I doubt they'll ever follow through on their promise to let me lead anything, anyway.
19
KAZIMIR
With the big fights coming up this weekend, there's no time to lose in our planning. Timur is at the whiteboard with his schedules and payouts listed, the way Roman normally does, and Stepan and I sit by the conference room table watching him. Though, with the pain still throbbing in my chest, it's hard to sit still for long and focus.
"Friday night, we've got six bouts," Timur says, tapping the board with a marker. "Rostik headlines against the Georgian and the undercard is solid too. After we substituted him in for the American, it left an open slot, but we got it filled. Saturday's the invitational with eight bouts, two title fights, and every high-value bettor we have left is coming in."
"Every one we have left," Stepan repeats, and the emphasis isn't subtle. After everything, he's still sticking it to me to make this my fault when it damn well isn't and he knows it. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"We've lost four since the American situation," Timur says, capping the marker and turning to face us. "Federov pulled hisinvestment entirely and he's been talking to other backers about doing the same."
"I'm aware," I grumble, running a hand over my unshaven beard. It's two days of growth I haven't bothered with because I’m too busy chasing down extra security for my posts at the club to worry about the time it takes.
"I know you're aware. I'm making sure we're all looking at the same numbers." Timur sets the marker on the table and crosses his arms. "Roman called me yesterday. He wants to know that this weekend will run clean without any surprises."
When both of them narrow their eyes on me, their unspoken communication is obvious. I'm never gonna live this down and I didn't even do anything wrong. Someone is attacking me, making me look like the bad guy to even my own family.
"I got a new phone with a new number and a new SIM," I tell them. "Nobody has it except the people in this room and Roman." What I don't tell them is I did keep my old phone so I can text Zora, but that's the only reason I'm using it now. No one's gonna track my messages with her to use against me.
"That's good," Timur says, then he nods and points at the whiteboard again where a list of things we haven't spoken about details more responsibilities for me. "The venue's locked down, cameras are up, and I'll be monitoring feeds from the back office both nights."
"I'll be on the floor with Kaz," Stepan says, picking up his coffee. "If anything goes sideways, we handle it together."
"What about the bettors who are still with us?" I ask. "Are we reaching out ahead of the card?" With our technical malfunctions with my phone, a few people suggested we go oldschool for the next few months, just until we get a handle on what the hell happened. It’s a good idea, and Timur took the lead on it.
"I've called every one of them personally," Timur says. "I reassured them the new cards are being run directly by us with no intermediary communications. Every bet gets handled in person, and nothing gets sent digitally."
"Yeah, okay." I fidget in my seat a little. I've been antsy and on edge for days, in need of release or something. Zora has even been quiet, not reaching out as much. I did tell her I would be too busy to get together until after these fights, but goddamn, I miss her. It's like in a matter of the past two months since we met, she became everything to me. I think I actually function better when she's around.
"Are you paying attention?" Timur asks, glowering, and I sit up straighter.
"Yeah, just keep going," I snip, frustrated they're taking so long.
"I've restructured the payout schedule," Stepan adds. "If we get them a faster turnaround, they'll appreciate that. It'll leave no room for doubt. We can't afford to give anyone a reason to hesitate right now."
Timur pulls a chair out and sits across from me. He rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together. Judging by the look on his face, he's about to get serious.
"Roman and I had a long conversation yesterday," he says, "about the whole pattern—the spoofed texts, the bettor sabotage, the fake message about the American's arrival time, all of it."
"And what'd he say?" I ask, though I'm already bracing for another lecture. If Roman hasn't called me personally yet, it's because he's too angry to disrupt his own honeymoon.
"We're trying to figure out who has enough access to your schedule and your communications to pull this off." Timur holds my gaze. "The new phone eliminates the clone, which is good. But the person who cloned your old phone needed physical access to the device."
"We've been through this, Timur," I tell him.
"We have, and we keep coming back to the same problem." He glances at Stepan, and Stepan looks down at the table instead of having my back like he should. This feels like an intervention or something. All we need is someone with tissues and tears to tell me how my destructive behavior is ruining my life. "The circle of people who had that kind of access to your phone is very small."
"I know who's in the circle," I tell them. "And I'm not worried about any of them."
"So do we." Timur pauses. "Roman, me, Stepan, Rostik, and Zora."
Timur doesn't mince words. The way he says her name last and emphasizes it makes it obvious he's accusing her. And I won't tolerate this at all.
"Don't go there."
"Kaz, listen to me—" Timur starts.
