“It means something when the conversations happen at a restaurant in Coral Gables that Karpov’s lieutenant uses as a second office.” I set the glass down. “If Viktor probes, will he discover your name came up in those conversations?”
“No.” He denies it quickly, looking horrified. That could be from the idea of being associated with Karpov…or from me knowing about the association. “Absolutely not. I’ve had no contact with Karpov or anyone in his organization.”
Dmitri stares at the table.
I don’t respond for a slow count of ten while Lenkov’s rehearsed confidence thins one second at a time. He reaches for the water carafe and pours his own glass. His hand is steady, but he drinks too fast.
“The three vessels you manage were purchased with my capital.” I keep my voice level and unhurried. “They’re registered through my holding companies and insured through my contacts. Without that infrastructure, you don’t have a shipping business, Gregor. You have three expensive boats and a lot of debt.”
Dmitri shifts in his seat and glances at Lenkov. Lenkov doesn’t look back at him.
“Any contact with Karpov’s people stops today.” I let the words sit between us until I’m sure he’s heard them. Lenkov sets his glass down and nods once. “You have my word.”
I believe about sixty percent of that promise, which is enough for tonight.
After Lenkov leaves, I return to the main floor with Viktor. We sit at table one, and I order a whiskey I intend to drink slowly. Dominic has been in and out of the back office three times in the last hour, which is more activity than a Thursday night warrants. His staff are competent enough, but everything actually runs smoothly because Aurora Moore, according to the welcome portfolio, has built it to run smoothly.
I watch her work. The efficiency isn’t about speed but awareness. She anticipates problems before they become visible, redirects conflicts before they escalate, and manages a floor of wealthy, demanding clients without once looking like she’s working hard. It’s the same skill set I value in my own people. I appreciate the ability to make difficulty look effortless.
Around one in the morning, a man enters the club who isn’t on the VIP list. I know this because Aurora’s posture changes the moment she sees him. She stiffens in a way that signals resignation, not surprise. The man is tall and lean in casual clothes that don’t quite fit the venue. He walks toward her like he has the right to stand that close.
I can’t hear their exchange over the music, but I can read the body language. She keeps her distance. Her responses are clipped and delivered without warmth. He says something thatmakes her cross her arms, and then she says something back that wipes the casual expression off his face. He stays for another thirty seconds, hands in his pockets, before shrugging and walking toward the exit like he’s been asked to leave but wants it to look like his idea.
She watches him go. Then she turns back to the floor, smooths something invisible on her dress, and resumes working as though the interruption never happened. The transition is seamless. She buries whatever she felt about it in seconds.
When she looks up again a few minutes later and catches my eye. She looks at me for just a second before turning her back on me and resuming work. Maybe that look meant nothing to her, but it made my pulse accelerate in an unwelcome way.
I should just leave it alone, but I catch her as she passes table one twenty minutes later. “A question.”
She stops and turns. “Of course. Is there something you need?”
“Where did you learn to handle men like that? You don’t look impressed by any of them, and in a room full of people trying very hard to be impressive, that’s unusual.”
She holds my gaze for a moment before answering. “I work in a place where wealthy men confuse money with character. Reading them became part of the job.”
I incline my head once. Was there a message in there for me, or is her dismissal of wealthy men more general? “How long have you been doing this?”
“Several years.” She remains composed, as though we’re discussing the weather. “That’s long enough to know which clients tip well, which ones lie, and which ones are dangerouswhen they lose control.” The answer is honest and direct, with no attempt to charm me or inflate herself.
I’ve spent my career surrounded by people who perform every sentence for an audience, and this woman doesn’t. “Thank you, Aurora.” I use her name deliberately. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”
She nods and heads toward the service corridor. I watch her go and make myself stop watching after three seconds, which is two seconds longer than I should have allowed.
Viktor collects our security and settles the tab while I head for the rear exit. The night air off Biscayne Bay is warm and humid as Fedor pulls the car around. I climb into the back seat, and Viktor takes the passenger side.
We’re on the causeway before he says, “You stayed forty minutes longer than the meeting required.”
I shrug a shoulder. “The whiskey was good.”
“You had one glass, and you didn’t finish it.” He adjusts his seatbelt without looking at me. “You also spent more time watching the hostess than you spent on Lenkov.”
I give him a warning look. “I watched the entire room.”
He ignores my expression. “You watched her. I watched you watch her.” He says it with seventeen years of patience and a clear understanding of how far he can push. “It’s worth noting.”
I say something I hadn’t planned to. “The man who came in around one…that she didn’t want to see. Find out who he is.”
Viktor turns to look at me. “Why?”
