47. Andrey

47

ANDREY

"Fair warning," Shura whispers, cracking the door open, "she's a viper."

"She survived Slavik," I say. "She has to be."

Shura shrugs and then ushers in the guest of honor. Ola struts through the door, her heels clicking along the hard woods. As she passes Shura, she slides her manicured nails right over his stubbled jaw. "Thank you, handsome."

He recoils with a scowl. "I'll be right outside if you need me, ‘Drey."

She chuckles, hitching a thumb towards my second. "He's scared of me."

"That's because he's smart." I gesture to the chair across from me. "Sit down, Ola."

Despite it being three in the afternoon, Ola is dressed in a shimmering party dress that leaves little to the imagination. She smirks as she settles into the seat and crosses her legs, baring a long expanse of thigh. "Right down to business, per usual. When was the last time we saw each other?"

"I believe it was at Raya, a few weeks before you flew the coop with my father."

"Ah, yes," she titters. "Raya. What a shithole. You walked in on me giving your father a lap dance."

I grimace. "You were always my father's type. Like attracts like."

"And apples don't fall far from the tree. Is that why I'm here? Finally ready to scratch that itch?" She's looking at me through lowered lids as she leans forward, placing her hand on my thigh and slowly snaking it upwards.

I push her hand away. "I'm a married man."

She throws her head back and cackles. Apparently, in addition to the boob job, my father also bought her a new set of pearly whites. "That certainly never stopped your daddy."

"My father and I are very different men."

"Hopefully, that means you can keep a woman satisfied in bed." She flicks her tongue along her bottom lip. "Slavik was a selfish lover."

"I'm not remotely interested in my father's sloppy seconds, Ola."

Her manufactured smile slips for a fraction of a second. "Then why am I here?

"This club is where I do business. This right here—" I gesture between her and myself. "—is business."

"Well, consider me intrigued."

"Don't be. You won't like what I have to say."

She wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs, but tries to pass it off as an itch. "Honey, if the price is right, I will like everything you have to say."

I promised myself I'd remain calm, but my face twists into a sneer. "Once a hooker, always a hooker, huh, Ola?"

"I'm no hooker," she hisses. "I haven't been for over a decade now. I'm your father's woman. His wife in everything but name."

This time, it's my turn to laugh. "Cut the shit. You may use Kuznetsov as your last name whenever you can get away with it, but you're no longer Slavik's number one. In fact, you're not his at all anymore, are you?"

Her heavily lined eyes pinch together. "He still provides for?—"

"He gives you a small stipend monthly in exchange for what?" I ask. "Your silence?"

She lets out a panicked breath. Then she clears her throat, runs a hand through her long blonde locks, and rises to her feet. Two steps and she's forced herself between my legs, her hand draping through the open collar of my shirt.

"You know, I always found you incredibly attractive, Andrey," she purrs. "Sometimes, when your father was on top of me, I used to close my eyes and imagine it was you instead."

She starts to slide her hand lower, but I grab her wrist and twist until she cries out. "I thought I made myself clear," I growl, staring directly into her wide, terrified eyes. "I'm married. Touch me again and you'll regret it. Try giving your clients a handjob with no fingers."

I push her away, causing her to stumble back. She sinks back down without a word, still massaging her wrist.

"Now, let's skip the bullshit and cut straight to the chase, shall we?"

Glowering, Ola drops the whole seductress routine altogether. Her shoulders hunch and her legs and hands hang limply at her sides. "If I tell you anything, he'll know it was me. He'll hunt me down and kill me for betraying him."

"And your alternative is what? Refusing me now and dying on the spot?"

"I thought you were a different man than your father."

"I am. In purpose, if not in methods. I will do whatever it takes to protect my family. But I will do whatever it takes. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The flush on her chest rises to her cheeks. "I'll tell you anything you want to know," she agrees. "But I have conditions."

"I never expected anything less. What do you want?"

"Freedom, money, and safety," she ticks off on her fingers. "I want to disappear from Slavik's radar. If he finds me, he'll?—"

"You have my word. Tell me what you know and you'll have all three."

She raises her eyebrows. "Just like that?"

"I didn't build my reputation on nothing. The question is, do you have any information that's worth my while?"

She crosses her legs. "Nikolai and Slavik are working together."

It takes some effort to keep my face from betraying any emotion. "Since when?"

"Years now. Around the time Slavik started to grow restless." Her face pinches. "Around the time he started to get bored with me."

"Life in Russia wasn't what he expected?"

"Russia had changed since Slavik was last there. He was no longer the top dog and he hated it. He used to be—I wouldn't call him a gentleman… but charming, maybe? But those last few years with him…" She pulls up the large gold cuff on her wrist and shows me a thin, winding scar. "He got pretty brutal."

"I have to admit, I was surprised to learn that you were still alive."

"I may have lost my appeal to him, but I didn't lose my wits. I convinced him I was in love with him, that my loyalty was absolute. He believed me."

"Stroking his ego is always a good idea."

"Among other things." Her brows jump suggestively. "He started monitoring the situation over here, following your movements. When he realized how far you'd expanded on Kuznetsov territory, he was livid. Then he sensed an opportunity."

"He wanted to take what I'd built. Is that when he contacted Nikolai?"

She nods. "He was careful about how he approached the Rostov boy. But eventually, the two had a meeting. He flew Nikolai into Moscow on a private jet. He really rolled out the red carpet."

"How did he manage to bring Nikolai to the table?"

She shrugs. "I have no idea. I wasn't privy to the meetings. I just heard snippets of what happened afterwards. Even then, it wasn't much."

Silence falls between us. I push myself to my feet and saunter over to the tinted window. The street below is quiet. Apart from a few New Yorkers walking their dogs, there's nothing amiss. No sign of my enemies.

But they're out there.

They're always out there.

"So did I deliver?" Ola asks, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

I glance at her over my shoulder. She's my age, no older than thirty-four or thirty-five, but she looks so much older. Wearier.

"Go back to your room and wait there. I'll have Shura bring you what you need."

"How do I know he won't just bust in and slit my throat?"

"You don't. I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Realizing she doesn't have another option, she turns and leaves. For once, she does so without a parting quip.

As soon as she's gone, Shura slips through the door. "She could be lying."

I'm not surprised he was listening in. I'd be more shocked if he wasn't. "Maybe," I agree. "But it doesn't change anything."

Nikolai and Slavik. Slavik and Nikolai. At the end of the day, they both need to go.

It doesn't matter to me which one dies first.