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Sabrina eyes me as I toss the keys to the valet.
“You clean up nice.”
“Likewise.”
She’s all in white today—white trousers, a white turtleneck, and a white coat belted at the waist, with the collar turned up against the cold. As she stands in front of the ornate stone facade of the hotel, thick flakes of snow drifting down around her and settling in her dark hair, I think how exotic she looks, and yet perfectly at home.
“Ready?” I say, taking the briefcase from the backseat.
“Of course.”
She tucks her hand in the crook of my arm and we ascend the steps together.
We take the elevator to the eighteenth floor where we meet Neve Markov in a private suite overlooking the river.
Ilsa opens the door. I think she intends to greet us with a handshake, but the moment Sabrina sees her, she throws her arms around Ilsa’s waist and hugs her hard. Ilsa can’t help smiling and hugging her back.
“Good to see you,” she says. “You know my sister, Neve, and this is Simon Severov.”
“Rad nashei vstreche,”Simon says to Sabrina.Nice to meet you.He shakes her hand and then mine, though we’ve met before.
“Please sit down,” Neve gestures to a small, striped sofa. She and her fiancé sit opposite us. There’s room for Ilsa on the same couch, but she takes the armchair to the left of us instead.
I set the briefcase on the table between us and open it, turning the case so Neve and Simon can see the neat packets of pills shaped like yellow lightning bolts.
“And what is exactly is in this?” Simon asks. His accent is thicker than Neve’s, but his English is good for someone who went to school here in Moscow.
“It’s proprietary,” Sabrina replies.
“Then how can I test it?” Simon says, his upper lip curling slightly.
Ilsa shoots him a look, her jaw tight. I suspect she’s more annoyed by the fact that he’s speaking for her sister than by the questions themselves.
“It’s already been tested in the best clubs in the city,” I say calmly. “We’re selling out faster than we can make more.”
“Will there be a problem getting consistent delivery?” Neve inquires.
Neve Markov has a low, clear voice that seems to cut through the space between us. She has an air of calm authority, a way of sitting still with her hands neat and immobile in her lap, only her eyes moving. I’ve heard other Bratva speak disparagingly of her, laughing at the idea of a femalePakhanwith her sister as lieutenant. I doubt they’d talk the same way if she were in the room. There’s nothing laughable about her, not in person.
I assure her, “If we make a deal for regular transactions, you’ll get your orders.”
“Good.” She nods. “Once a month then, to start. Is that agreeable?”
It’s more than agreeable. The Markovs are flush with cash—a steady order will help fund our operation as we grow.
“Forty a pill?” I say. “American dollars?”
She nods.
Molniyare-sells for sixty each, an astronomical price compared to the Netherlands or the UK, but that’s the cost of party drugs in Russia. The materials are difficult to smuggle in, the bribes ruinous, the penalties draconian if you’re caught. We could all receive a life sentence in Siberia just for meeting here today.
Ilsa hoists the black duffle bag next to her chair, setting it on the coffee table. She unzips the bag, showing me the stacks within. I can count the money at a glance—a hundred bills per strap, $10,000 per stack, a hundred stacks total, for a cool million in cash.
American dollars are more convenient than rubles. They take less space, and can be used in payment cross-border. Anyone will take them, happily.
Our business complete, Sabrina takes the money and Ilsa the pills. Neve brings the tea service from the side table, setting it out between us.
The large silver samovar is filled with traditional Russian Caravan. In the old days when the camel caravans took sixteen months to bring tea from China, it would arrive flavored with smoke from the campfires along the route. Nowadays the flavor is added intentionally via oxidization.
