Page 26 of Lord of Justice

Trofim grins, "I can arrange security for them at all times."

"It would look better if the Carlisle was brought down by legitimate means instead of the Morozov Bratva. Though, as soon as that fuck gets transferred to his country club prison, I'm going to have him shanked the first night, perhaps have someone carve out his kidneys. Then I could give one of them to you."

"There's the unhinged violence and bloodthirsty retaliation I've been waiting for!" Trofim says happily. "Allow me to get started on that project for you."

"Please do." I fire off my last text and roll my shoulders to get rid of the ache. Four hours of sleep in the last forty-eight has not been particularlyrestorative, but I've had too much work to do.

"What is your beautiful bride doing this morning?" Trofim leans forward, scanning the street when we stop at a red light.

"At this moment, she's being greeted by Melina and her new security detail. I'm sure she'll be rushing to see her twin sister immediately."

"I hate to say this…" He's uncharacteristically serious. "But this marriage would work out better if you would just move her sister in with you. Peeling those two apart is going to be incredibly difficult."

My connection to my twin brother Nikandr stretched thin after he married Caroline. I don't blame her, nor him. But our casual calls and late-night discussions are further and further apart. It is what it is.

The luncheon goes well. I smile politely for the reporters, though I'm ready to knock one's microphone right through his teeth when he pushes it too close to my face.

The meeting with Senator Sinclair will be abysmal. My twisted sense of justice has been burning inside me for weeks, eagerly looking for an outlet. For someone to destroy, a well-deserved slaughter and no one deserves it more than this man.

"Well, there you fucking are!" Carlisle chuckles, his hand raised to slap me on the back before he catches my expression and steps back. He's a truezhadnyy mudak,a greedy asshole, but he has a strong survival instinct.

Or, maybe not. "You're out doing business, Morozov? I thought you'd be busy fucking your beautiful young wife." His smile fades as I examine him silently for a long, excruciating moment.

"Imagine, Sinclair, if someone had said that about your daughter," I say. He can feel the frost dripping from every word. "You'd have to beat the hell out of someone like that, wouldn't you? I believe your youngest, Diana, is about my wife's age."

There's an ugly, mottled flush coming up from his neckline and staining his cheeks red. He's tall, with silver hair that he has colored every month for a "senatorial look," and the ruddy nose of an incipient alcoholic. "Of course, it was a joke," he chuckles, less heartily. "A well-intentioned one, but not appropriate, eh?"

I don't let him off the hook, keeping silent a while longer until we're relaxing in the seating area in his office. The Senator's office here in the state is remarkably luxurious for a man who claims to be, "of the people." I'm quite sure that Monet over the fireplace is genuine. The crossed sabers onthe wall behind his ridiculously enormous desk that he claims belonged to General Washington, most likely did. "How's life in D.C.?"

"Oh, you know," he groans elaborately. "Ninety pounds of bullshit in a ten-pound bag. Bloated bureaucrats and whining lobbyists, it never ends."

I smile thinly. "Your patience is unparalleled."

"Truth," he grunts, accepting a drink from his slender young assistant, who brings me over a tray with a glass of Macallan.

"The Senator noticed that you drank this at your party the other night, Mr. Morozov," she smiles nervously. "So, he requested that I find a bottle of the Macallan 25 Year Sherry Oak for your meeting today."

"Thank you." I nod, taking the glass without looking at her again. No wonder this fucking pervert is so comfortable joking about my wife. His assistant looks fresh out of high school. She leaves, shutting the door carefully behind her.

"Now, there's one lawsuit I've been following closely," he says, sharp eyes watching me over his glass. "The Aragonite Data Center project is close to my heart. You know how important it is that we keep growing the AI infrastructure here in the state."

Of course he is. Sinclair's a silent partner in the project. He'll clear at least five hundred million dollars if the data center is pushed through.

I smile at him pleasantly, swirling my drink. "I believe that they're still bogged down with the environmental study. The lawsuit is meant to overturn the initial approval of the plan, recommending the project be tabled for now. That's more of a county issue than a judicial one. I'm not sure when we'd hear the case."

"Well, these sorts of cases - when they're in the best interest of the state's infrastructure - can move up surprisingly quickly. I want to know I can count on you when it comes before the Court."

"A fifty-eight-billion-dollar deal, as I recall," I muse.

"More important is national security and technical infrastructure." Sinclair yaps on for another five minutes but I've seen what I needed to know. He's desperate, filling his glass twice more, rocking forward briefly at one point before catching himself.

One way or another, he's on the hook for this deal.

Interesting.

When I step back out into the main lobby, Trofim's flirting shamelessly with the receptionist while my other guard, Slava, stands with his meaty hands folded and a look of resignation on his face. He's used to my Second's never-ending quest to burn through half the globe's female population before he drops dead. Every man has a dream.

"Back to Morozov Global, boss? Or do you need to see theSovietnikfor anything?" Trofim abandons the receptionist, but not before leaving his business card.