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There are other pieces here, too. Necklaces, a few pairs of earrings, a pearl brooch. I have half a mind to ask Erik where he got all of this. What poor woman did he steal from? Did he swipe these things from his wife? Maybe from a daughter or sister? I have a hard time believing he held a jewelry store up at gunpoint, so it’s really the only reasonable explanation.
Waiting around for an appraiser would take too long, but I know for a fact Roman knows his way around jewels. He’s pretty good at figuring out price points, especially considering how he wastes his money on buying fancy presents for his flavors of the week.
“Fists,” I say, “call the Negotiator in.”
All it takes is for Samuil to stick his head out the door and bark a quickget the fuck in here. Roman arrives not thirty seconds later, smoothing the lapels of a suit jacket.
“You called?” he says with an overly chipper grin. “Did you get lonely in here?”
I ignore his joke and gesture to the jewelry on the table. “How much would you say this is worth?”
My younger brother saunters over, ignoring Erik outright. He whistles as he inspects the pieces. “These are pretty. How old would you say they are?”
“A couple of them have been in my family for generations,” Erik explains. “Keepsakes.”
Roman hums. “Dude, this one here is an antique. I’m talking Romanov era.”
I drum my fingers against the desk. “How much do you think we could get for it?”
“In total, probably eight-hundred thousand rubles.”
I click my tongue. “Looks like you’re a hundred thousand short, Belov.”
Erik’s eyes widen. “Please, this is all I have left. A hundred thousand rubles is nothing to you people.”
“Money is money,” I state coldly. “Count your lucky stars I haven’t left you out in a ditch somewhere. You’re just going to have to figure it out.”
“I’ve already given you everything I have.”
“Then you shouldn’t have been gambling at one of our dens.”
“The game was rigged,” Erik grumbles.
I will neither confirm nor deny his accusation. There’s a reason our gambling dens are underground and well-hidden. The house is guaranteed to make bank off suckers like him. It’s obviously not meant to be fair, but they should know that going in. Eric tested his luck and came out a loser. It’s not my fault he didn’t have the good sense to walk away.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, putting the ball in his court. “Would you prefer it if I take you out back and shoot you between the eyes? Or are you going to pay me back what you owe? I’ve already given you plenty of time.”
Eric puts his hands up, like he’s gesturing for me to slow down or stop. “I’ll come up with something. I’m sure there has to be a bill or two I could push. I’ll get you your money, I swear.”
“That’s what you said last time. Why should I believe you?”
The poor man looks like he’s about to be sick. I decide not to push him any further. It’s not like the Bratva is hurting for a measly hundred thousand rubles. Besides, the sooner I clean up this business, the sooner I can go and watch my favorite ballerina.
“Mark my words, this is your last chance. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, I understand. Thank you.”
I gesture to Samuil. “Get him the hell out of my face.”
We go through the usual rigmarole. Bag over head, escorted out roughly. At this point, I feel like I’m going through the motions. My days are dragging out longer, slower. There will never be a shortage of people who owe us. There used to be a thrill in the chase, a sick, twisted satisfaction that came with a full repayment.
Now? Not so much.
Roman turns toward me and laughs “It could have been worse. Remember that guy who offered to pay us in fruit baskets?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me. We had to break his kneecaps to get the point across.”
“I’m assuming you want me to sell these off somewhere?”
