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“Tell that to the three pretty ladies I'm taking out to dinner tonight.” I'm not sure what my face does, but I'm sure it accurately reflects my disgust because Roman then says, “I know, right? They're into sharing or whatever. I bet you're jealous.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “I'm not jealous. I'm just worried about my man whore of a brother catching an STD.”
“Aww, youdocare!”
“Get out before I shoot you between the eyes.”
Roman chuckles. “I'm going, I'm going. You need to learn to relax, Leo. How about I set you up with one of my dates tonight?”
“Fuck off.”
He shrugs as he starts toward the exit. “Suit yourself. I'll leave you here to count your coins, Ebeneezer.”
“Knock it off with that shit.”
Roman laughs his way out the door. Truth be told, I’m still reeling from Nikita’s sweet, wet warmth. Her moans of pleasure and submission still echo in the back of my brain. I went up to that cabin to clear my mind and figure out a way to catch the skimmer. I certainly didn’t expect to find a hot damsel stranded on the side of the road, a damsel whose body sang whenever I touched her. I’ll stick to counting my coins, thank you, and wondering if our paths will ever cross again.
* * *
I stay at the taxi depot until the night shift manager, Arman, clocks in. We hired him many years ago, when our taxi company was still learning to walk and our ventures into the criminal underworld were nothing more than an idea. He's not much of a talker, but I think that's one of the things I like most about him. When Arman comes to work, I never have to worry about wasting my breath with pointless small talk.
He's a diligent man. Always shows up on time, never complains about the late nights or long hours. And what's more, he never sticks his nose where it doesn't belong. Arman doesn't ask questions about my brothers' oddly timed comings and goings, nor does he seem particularly interested in finding out. All in all—the perfect employee.
The rest of the night shift shows up not long after. I know each and every one of them by name. There's Vlad whose breath reeks of garlic and onions, but he's never without a smile. Georgi, a kid mid-way through college who works here part-time to earn a little extra on the side. And then there's Kostya. He's the shiftiest son of a bitch I've ever laid my good eye on, but he puts in the hours and never so much as grumbles.
They're a good group, good enough to manage the taxi company while my brothers and I get some well-deserved rest. There have admittedly been a couple of times when I questioned if one of the skimmers could be amongst their ranks, but none of them know about my family's involvement with the Bratva. My brothers and I have been careful to draw the line between our two worlds, cautious not to involve those who have no business knowing. Besides, I doubt any of them have the balls to steal from the likes of me. They're working men, not crooks.
“One of our drivers called out sick,” I inform Arman as I pull on my black winter overcoat. “And six of our cars were pulled in for maintenance, so you're working with a smaller fleet tonight. The cold snap this morning shocked the engines.”
Arman nods. “Thanks for letting me know, boss.”
“Call me if anything unexpected crops up.”
“Will do.”
And that's that. Nice and painless.
I leave through the back doors of the depot and head to my car. It's nothing special, just the latest model of the Lada Granta in a sleek jet black. As joint heads of the Bratva with his wife, Andrei doesn't particularly approve of us being flashy. Frankly, I agree with him. Showboating is the fastest way to draw the wrong kind of attention. My younger brothers
understand this to varying degrees—Roman being the worst of the bunch with his weakness for parties and arm candy.
The drive home takes less than twenty minutes, most of the day's traffic thinned out into the wee hours of the evening. A thin layer of snow has started to build up on the pavement, a light flurry sweeping over Moscow. Many businesses have taken to putting up colorful twinkling lights ahead of the busy holiday season, little bulbs winking brighter than the stars above.
I'm only a few blocks away from my apartment complex when I spot something up ahead. A familiar face. Erik Belov, standing on the edge of the pavement, looking small and meek under his grey overcoat, his hair still a mess from the earlier feather ruffling in Andrei’s office. He’s waiting for someone. A yellow taxi pulls over across the street and honks twice. One of the backseat passenger windows slides down, and a woman’s hand waves at Erik. I notice the look of surprise on his face, recognizing her. Suddenly, he is illuminated with relief.
I slow down to let him cross, holding back a smile as I wonder if he can even see me at this point. He glances my way and to the right, then bolts straight for the taxi, scuttling across the street like a scared little lemming.
Shaking my head slowly, I drive right by. It's none of my concern. He’s free of me until Friday at seven p.m. There's nothing I want more than to go home, kick up my feet, and help myself to a finger of premium vodka until I catch a glimpse of the passenger —merely a fleeting moment that rattles me to the core.
A young woman. Blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, her locks so light and soft the strands almost look silver.
I’ve seen her before. I must’ve. But I’m farther up the road now, and there’s enough traffic flowing both ways that I can’t turn the car around to have a better look without catching some cop’s eye. It’s a double continuous line here, and I’ve already spotted the traffic police stationed on the right side just ahead. These boys need to get their quota of fines on a daily basis, and I have no intention of giving them any more money than what they’re skimming off the rest of these fools.
Nikita. She reminded me of Nikita. It couldn’t be her though. She lives up north. I left her behind days ago. Damn, she really left a mark on me since I keep seeing her face everywhere I look.
It's best if we never see each other again.
Chapter 3
