“Isthere a problem here?” The deep accented voice isas much a pleasantry as itisa warning.
“The lady and I were just talking,” Dean says.
“It didn't look like talking to me. This woman is my employee, and I want you to leave her alone. I don’t like when people accost my employees, especially on my property.”
“I wasn't accosting her,” Dean snaps. “We were talking. People are allowed to do that.”
Though Dean is tall, he still has to look up into Dmitri’s face.
“Not if Idon't allowthem to,” Dmitrireplies, calm in the face of Dean’s frustration. “Thisisprivate property.”
A slow, ugly smirk breaks out on Dean’s face. “You’re Smirnov, aren’t you?”
Dmitri ignores him and turns to me, indicating the big, black SUV with the dark tinted windows at the curb. A tall man stands beside it, clearly waiting. “I need to discuss more about the SEC audit. I’ll drive you home as we talk.”
With his hand between my shoulder blades, Dmitri guides me to the car. We both look back as Dean shouts, “Hey! You think you’re all that? That your billions will save you? They won’t. I’ve taken bigger guys than you down. I’m coming for you, Smirnov. And I promise you won’t be so high and mighty anymore.”
Dmitri’s polite frostinessbecomessomething sharper, something colder and more dangerous, as heturns back to regardDean. But to my surprise, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, heushersme into the car and closes the doorafter us. Idon’t lookback as wepullaway from the curb.
Dmitri waits until we’re down the block to ask, “Who was that man?”
“He’s a cop with organized crime,” Itell him.
In the rearview mirror, Icatchthe driverexchanginga glance with Dmitri, which Ican’t read, but I’m suddenly very aware that I’vejumpedfrom the frying pan into the fire.
He’s a Russian mob boss. ABratvaleader.Dean’s words echo in my head.
I’m glad to be away from Dean, but I’m also not so sure I want to be in the car with Dmitri, who may very well be a leading member of the deepest, darkest parts of New York's criminal underground.
“He seemed to know you well.” Dmitri’s voice stirs me out of my thoughts.
Ishrug. “Weworkedin the same circles for a while.”
“And what was he doing outside my building?”
“Are we going to talk about the SEC audit or not?”
“Whowasthat man,Miss Benson?” His tone is demanding and impatient.
“Itoldyou. Heisa Brooklyn cop, who works organized crime. Iknowhim from my time interning in the DA’s office. The restis a personal matter, and none of your business.”
Dmitri watches me closely, and for a moment, I think he’s going to demand that I tell him everything. But instead, he settles back into his seat.
“Drop her off near the station,” he tells the driver. “I assume that’s where you were heading?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretches as the carpullsover at the station. IgiveDmitri and the driver a polite thank you forgetting me out of that situation, thenleavethem behind, my headheldhigh. Iam stubborn, just like Deansaid, butI’m also proudandunwillingtobend. I’ve never given in to the manymenI'vecomeacross in my career who’ve wanted me to, nor will I for this man, Russian mobster or not.
And for some reason, despite Dean's warning, I’m not afraid ofDmitri Smirnov.
7
DMITRI
The morningisgloomy and gray, the first frigid day of the season. The windblowsin off the East River,bringingwith it the kind of cold thatseepsunder my coat andsettlesdeep in my bones.
I pull my collar higher, feeling the weight of Brooklyn pressing down with every step toward the precinct. Pavel walks with me, hands jammed in the pockets of his coat, his face set in that flat but intimidating expression he wears when he’s trying not to look too threatening but also warning others away.
