“Your wife hasn’t told him? Hasn’t tipped him off?” another voice from the crowd asked, sounding suspicious already.
Viktor scowled at the nay-sayer—Rostislav—and walked leisurely toward him, hands still behind his back.
“No. She has not. I have made sure of that. So far, I have kept Alexandra in line.” Viktor ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. As he drew nearer to the nay-sayer, he saw the man sink down into his chair and avert his eyes. A good sign—he did not particularly want a second round of bloodshed at this meeting after what had happened at the last. These men didn’t need to know that Alexandra was keeping his suspicion quiet out of hope that she’d prove her father innocent, prior to him ever knowing his loyalty to Boris had been questioned, as opposed to out of loyalty to her new husband.
“And we haven’t heard anything else about the gunrunner? What was his name…” someone in the group asked, trailing off. Viktor had forgotten about the man from the last meeting, and listened raptly to refresh his memory.
“Anatoly. Anatoly Popov. And no, it’s been quiet as a mouse. He hasn’t caused any problems so far,” someone else clarified.
Viktor nodded. “Good. That makes things even more clear. We will deal with Sergei. If he does not cooperate, we involve his family. If he does cooperate, then depending on what we learn from him, we may still involve his family in the name of revenge.” Viktor paced as he spoke. Even though he’d kept his tone even, if not a little cruel, for the sake of the meeting, his mind continued to wander toward Alexandra.
Her family was so important to her, Viktor remembered. If Sergei refused to give him the answers he was looking for, or if Sergei fought back, things would go bad—and fast.
Even though he had stepped into his father’s shoes as new head of the mafia, however, Viktor felt conflicted about beating, or even killing, in the name of duty. What was the saying? ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’ Spending time with Alexandra and trying to get information on her had taken an unexpected turn: Viktor saw Sergei and Darya Volkin as human beings rather than as names on a list, and their unfortunate connection to Alexandra was undeniable.
He did not want to hurt her, but he did not want to let his family down, either.
“And what exactly are you planning to do to them?” a raspy voice asked. Viktor’s eyes landed on the speaker like ice-blue spotlights. The question had come from Artur, an ‘old dog’ in the mafia. He remembered Artur from countless meetings with his father over a span of decades. Viktor wasn’t sure exactly how close this man had been to his father, but Artur had been working with the Sokolovs since Viktor had been knee-high. It was unfortunate that his alliance had not yet shifted from Boris to Viktor—the tone of his question spoke of distrust, like he believed Viktor wouldn’t see his statement through.
“Whatever needs to be done,” Viktor said coolly, despite his steadily rising blood pressure. He continued to stroll around the seated men, drawing gradually nearer to Artur.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Artur responded, and then he let loose with a dry laugh. “Very good. The tell-tale words of someone who has no idea what he’s doing. You’re married to the daughter of the enemy, it’s been several days with no action toward Boris’s killer, and when questioned about a plan of action, that’s all you have?”
Even as Viktor stalked closer to the man, he did not waver. Artur’s eyes creased heavily at the corners as he grinned, taunting him.
Viktor stared Artur down while he silently swallowed back a dry lump of remorse. He wanted to pronounce every Volkin dead in order to quiet Artur and solidify his position as Avtoritet. But Viktor hesitated. Should he put his wife in possible danger by ordering Sergei brought to him?
His mind continued to race. If it came to it, would he be able to watch his wife dragged off into an interrogation room? More importantly, would he be able to stomach being the one to order Alexandra’s containment or—Viktor felt ice in his veins at the thought— even her murder?
Confusion tugged at him, but he remained stoic in front of the men. Bad enough that he was uncertain how far he was willing to go; he didn’t need anyone to doubt him or his position as leader.
As though sensing Viktor’s thoughts, Artur chimed in again. “Glaring at me in silence accomplishes nothing, Viktor. You are in way over your head, stupid boy.”
Anger surged through Viktor. The room erupted in curious whispers and then drew silent, the atmosphere as thick in the air as fog as the rest of the men watched to see what would happen next. Artur’s self-assured smile reminded Viktor of the Cheshire cat; he wanted to punch the teeth right out of the man’s mouth. How dare someone insult him and question his authority, especially in front of the group?
Another example would have to be made.
“I’m not the stupid one, Artur. Do you not remember what happened at the last meeting?” Viktor made a ‘tsk’ sound and shook his head in feigned disappointment. He had sincerely hoped to avoid violence tonight. “Kostya. Break this man’s arms.” Viktor strolled casually back to the head of the table while his brother stood and cracked his knuckles in preparation.
Artur paled a bit, but didn’t move. His smile, though, went from being smug to forced as Kostya approached. Viktor watched as Kostya dragged Artur roughly out of the room. More whispers circled among the men. Viktor waited for it, and then—there it was.
The shrill cries of Artur’s bloodcurdling screams and the dull crunch-pop of bone, leaked through the gap where the door had been left open. Viktor closed the door with his foot, his face a mask of indifference when he turned once more to face the group of men who were meant to give him their allegiance.
Rage, confusion, and heartache mixed in Viktor’s chest like hot concrete had been poured into his ribcage, but he could not, would not, lose face with his men. He was a mafia boss above all else, and would do what had to be done to avoid further questioning. Their faith in him could not falter.
Viktor slammed his hand down on the table while his fearsome gaze swept over each person in the room. “Justice will come for Sergei Volkin. After all, I have his daughter.”
15
Alexandra
The interior of the town car was spotlessly clean; it smelled like lemon disinfectant and that artificial new car smell. Alexandra tapped her fingers against the supple leather armrest and peered through the plexiglass partition separating her from Roman. The usual rush hour traffic was in full swing and they crawled so slowly to Elena’s apartment that Alexandra wondered if it would be faster to walk.
“I heard you correct, right? The Lake Park apartments, not Lake Ridge?” Roman asked. He glanced at Alexandra via the rearview mirror, his dark eyes unreadable.
“You got it—Lake Park. Whoever decided to put Lake Park and Lake Ridge Apartments right next to each other must have had a strange sense of humor.” Alexandra stared at the endless procession of brake lights in front of them. Her mind chugged along as they continued their crawling drive.
Even though Viktor really seemed to be warming up to her, Alexandra had not forgotten her pledge to clear her father’s name. There was no way Sergei could be responsible for Boris’s death, but the only way to prove it was to talk to Uncle Tolya.
At the café, Elena had said she would have Uncle Tolya call her, but so far Elena had been dodging her calls. Time was running out, though, and Alexandra couldn’t bear to think of what might happen to her poor father without her help.
At long last, the perfectly manicured square of lawn and the familiar ornate sign for the Lake Park apartments came into view. Elena always gravitated toward the lavish, and her choice in living was no different. The mirror-polished windows, tasteful geometric design, and exotic greenery screamed ‘upper class.’
“Right here is fine,” Alexandra said with a faint smile curling her lips. Perhaps Elena had been so reluctant to talk because of Roman’s presence at the café. Alexandra wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
“What ar
e you talking about?” Roman glanced at her over his shoulder in bewilderment, then returned his focus to driving. They were still stuck in crawling traffic even though the entrance for Elena’s apartment complex was near.
“I’m sorry, Roman, but this is important. I hope you can forgive me.” Before he could react, Alexandra hefted her designer bag, unclipped her seat belt, and darted out the door and onto the curb. She heard Roman yelling something from behind her as she slammed the door and took off at a run.
Good thing I wore flats today, Alexandra thought.
She was going to uncover what was going on, and would prove her father’s innocence, at any cost. Up the sidewalk, past the terrace and landscaping, through the halls, she moved hurriedly. How much time would she have before Roman caught up with her? Hopefully it would be enough.
Alexandra knocked on Elena’s door politely at first, but after receiving no response, she began to pound with the side of her fist. Uncertainty gripped her; what if Elena wasn’t here? Alexandra had messaged several times—with no response, of course—but…
The lock clicked out of place, and the door cracked open. Elena peered out with tired eyes that widened with recognition.
“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”
“It’s urgent, Elena. Why haven’t you gotten back in touch with me?”
“I’ve been... busy.”
“Too busy to help a friend? Your best friend, who you’ve known for forever?” Alexandra struggled to keep irritation out of her voice. There was a strange rustling sound behind the door. “Is there someone in there with you?”
“Y’know, Alexa, right now really isn’t a good time.” Elena pursed her lips. The rustling sound picked up again; it sounded almost like wrapping paper. Then, the clink of glass against glass.
“Look, you have to let me in. I came a long way to see you and I don’t know how much time I have left.” Alexandra’s voice had raised, pleading with her friend. “I need to talk to you.”
A long moment passed between them. Elena’s eyes narrowed slightly and she looked like she wanted to say something, but after an exasperated sigh, Elena opened the door. “Fine. Come in.”
As soon as Alexandra stepped into her friend’s luxury apartment, though, she knew something was off. The apartment was in chaos. A burly man in a blue jumpsuit was loading boxes onto a hand truck while a second man who was dressed identically stood in front of the kitchen island wrapping champagne flutes in bubble wrap and brown paper.
“Elena… what’s going on here? You fought tooth and claw for this apartment because of the view, and now you’re just… leaving?” Alexandra’s mouth went dry. She took a few steps deeper into the apartment, but Elena moved to lean against the wall in front of her in a silent ‘stop’ gesture. Elena’s arms crossed, and another heavy sigh escaped her painted lips.
“You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.” Elena’s voice held a faint trace of worry, and it bothered Alexandra as much as it had at the cafe. What was going on here? Something wasn’t right.
“Yeah… I’m talking right now. I’m asking you what’s going on.”
“Nothing.”
“This doesn’t look like nothing! You dodged my calls. You told me you’d have Uncle Tolya get back to me, and—I’m sure you already know this—he hasn’t. And now, you’re packing up and moving without telling me?” Alexandra looked both crestfallen and irate. “We’re friends, Elena. Best friends. Or at least I thought we were. What’s going on? Why are you acting so strangely?”
Elena hung her head and shook it slowly, her gaze falling from Alexandra’s face down to the ground. She hugged her crossed arms closer to her chest. “It’s no big deal. Father just thought it was a good idea for me to leave for a while. He’s being really insistent about it, and I just have to go along with it. You know how it is. He took it upon himself to redirect my mail already and everything—it’s going to his house on Oakdale until he finds me a place he thinks is good enough. It’s all super stupid, but… it is what it is, you know?”
“What?” Alexandra stared at her friend, somewhere between shock and remorse. “What’s spooked him so much? What’s happening?”
“Like I said, Alexa, it’s nothing really.” Elena shook her head again and straightened her posture. She laughed, but it sounded forced. “Told you last time, you worry too much.”
“Worry too much? Elena, this isn’t like you! What are you keeping from me?” Alexandra took a half-step closer to her friend. She hadn’t realized how fast her heart was beating until now. A tremble picked up through her body. Before she had the opportunity to continue to press Elena, however, Roman’s voice came from behind them, sounding out through the cracked door.
“That’s a very good question.” Roman’s tone was even, but his thick, dark hair was mussed and he was breathing heavily. Alexandra would have been impressed he’d caught up to her so fast if she hadn’t also been dreading his presence. She needed to talk to Elena, now more than ever in light of what her friend had just revealed, and Roman being there was a monkey wrench in those plans.
“Ohh, it’s the chaperone,” Elena cooed at him with false niceness. Her eyes took on a dark cast as she tilted her head at him. There was something very strange about her behavior—Elena barely recognized the woman in front of her. Elena could come across as brash sometimes, but this was over the top. Alexandra wondered where her friend had gone, and what had caused her to become so strange and closed-off. Where was the girl who’d used to drop everything so they could spend the night drinking wine and watching re-runs of Degrassi? Alexandra missed her dearly. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
“And I don’t remember approving an unsupervised meeting.” Roman was usually pure business, but now his expression showed irritation. He looked from Elena to Alexandra. “It’s time to go now, Mrs. Sokolov.”
Even though she had crossed him, even though she had broken the rules, Alexandra was grateful that Roman was treating her with respect. It was a breath of polite fresh air compared to the rest of the guards and henchmen at the Sokolov mansion, though she hadn’t given it a great deal of thought till now. Somehow, if someone had to have followed her here, she was glad it had been him.
“Oh no, oh hell no, you are not going to come into my house and tell my friend what to do,” Elena snarled at Roman and stepped forward to put herself between Alexandra and the driver.
Alexandra watched with wide eyes, too shocked to do much. She’d seen Elena explode at rude men who cat-called her on the streets, but someone like Roman? A man who drew her eye whenever he was around, but also seemed to worry her in strange ways?
Roman’s expression didn’t falter, though. “It is my job to supervise Mrs. Sokolov. She has broken the rules, and now we must return.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your job is. She doesn’t have rules to follow, least of all from you. You’re trespassing, and I don’t know who you think you are to come into my home and tell me what I can or can’t do,” Elena sneered.
Alexandra wanted to say something, but nothing she could think to say would change a thing. She kept her silence, uncomfortably caught in the middle of their dispute.
“I can do as I please, you hoity-toity bitch, when I have a job to do. Step aside and—”
“WHAT did you just say to me?!” Elena screeched.
“You heard me,” Roman spat, anger crossing his face as he spoke. Alexandra had never seen the driver lose his cool, and her jaw would have hit the floor if the clock hadn’t been running down.
Alexandra watched as her friend’s face went from pink to red. She knew that expression well—the last time Elena had blown her top, the two of them had been banned from Macy’s. This was not going to go well.
“Elena,” Alexandra started quickly to prevent her friend from responding, “it’s okay. I’ll just go, and you can get back to packing.” Even though she hadn’t gotten the information she was searching for, Alexandra had resolved herself to tell Viktor that Un
cle Tolya knew something and was trying to protect his daughter. It wasn’t as good as a phone call from Tolya to Viktor, but it was at least something, and leaving now was better than watching these two go at it. With Roman so involved, it could only get worse from here, and Elena’s strange behavior had Alexandra concerned. She wanted what was best for her friend, and if stepping back was the right thing to do, she’d do it… even if it meant that she’d have to convince Viktor to contact Uncle Tolya.
“What? No! Alexa, he can’t just barge in here—” Elena’s voice picked up to a shrill shriek.
“Yes, I can. And, yes, I did. Let’s go, Mrs. Sokolov,” Roman spoke over her. Alexandra started toward the door and practically dragged Roman with her. She heard the door slam behind them, and heard Elena shout a series of expletives at them through the wood, but didn’t look back.
16
Viktor
“We’ve got him.” Viktor leaned back in the overstuffed leather furniture of the sitting room and took a long, slurping sip of hot coffee. He glanced to the door to make sure it was closed. It wouldn’t be good if housekeeping or a visitor dropped in on this particular conversation with his brother Niko. “Are you still offering to plan this out? We need to go into this with a clear idea of how to proceed to make this go as smoothly as possible for us, and I know that you’re the best man for the job.”
Niko sat ramrod straight on the couch. His lanky body appeared even scrawnier that usual, dressed as he was in a white oxford shirt that was two sizes too big for him. Compared to his siblings, Viktor and Kostya, he looked the least like a mafioso. Niko had always been the quiet, bookish one, in fact, and tended to keep to himself, but when Viktor needed him, he was always there. For that, Viktor had always been grateful.
“Not a problem, not a problem.” Niko adjusted his position on the couch and followed Viktor’s lead, sipping at his coffee. “Sounds to me like you might need all the help you can get—not by any fault on yours, but simply because it’s such a delicate situation.” He paused with a thoughtful expression. “In this case, I would strongly advise you to begin with a polite interrogation, using the least coercive measures possible, and gradually increase coercion, by force if necessary… but only if necessary. Be nice, at first, and respect him while you ask questions. If he refuses or things go south, then slowly amp it up.” Niko’s gaze fell a bit as he stared at his distorted reflection in the surface of the coffee in thought. “I know you and Kostya tend to favor quick, direct, usually violent solutions, but—”
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