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“It looks like they’re meeting at a restaurant downtown,” Uncle Dima says, checking his phone. “In a public place in clear sight of witnesses. Smart. Much less likely to devolve into violence.”
I swallow at the sticky lump lodged in the back of my throat. “You don’t think it’ll come to that, do you?”
“No,” Dad says gravely. “But it never hurts to be vigilant. This is a world of cloak and dagger, sweetheart. The sooner you learn to navigate it, the better your chances of survival.”
* * *
It’s a nice restaurant. Spacious and bright. Nothing at all like those old American gangster movies I grew up watching with Mom—ScarfaceandThe Godfatherare some of her favorites. Everything about our surroundings screams welcoming and warm… And I have a feeling this was all Andrei’s design.
I recognize a few of the faces seated around the table. Lower ranking lieutenants from smaller factions, their positions afforded to them as a sort of reward for their continued loyalty to the Antonovs. Though their mere presence here today might suggest such loyalty is thin and performative at best. Andrei’s brothers are all here, too, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
Andrei is the first to spot me. He stops mid-conversation and rises from his seat. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
The rest of the men at the table stand, too, most of them appearing shocked. I’ve caught them in the act, negotiating with one of my family’s enemies. I’ve already taken note of all their faces, their names. There’s no doubt in my mind they understand they’re in deep shit, but I’ll deal with them later.
Right now, there’s only one man who holds my focus.
I help myself to a vacant chair, leaning back casually as I cross one leg over another. My guards stand behind me, my own personal army. I know it’s bad form at meetings like this to bring along your muscle—protocol and respect calls for hired guns to remain outside while negotiations take place—but I’m not in the mood to play by everyone’s rules. If Andrei wants to challenge my power, I’m not above playing dirty.
“My people tell me this was an open invite,” I say calmly. “So I’m here to listen to what you have to say, Nicolaevich.” I smile, hoping it looks as malevolent as I want it to. “Go on. Don’t be shy. I’m curious to hear what you’re offeringAntonovallies.” I stress my family name to make the weasels squirm.
Nothing is more gratifying than seeing the muscles in his jaw tick. A lesser man might have folded, but Andrei isn’t a lesser man. If anything, the hard look he gives me excites me.
“We’re here to air our grievances,” he says. “The Antonovs have run Moscow for far too long, and it’s time to shake things up.”
I laugh dryly. “And you think you’re the man for the job?”
“I know I am. You and your family have taken every last crumb for yourself, expecting the little guys to kowtow to you.”
“We’re keeping the peace,” I argue.
“It feels like you’re being greedy,” he counters.
Something about the way he says this irritates me. Greedy? That’s like the pot calling the kettle black. Is he not here to grab himself a bigger slice of the pie?
“Everyone at this table has been given what they’ve earned,” I inform him, casting a cold, hard glare at every single man here. “If anyone has any grievances with the way I run things, by all means, tell me. No need to go scurrying around behind my back like rats. We’re all grown-ups here, so let’s act like it, hm?”
There’s a long, tense pause. Dad taught me how to command a room, but Uncle Dima taught me how to cut a man down with words alone. It’s all about confidence and delivery. Nobody here seems to have the guts to talk back, which I’ll admit comes with a twisted sense of pleasure.
“It’s not that we have a problem with how you run things,” someone pipes up, a man in his late fifties. Trevnich, I think his name is. I’ve only seen him a handful of times, and Dad rarely ever mentions him. He’s a smaller player, owns a handful of massage parlors downtown. The Antonovs use them as a part of our money laundering network. They generate a great deal of money for us, and I’m fairly certain they get to keep a good chunk of it.
I arch a brow, leaning forward against the edge of the table. “Please enlighten me. I’m all ears.”
Trevnich casts a nervous look to his compatriots. “We have no problem with how the Antonovs run things. We’ve enjoyed peace and prosperity for years. It’syouwe have a problem with.”
His admission takes me by surprise, but I reveal nothing. “Me?”
“We have no problem working under the arrangement Mikhail set out,” he says, “but we’ll be damned if we’ll follow the likes of you.”
I grit my teeth, ignoring the thunderous rush of blood past my ear. “The likes of you?” I echo. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Trevnich dares to give me a once-over, practically dripping with condescension. “The role you’ve inherited,Ms.Antonova… It’s a high-pressure job. You must make hard choices.”
I cross my arms. “I’m more than aware of that.”
“But women, you see… I think they’re a bit tooemotionalfor this kind of job. Best to leave it to the men, no?” Trevnich has the audacity to smile at me like we’re friends. “Stress could do terrible things to a pretty face such as yours.”
I genuinely can’t believe what I’m hearing. My first instinct is to yell at him, to call him out on his bullshit. Anything Dad could do, I can do better. He taught me everything he knows and then some, preparing me for the day I officially took over. Sure, I’m still learning the ropes, but IknowI’m more than capable of filling my father’s shoes. But if I call Trevnich out on his blatant sexism, I’d be falling right into his trap. I’d beemotional.
