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The room fell silent as everyone understood.
Chapter 23
Nikolai
The night of my dinner with Vladimir was a dark and stormy one. As our driver, the same one who’d picked me up off the street with Damien about a week prior, made his way along some unmarked roads in deep Brooklyn, somewhere by the Bay Ridge docks, I thought about all the things that could go wrong that night. Surely Vladimir would know that I wasn’t going down without a fight; unless he assumed me to be weak and willing to sacrifice myself for my Grandpa’s safety.
Svetlana flicked her cigarette out the window, which was rolled down and letting in a frigid cold. Igor played with some lock-picking contraptions to my left. To my right, Damien sat and stared out the window. I could feel him trying to avoid me, despite sitting right next to me. He must have still been feeling badly and taking all the blame for the situation which he didn’t need to do. I didn’t even blame him for ending our brief but intense romance.
Things end.
I’d always known that.
That night, it was very possible my own life would end, if things did not go according to plan.
Vladimir had sent a card to the Obelensky manner.
My dear cousin, please understand that you must come dine alone. Don’t bring any
riff-raff.
And so Damien and the family would drop me off under the illusion that I’d be facing Vladimir myself, ready to accept my fate in exchange for him releasing my grandfather.
I gritted my teeth. It angered me that the man assumed I’d be so weak, or so stupid.
Igor had successfully broken into the cleaner’s business and planted Mr. Ivanov’s sonic tracking device in Vladimir’s maid’s outfit. We had gotten the total layout of his space, and had identified a cell in the basement where someone—likely Grandpa—was being held in a room, guarded by two mafiosos.
Finally, the car stopped outside of a metal gate, wet with that day’s icy rainfall.
“Is this is?” I asked.
“It is,” Damien replied, still not making eye contact. He opened his door and got out of the car. I followed him. He looked up toward a camera installed to the right of the gate and waved—knowing he’d soon be destroying that camera and breaking in. He then squeezed my hand, to my surprise. “You’ll be okay,” he said. “You have that Obelensky blood in you. You know what to do.”
I walked up toward the gate itself and pressed the intercom. “This is Nikolai Mikhaylov,” I said into the receiver.
“Who?” a man grunted back.
“Nikolai Obelensky, to you,” I replied. Of course, the fact that I’d taken my father’s name probably came as a shock to these people, amongst whom the name Obelensky was so famous.
“See you soon,” Svetlana said, hanging slightly out the car window. Damien, now seated in the back of the car, winked at me before he closed the door. I didn’t know how to feel.
The gates creaked open, granting access to the dark and foreboding world beyond its walls. The giant mansion, hidden amongst the factories along the port, had an ominous feel to it. It looks as if it were in fact made of shipping containers, although I assumed that was just a facade to help it blend in, so regular Brooklynites who might somehow find themselves beyond the gated walls don’t expect it to be the center for the Russian mafia.
As I reached the front door, a large man in a suit swung it open and gestured for me to come in.
“Vladimir is waiting for you,” he said. I stood in the doorway as the man patted me down, checking for weapons. The vile of poison Roman had given me was hidden discretely in my underwear.
After all this trouble with Damien, I’d bedamnedbefore I let anyone else get in my undies.
We were in a dimly lit foyer that felt lavish and polished compared to the mansion’s rugged exterior. There was a heavy scent of cigars and even aged wood. The floors beneath us were polished marble and reflected the dim lights.
“All good,” the suited man said to a butler, I supposed Vladimir’s version of Mr. Ivanov.
“He can go.”
“Great,” the butler replied. “Follow me.” He was tall and stoic and in a perfectly tailored suit. As I walked behind him through the corridor, I couldn’t help but notice the occasional security camera, a subtle reminder of the vigilant eyes that watched over every corner of the mansion.
I wondered when the poisoned water would kick in.
