“Savchenko?”
“Possible. Or the customs broker. Or one of our own leaks.”
I sit down and open the thinner folder first. Arkady Belov’s face looks just as slippery in a printed surveillance still as it did across a lunch table.
“Tell me about him again.”
Mikhail flips to the next page. “Hotels, gaming interests, some shipping, a lot of bad debt kept alive by older connections. Mostly he survives by attaching himself to stronger men and acting useful.”
“Useful to my father?”
“Maybe once. Hard to say now.”
I look at the page for another second.
“He knows something,” I say.
Mikhail nods. “I think so, too.”
“Then keep him close enough to sweat but not close enough to run.”
“You want full surveillance?”
“Yes. Phones, cars, women, lunch meetings, bar tabs, church candles, whatever he touches.”
Mikhail makes a note before clearing his throat. “Boss, can I ask why the sudden interest in Arkady?”
“Wasn’t I right?” I ask, pointing at the picture.
Mikhail remains silent for a few seconds before saying, “Arkady has money, but he’s still on a lower rung in the Bratva?”
“Does it matter?” I ask irritated. “Let’s call it sixth sense.”
Outside the window, the city is still gray from the early hour. A dirty winter light over glass and traffic. This city belongs to old families on paper, new money in public, and men like me in the spaces between. That has always been the problem. I have power here. Real power. Enough that rooms move when I walk into them. Enough that judges answer, captains listen, and council men stop pretending not to be afraid.
And still, to some of them, I’m the outsider.
Mikhail flips to the next page. “He’s also suddenly very interested in a young woman.”
That gets my attention for a different reason.
“Who?”
Mikhail glances down at the file. “Katerina Markov.” He goes on, “She’s the one who?—”
“I know who she is,” I cut in.
Mikhail looks up.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then he nods once and moves on. He knows when curiosity will cost more than it pays.
“I want to know who he called during the afternoon three days ago,” I say.
Mikhail raises a brow. “Why that specific day?”
“Because I had lunch with him,” I say simply.
