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“She stays here.” Mammoth man points to Giselle.
“No way! He’s kidnapping my friend,” Giselle says.
He has a rapid conversation with the bouncer in Russian. I can’t understand a word of it, and they are both glaring at each other so I can’t tell who’s winning.
“I don’t want to go up there.” I try to intervene in the conversation, but they’re ignoring me.
I glance up the stairs. Is Roman up there?
Their conversation keeps going, Giselle is yelling at them, and I’m too busy staring up at the closed door at the top of the stairs.
What if he is there?
How the hell did this all get so out of hand?
Roman
Yefim Kozlov fightsback a belch as he rambles on about his trip from Moscow to Boston. He presses his fist to his fat lips and lets out the gas he’s been unable to suppress.
“But we’re here now,” he finally finishes. “And after talking with your father, I know we are going to become fast friends here in Boston.” Our families aren’t enemies back home, but that’s not enough to deem either of us a friend.
I look down the length of the table where we’re all seated. He faces me from the other end; his son flanks him on one side and my two men are on the other.
“My family doesn’t have control over the ports. I want to make that clear to you.” I tap my fingers on the tabletop. “I can’t help you get in and out.”
He shakes his head. “No, no, I understand. It’s your warehouses I’m interested in. I need a safe place to do business and until we have our own buildings, I’m afraid I’m at the mercy of my friends.”
I raise an eyebrow. “We aren’t friends yet.” I pick up the bottle of vodka sitting on the tray in front of me and pour six shots. After I take one for myself, I gesture for my man at the door to come serve the others.
“But I’m always open to talk about new business.” I raise my glass and once the others do as well, I throw the vodka back. It’s not enough to take the edge off this meeting, but it will have to do.
“Good. Then let’s talk.” Yefim slides his glass down the table. I refill it and hand it to Maxim to bring to him.
Maxim places it in front of the old man. “There’s three warehouses on the port you’d be interested in,” he tells him then sits back down.
“Three?” Yefim nods. “Are they in good locations? Hidden away, not so obvious.”
“We have connections with the security there, it’s safe,” Maxim explains. Since he moved to Boston with his new wife, he’s been handling most of those connections. “Unless something too suspicious is being brought in and out of the warehouses.” He glances at me then grabs the bottle to pour himself another shot.
“Suspicious how?” Radomir, the son, asks with raised eyebrows. “Do you want an inventory list of what we bring through there?”
“No.” Maxim shakes his head. “I’m just laying out what sort of protection there is.”
“You know, I brought my whole family with me. My wife, my son here, and my daughter, Anastasia.” Yefim switches the topic, leaning back in his chair. “She’s a good girl.”
Maxim glances at me then grabs the bottle again.
“You are unmarried, yes?” he asks, but he already knows, or he wouldn’t be bringing up his daughter. A marriage would solidify our connection and give him even more protection not only here in Boston, but New York as well.
“Roman.” My man at the door cuts in before I can answer. When I look up, he’s holding the door open and Zakhar—Yefim’s nephew—stalks into the room. He has his hand around Billie’s arm, pushing her into the room with him.
I’m out of my chair in an instant. I want to rip out his throat, but I hold onto my control.
“What is this?” I ask Yefim.
“I have no idea. Zakhar?” Yefim looks irritated by the interruption. Maybe he has nothing to do with this.
“Roman.” Billie says my name like it’s an apology. What could she possibly have done?
