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“Sorry. I don’t know where he is.”
Sergey stares at me for a second and then, with no warning, swipes an arm toward the table to his right. Some kind of decorative bronze horse and a leather folder go flying across the room. Papers flutter in the air as the statue takes a chunk out of the wood floor and then bounces into the hallway.
I take a cautious step back. “I can take a message for you if—”
“I’m not leaving a message with a fucking secretary,” Sergey spits. His eyes are glowing with rage. All the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. “I understand why Rodion confessed to you.”
“Confessed what?” I ask, even though I don’t want to engage Sergey in any kind of conversation right now.
He taps his forearm. “I hear you know his role in the family business. Or maybe Timofey told you. If he’s letting you walk around his house un-fucking-supervised, then what the fuck do I know?”
Timofey must have told Sergey that Rodion showed me all the tattoos he had representing the people he’s killed. Is that why he’s so upset?
“You’re looking for Timofey?” I ask. “Not Rodion?”
His top lip curls. “I said ‘my son,’ didn’t I? You don’t think I know my own goddamn son?”
I’m not sure if he means to, but he keeps moving towards me. With every step closer he takes, I feel the need to retreat two. Sergey is unhinged.
“I’m just—” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know where either of them are anyway.”
“Figures,” Sergey mutters, stomping over to the bronze horse statue and kicking it again. “He brings you in here and runs shit into the ground. A distraction. I warned him, but he didn’t listen. Now, he’s making decisions that put us at risk.”
“Is this about the Albanians?” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I want to reel them back in. I wave my hands. “Never mind. I don’t need to know. Forget I said anything.”
But Sergey isn’t going to forget anytime soon. He spins on me, his back hunched as he closes in on me. “What did he tell you about the Albanians?”
“Nothing. I swear. I just—” I think I hear a thud somewhere outside, but it might be the beating of my own heart. Am I in actual danger? Would Timofey’s father kill me?
Apparently, I’m a distraction. Maybe he knows about Timofey going after Ashley. I don’t know what it has to do with anything, but Sergey is livid, and I’m the only person nearby for him to use as an outlet.
I have to get out of here.
“I think I hear Benjamin crying,” I lie. “I need to go.”
Sergey grabs my arm and holds me in place. “I don’t hear anything. Now, what did you say about the Albanians?”
My mouth is dry, and I can’t find the words. Anything I say will only make things worse.
He shakes my arm. “Speak!”
I yelp in fear and surprise—just as the front door bangs open again.
Sergey spins around as Timofey and Ashley slouch through the door, one of Ashley’s arms thrown over Timofey’s neck.
I use Sergey’s distraction to ease around him and then run for Timofey and Ashley.
“Everything okay?” I ask as calmly as I can.
I still don’t know if Sergey knows about Timofey’s excursion into Albanian territory tonight. Clearly, it could be a sore point, so body language will have to do for now.
I give them a wide-eyed greeting, scanning them from head to toe. They both have blood on them—splatters and spots on Timofey’s shirtsleeves and a bit across Ashley’s stomach—but I don’t see any wounds.
“Everything is amazing!” Ashley squeals. She doesn't sound like someone who just came out of a life or death situation. “What a night!”
“Yeah, big fun,” Timofey mutters. He shakes Ashley off gently, but with clear intent.
Ashley wavers, and I step in to fill the role of her crutch. She drapes herself heavily across my shoulders. “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me and sent in the big guns, Bagpipes.”
