers. “I need that bottle of soap. Explain it to them after.”
“After?”
“After.”
Silently he hands me the bottle of dish soap.
I slip into the narrow janitorial closet less than a minute before I hear rapid footsteps approaching. When the steps are even with the closet, I swing the door open and am rewarded with a solid thud and exclamation of pain.
The blow wasn’t enough to take him off his feet. “Kovalyov,” Anton snarls, reaching for the weapon in his waistband.
I'm faster. Slamming my pistol's butt into the base of his skull, I sweep his legs from under him. His head cracks against tile with a sickening thud. Gasps echo from the kitchen. The dishwashers hustle the others out, offering urgent, hurried explanations. “Bratva.” “We didn’t see anything.” “Smoke break.”
I don’t bother to look up as they scurry past me for the exterior door. I retrieve the soap bottle, squirting a slick puddle where Anton fell, then smear some on his shoe soles for good measure. Dropping the bottle into the soapy water in the sink, I head back to the ballroom.
25
SERA
When Liev tells me he needs to step away because of his stomach, I know he’s lying again. I watch him as he walks swiftly towards the doors with absolutely no sign of stomach distress in his posture.
I sense movement on my left, and when I turn, I find Anton glaring at me.
