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Leo leads the way. He’s in charge of the finances, so it was only natural I’d bring him along since I expect to spend the next hour talking about numbers. My brother is a mathematical genius who can calculate impossibly long equations in the blink of an eye.
In another life, he could have been a world-renowned mathematician, making life-altering discoveries and doing something as ridiculous as solving for the end of Pi. I guess that just wasn’t meant to be.
Lushenko, the club owner, meets us just outside his office door. It’s tucked away in the very back of the establishment, far from all the noise and sweaty mass of bodies. There’s a sign attached to a dainty little chain drawn taut in front of the entryway that reads:EMPLOYEES ONLY.
“You’re Andrei Nicolaevich?” Lushenko asks me gruffly. He sticks his greasy palm out to shake. His breath smells of cigarette smoke and garlic, horrendous enough to make my stomach churn.
Roman shakes his hand, smiling wide and wearing his natural charm like honor. “That’s me,” he lies easily. “Thank you for having us.”
“You sounded different on the phone.”
“I’m afraid my cell service can be a bit choppy at times.” Roman grins, totally calm and at ease for the sake of my security.
I was initially against Roman going to meetings using my name, but it’s become a bit of a necessity. Ever since I kidnapped—and returned—Sandra Antonova, we’ve been hearing rumors from some of our boots on the ground. The Antonovs are jumpier now, more likely to shoot first and ask questions later. Their retaliation could come at any point, which is why my brothers have been so insistent on accompanying me everywhere.
Especially after I told them about what happened at the bathhouse—attempted castration aside.
So now, Roman’s been masquerading as me. Samuil is my muscle and protection. Leo is there to mean mug anyone who dares look at us the wrong way. And Damien… Well, I left him at the taxi depot to run things while I’m out. I didn’t feel like bringing the bastard along. This is Nicolaevich business, no matter how hard he tries to get himself involved.
“You received our proposal?” I ask Lushenko, cutting straight to the chase.
He welcomes us into his office. The room is cramped, filled with empty liquor bottles and way too many loose documents. It takes a lot to make me claustrophobic, but this place does the trick. All the money and attention went to making the front of the club, the employee area just an afterthought.
“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that much,” he says as he plops down in his rickety old office chair. The whole place smells like booze. Not a great sign, considering I want to go into business with him. If there’s one thing I absolutely abhor, it’s when people don’t know where to draw the line between business and pleasure.
“Does that mean you’re in?” Samuil asks bluntly. He’s never bothered with manners. Even when we were young boys, Samuil was always prone to mouthing off—sometimes to the wrong people.
“Hold your horses,” Lushenko grumbles, looking to Roman. “Youdoknow I answer to the Antonovs, right?”
Roman takes a seat, crossing one leg over the other with an unbothered ease. “I’m aware. How much do you pay them in kickback, again?”
“Almost forty percent.”
Roman whistles. “Greedy fuckers.”
“You can say that again,” the club owner grumbles. “They demanded five percent more this year, can you believe it?”
“Why didn’t you say no?” Leo asks. It’s a dumb question, but I told him to ask. We’re playing a game with poor Lushenko here, piling onto his pre-existing issues with the Antonovs. We just need the man tothinkit was all his idea, that this bitterness he feels comes from within.
Lushenko scoffs. “Youtry saying no to those tyrants. That’s the quickest way to end up dead in a ditch.”
“You’re afraid of them,” I say.
“Fuck yeah, I’m afraid of them. What sane man wouldn’t be?”
“Then why did you agree to see us?” Roman asks coolly. “You know the trouble you’d be in if they found out about this meeting.”
Lushenko reaches into his drawer and pulls out a thick cigar, quickly cutting off the end before reaching for his lighter. It sparks, but the flame never lights. For the sake of saving us all the time, I step forward and pull out my own, lighting his cigar for him. He nods appreciatively, sucking in a lungful of smoke.
“Your proposal has piqued my interest,” he says. “It almost sounds too good to be true, which is why I wanted to discuss it with you in person, Andrei.”
Roman’s eyes flash. He leans forward slightly in his seat. “I’m an open book.”
“You’re really willing to give me sixty percent? That’s extremely generous. Suspiciously so.”
“It’s as you said,” my brother replies. “They keep taking more and more of your business’ cut every year for quote protection unquote. I know the risks you’re taking, the sort of trouble you might face if you’re caught. You’d be doing the brunt of the work, and I believe in playing fair.” Roman glances up at me, almost as if for approval. I went over what to say in the car before we got here. He’s hamming it up a bit too much, but at least he’s getting my points across.
Lushenko exhales slowly, a thick cloud of smoke spilling from his lips. “Your shipments… They’re reliable?”
