4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Aleksandr

"Dimitri! Tell me what's happening!" I bellow.

The SUV swerves around a corner, the tires screeching on the asphalt. Dimitri's knuckles are white from his death grip on the steering wheel. "Mikhail's been shot," he shouts over the roar of the engine.

My heart pounds in my chest. The world falls silent, and my vision goes white as his words sink in. Mikhail's been shot. A sharp pain shoots to the top of my skull. I felt the same pain when Otets was killed. I suck in a deep breath, and the world comes back into focus. "Is he alive?"

"I don't know," he replies tersely.

In a matter of minutes, we're parked in front of Echo. A line of clubgoers is anxiously waiting their turn to be let in. The stocky man holding the clipboard unhooks the velvet rope to the entrance when he sees us exit the SUV. "Mr. Avilov," he acknowledges with a nod of his head. Passing by him, we enter the club, dodging dancers gyrating to the music on the crowded dance floor.

Stopping in front of the black door with the gold star, I ring the doorbell. The peephole cover opens and closes, and then Joey opens the door. "Mr. Avilov," he greets with downcast eyes. "Phil is waiting for you in his office."

I push past Joey and storm into Phil's office. I find him sitting behind his desk with his head in his hands. "What the fuck happened?!" I roar. "Where is my brother?"

Phil lifts his head, a defeated look on his face. "I'm so sorry…"

I don't give him a chance to finish the sentence. I lunge across the desk, my knuckles connecting with his nose. A satisfying crunch tells me his nose is broken. Grabbing his face, he backs up as far away from me as he can. His mouth hangs open in shock as crimson blood seeps through his fingers. Dimitri grabs me from behind, pulling me away from Phil. Joey runs into the office, positioning himself protectively between me and Phil. "Mr. Avilov…" His words trail off as the ringing in my ears climbs to a deafening level.

" Brat , take a breath," Dimitri urges, pulling me toward the doorway.

Shaking him off, I take a deep breath through my nose, hold it for a few seconds, and release it slowly. "Where is my brother?"

Joey looks hesitantly at Phil, then back at me.

"It's okay, Joey," Phil mutters. Cleaning the blood off his face with a white handkerchief, he walks around the desk to stand in front of me. "I'm so very sorry, Mr. Avilov. By the time we found Mikhail, he was dead. One of our waitresses found him."

"How the hell did this happen?!" Dimitri bellows, tugging on the ends of his short blonde hair. "You check everyone for weapons when they enter the VIP area. How did someone get a gun in here?"

"I don't have an answer for you," Phil explains. "Everyone who entered the VIP area, including the staff, was patted down."

"Get every motherfucker that was here when it happened and put them in the poker room," I demand. "I want to speak with each one of them." Joey nods and leaves the room. Slipping off my suit jacket, I hang it on the back of the black leather sofa. No use getting anymore blood on it tonight. I face Phil, my fists balled up at my sides. "Take me to my brother," I demand.

Phil nods and leads us out of the office to a small supply room down the hall. He unlocks the door and then steps to the side of the doorway. I glance at Dimitri, his emotions masked behind a stone face. "Wait here," I tell him. He nods once, pulling a gun out of the waistband of his pants and standing guard.

The room is dark and smells faintly of bleach. Paper goods and cleaning supplies line shelves along the left wall and metal filing cabinets line the right wall. Straight ahead, there are more shelves lined up.

Mikhail is lying on the floor, covered with a white tablecloth. Bending down next to him, I pull back the tablecloth to see his lifeless eyes staring up at me. " Brat , I'm sorry it ended this way. Now you can be in peace with Anya," I whisper.

Stepping outside the room, I pull Dimitri aside to speak to him quietly. "Make sure the body is taken care of, then call Denis. Tell him we don't want the police involved and that we'll handle this ourselves. See if he's heard anything around the precinct." It has been invaluable to have my cousin Denis infiltrate the police department. After he graduated from the police academy, he moved through the ranks to become a detective. He's a good cop, although he is loyal to the family. We have five of our men on the local police force.

"We'll avenge him, brat ," Dimitri swears, placing his hand on my shoulder. "We'll get the motherfucker that did this and cut off his head."

I nod once, then turn my attention to Phil. He's visibly shaken, as he should be. My reputation precedes me as a ruthless sonofabitch. "Let's chat with your guests," I snarl.

Opening the door to the poker room, I see four men sitting around a game table, a waitress cowering in the far corner, a dark-haired man with a medium build sitting on a loveseat, two burly men who are clearly bodyguards, and Joey by the door.

"My name is Aleksandr Avilov," I state. All eyes are on me as I scan the room, looking over each. "Someone killed my brother, and I'm going to find out who it was."

The waitress lets out a small whimper, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. A fat, balding man shifts uncomfortably in his seat. A younger man with dark brown hair is nervously tapping his fingertips on the table. A silver-haired older man drains the glass he is drinking from and stands up.

"Mr. Avilov," he says in a raspy voice. "We were playing poker when your brother got up to use the restroom. No one left the room."

Narrowing my eyes, I look at each one of the men. Then, I address the waitress. "Is this true? Did any of these men leave the room after my brother left?"

"I…I d-don't know," she stutters. I raise an eyebrow in question. She lets out a small whimper. "Phil asked me to cover the room after the other waitress didn't return."

"What other waitress?" I question through clenched teeth.

Phil clears his throat, and my head snaps in his direction. "Maybe we should talk in my office?" he suggests.

"Bring her," I command, pointing at the waitress. "No one leaves this room," I tell Joey.

Spinning on my heels, I storm out just as Dimitri is headed my way. "No one leaves," I instruct him. "I will speak with them individually in Phil's office." Dimitri's tall, muscular build is quite intimidating, and his fighting skills are lethal. No one is getting past him.

I make myself comfortable in the seat behind Phil's desk. Leaning back with my fingers steepled in front of my face, I scrutinize the waitress. She is a quivering mess standing before me. "What is your name?"

"Lisa," she whispers.

"Lisa," I repeat. "Who was in the poker room when you first entered it?"

"The four men that are in there now," she replies, wringing her hands. "Oh, and the two big guys…the bodyguard guys."

"What happened to the other waitress?"

"I don't know," she answers quickly, looking over at Phil sitting on the sofa across from the desk.

"Did you find my brother?" I ask, curbing the urge to flip the desk over.

Looking down at her feet, she replies in a small voice. "Yes. I noticed the door to the supply room was open, and when I went to shut it, I saw him lying on the ground. I only took a step into the room before I saw that he had been shot in the chest." A stray tear rolls down her cheek.

"Look at me, Lisa," I instruct. "Think carefully before you answer. Did you see anyone else in the VIP area before I arrived?"

She hesitates, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot, biting her lower lip. "Just Tony and Joey." The poor girl looks like she is going to faint. She clearly doesn't know anything.

"You can go," I tell her. Relief washes over her, and she rushes out of the room.

"What happened to the other waitress?" I asked Phil.

"You don't think she did it?" he asks in surprise, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead.

"Where did she go?" I snap, slamming my palms down on the desk.

"I don't know," he mutters. "Tony said she took a break and didn't return."

"Bring him to me," I order. Phil jumps to his feet and scurries out of the office. A minute later, he returns with the dark-haired man from the poker room trailing behind him.

"You…sit," I growl, directing Tony to sit across from me. Given the circumstances, he appears relatively calm. "Where did the other waitress go?"

"I don't know," he replies. "She was serving cocktails for about an hour, then came to the bar and said she needed a break. I told her to take fifteen minutes, but she didn't return. I told Phil and, he sent Lisa to cover the poker room."

"Is it normal for you to lose a waitress in the middle of a shift, Phil?" I direct my attention to him, biting back the urge to put a bullet in his brain.

"No, Mr. Avilov," he assures, standing up from the sofa. "She's new, and I assumed it was too much for her. Our VIPs can be a bit intense for some girls," he says, dragging his fingers through his thinning brown hair.

"Was there anything about this girl that would make you think she killed my brother?"

"No," they reply in unison.

"Hmm." My eyebrows pinch together as I think over their quick responses. "You can leave," I tell Tony. "Phil, bring me the men one at a time." Phil rushes out of the office, eager to get this over with.

Closing my eyes, I think about the last time I spoke to Mikhail. Three days ago, he stopped by my estate to see his children. Sasha and Maxim were excited to see him, and I could tell he did his best to hide the fact that he was drunk. After Anya died, Mikhail couldn't take care of them. He spent his nights drinking to numb the pain. No matter how strong his love was for his children, the pain of losing Anya was stronger. They've been with me for two years, and I love them like my own. How am I going to tell them Mikhail is gone?

Phil clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts. Opening my eyes, I see he brought the silver-haired man with him. "Take a seat," I instruct.

He sits in the chair across from me while Phil sits nervously on the sofa. "Mr. Avilov," he begins in his raspy voice, heavy with a Greek accent. "My name is Georgio Bouras. I'm associated with the Velentas family. I told you earlier everything I know."

The Velentas family is also known as the Greek American mafia in New York City. I've had dealings with them through my art gallery. That doesn't mean I like them or this mudak. Crossing my arms over my chest, I study him before asking, "Was my brother winning or losing money before he got up from the poker table?"

Georgio admires the gold ring on his pinky finger before answering. "I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but your brother is known for losing."

My temper is beginning to flare again. Not because he's lying, but because my brother is dead, and I need to hit something. Or better yet, maybe I should just shoot him between the eyes. That might take the edge off. "I appreciate your honesty," I say dryly. "Did he owe you money?"

"No…no, he always paid up at the end of the night. He might have been known for losing, but he was also known for having plenty of cash on him for gambling and booze."

He leans back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankle. My gut tells me he didn't have anything to do with Mikhail's death. I nod toward the door without saying a word, indicating he may go.

I speak with the other men and come to the same conclusion. They had nothing to do with Mikhail's death. Dimitri closes the door and sits on the sofa.

"What do you think?" I ask, scrubbing a hand down my face.

"I don't know what the hell to think," he says, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

"It wasn't anyone here so that leaves two options. It was the waitress that disappeared, or someone snuck into the VIP area and killed him." I stand behind the desk to stretch out my legs. "We need to find out more about this mysterious waitress."

"Let's go ask around the club. Someone must know something about her," Dimitri suggests.