I stop in front of him while Mikel reaches forward and lifts the headphones from Volkov’s ears. Sound returns to the room, and Volkov inhales sharply as the silence breaks, his head turning instinctively toward the faint noise around him.
“Who are you?” he demands again, anger roughening his voice now that he can hear himself speak.
I reach forward and pull the hood away from his head, the fabric sliding upward and clearing his face. For a brief moment, his eyes remain closed while they adjust to the dim light of the room. When they finally open, confusion appears first, followed quickly by recognition.
Men who operate in his world learn to remember certain names and faces. My presence answers every question he’s been forming in the dark.
Volkov studies me for several seconds without speaking. The confidence in his expression fades gradually, replaced by a more cautious calculation as he understands exactly whose room he has been brought into.
“You,” he murmurs.
I pull a chair closer and sit down across from him, resting my forearms against my knees while I watch the realization settle into place.
“Good evening, Sergei.”
The sound of his name in my voice tightens his posture again. He says nothing, then the instinct for negotiation returns.
“If this is about money,” he begins carefully, “we can discuss terms.”
The words come easily to him. Of course they do. Money has solved most of his problems for a very long time.
I study him quietly while he speaks.
“You’ve made a mistake bringing me here,” he continues. “There are people who will notice if I disappear.”
The corner of Mikel’s mouth lifts faintly behind him.
Volkov watches my expression carefully, searching for a reaction. He finds none. The silence lasts long enough that unease begins creeping into his voice.
“You think this will hurt Ivan?” he asks. “Because it won’t. Ivan has other partners.”
Finally, I speak. “Does he?”
Volkov hesitates. That small pause tells me more than the last several sentences.
I step closer and let the silence of the room close around him. “Ivan took someone from me,” I say calmly.
Volkov’s eyes widen briefly as understanding begins to dawn. “The doctor,” he says slowly.
“Yes.”
Volkov exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “You’re chasing the wrong man.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I didn’t order the kidnapping,” he insists.
I take a slow step closer, stopping just inside his line of sight.
“No,” I reply. “You financed it.” I hold his gaze.
“Yes.” His mouth tightens. “That’s business.”
A cold resolve takes shape in my chest. I watch him for a moment longer before standing.
Volkov’s eyes follow the movement.
“You’re making a mistake,” he insists again.
