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I give him the address. “Noon today.”
“Excellent. We have much to discuss.” He hangs up.
Roxanne strolls into my office shortly after. “When is it?”
“Noon. Are you sure you want to be there?” Part of me hopes she declines. It would be easier to keep her safe locked in the penthouse.
She snorts. “No fucking way am I sitting this out.”
I sigh. It would be easier, but it wouldn’t be her. This woman will be the cause of my ulcer. Maybe I’ll name it after her.
I pull a box from the drawer. She watches me retrieve a boring braided bracelet with a small wood heart.
“Your taste in jewelry is slipping, dear fiancé.” She giggles.
“But my taste in tracking devices isn’t. It’s less likely to get stolen if it looks like a cheap souvenir store castoff.”
She gives me a puzzled look.
I sigh. “Roxanne, I can’t lose you.”
I see tears welling up in her eyes when she nods. Gently, I put the band around her delicate ankle and crimp the connection with a pair of pliers.
The safehouse is a nondescript warehouse fortified with bulletproof glass and Kevlar-reinforced wall panels, as well as a hidden tunnel exit behind a large shelf off the office. There are beds, a bathroom, a small kitchen stocked with nonperishable food, and a small medical care area.
Volkov pulls up at noon precisely. He arrives with three others. One stays at their car while Volkov and his minions go through the time-consuming process of removing their weapons, followed by an enthusiastic pat down by the men. When everyone is satisfied, they enter the living room.
Volkov smiles warmly at Roxanne, which makes my blood boil.
“Ms. Johnson, lovely to see you again. Let me congratulate you in person for your upcoming nuptials.” He gives her a brief handshake before turning to me. “Mr. O’Connell, thank you for meeting with me.”
I give him a small grunt in response.
He chuckles. “The reason I asked to meet with you both is to discuss the changes to our organization given the recent restructuring, locally.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Before I forget my manners, allow me to introduce Yuri Petrovich, my second in command.” He nods to a behemoth of a man standing behind him. The behemoth inclines his chin slightly but otherwise doesn’t react. Volkov continues, “And this is Mikail, my son.” The younger man steps forward. Not as large as the behemoth, he’s not small by any stretch of the mind. His dark hair and lashes frame a familiar set of intelligent steel gray eyes. Handshakes are exchanged before everyone sits.
“Mikail is taking over the New York section of the organization. This business with Dimitri has shown that clearly Moscow needs to be more involved.”
Volkov looks briefly at Roxanne. “I called you both today because I want to establish a truce between our organizations. You would be well within your rights to seek revenge over the ordeal that your fiancée experienced, but I would like to make some assurances.”
He turns his attention to Roxanne. “Ms. Johnson. I want to assure you that I was unaware of the human trafficking that has been conducted under Dimitri’s leadership. This has stopped, and will not restart. Regrettably, we did find several more girls in a warehouse here in NYC. I have provided them medical care and offered to send them wherever they wish to go. Most chose to go home, though I do have several who want to stay in the US. I understand that your good friend Tasha works with refugees and thought perhaps she would be able to assist in this?”
Roxanne smiles. “Yes, that’s right up her alley.”
Mikail looks at me. “Mr. O’Connell. I realize the betrayal of my predecessor is too recent to discuss an alliance, but I would like to assure you that the Bratva wishes to have no conflict with your organization. In the future, I would like to meet again to discuss the potential for a more formalized arrangement that is mutually beneficial to both parties.”
I nod. “I would be interested in exploring this possibility.”
“Excellent,” says Volkov. “I won’t take up any more of your time today. Thank you for meeting me. Please contact me at the same number at any time.” He turns to Roxanne again. “Ms. Johnson, my organization owes you a great deal, as do I.”
Roxanne nods. The Russians file out.
“You know,” Roxanne says, “this was a lot of prep work for a five-minute meeting.”
I laugh. “Well, we can’t exactly email each other.”
The ride back is relaxed. Roxanne sits next to me, her head on my shoulder.
“You do realize that you accomplished everything you set out to do, right?” I ask her.
She smiles. “Not exactly the way I planned on it. But beggars can’t be choosers.”
“What would Nicole think?”
She stills for a minute before looking at me. “I’m not sure she would approve of the methods, but she’d sure as hell be happy with the results.”
The End
