Page 20 of Lord of Passion

"What's going on, cousin?"

"You've heard of Father's old torturer, I assume?"

I pull at my shirt collar and unbutton a couple to breathe easier. "You mean Bogdan?"

"Yes.” There's a deep-rooted dread in his voice, buried there from all the horror stories we'd been told as children. "Guess who found out we were in town and showed up to, and I quote, 'Keep his hand in?'"

"Oh, fuck me," I blurt. "Why didn't you tell him to leave?"

"You look at that psychotic old bastard and tell him to leave!" Alexsey shouts.

"You've been in the same room as him for… how long now?" I pull my collar away from my neck. I swear it's choking me.

"Fortunately, Satan is in his early eighties and got tired after a brisk six hours of torture." From the sound of it, queasy is winning out over terror for Alexsey. "I definitely learned a few new things."

"Sorry cousin, but I'm deeply grateful it was you and not me," I say fervently.

"Bogdan's the one that dug out Novikov's shipping location here," Alexsey says. I hear the flick of a lighter and a deep inhale.

"Are you smoking?" I ask incredulously.

"Don't tell my wife. I need something to take the edge off and it's either this or a gallon of vodka and I still have work to do here."

I put one hand up like I'm taking a vow. "No judgment here, do what you must. So do you think we need to take the central location to wipe them all out?"

"No, not yet," Alexsey exhales the smoke blissfully. "This isn't our territory. It's the Moscow Six's. We do business here with their blessing. Wiping out a competing syndicate will show disrespect. But if I have proof, that's something different."

"Understood," I say. "Let me know what you find, andRadi Boga,for god’s sake, come back to the hotel soon and take a shower. Perhaps drink heavily, get the memory of Bogdan out of your head."

"I'm looking forward to it," Alexsey says.

I spend the afternoon meeting with a few of ourBrigadiershere in Moscow. Our operations here are delicate. We own St. Petersburg and everything surrounding it, but my people in Moscow are here mainly for oversight and negotiation with the Six, so the meetings are fairly easy. No one else has heard anything about Novikov circling the other families.

It's been a long day; I yawn into my fist. I should have slept on the jet. I'm afraid it's too late now, though. A meeting with Viktor Volkov is always an extravaganza, an all-night negotiation where he must be plied with good food, expensive liquor and lavish compliments. Fortunately, he has a young wife that he's faithful to, so I've never been forced to arrange for escorts.

Watching the sun set, I shower and put on a black suit, a silver tie, and some heavy silver cufflinks embedded with diamonds. They were given to me by my parents for good luck.

Cracking my neck, I paste on my most pleasant expression and head for the hotel's bar.

"My friend! It has been too long!" Viktor comes at me with outstretched arms and exuberantly gives me a brisk round of the Russian three kisses, not as common these days from another man, but if it makes him happy, so be it.

"Viktor Volkov, it has been far too long," I say in a way that I hope is charming. "But a man as busy as you are is hard to pin down, eh?" I turn to his wife, a very sweet twenty-somethingwith blonde hair and a tremulous smile. "Polina Volkova, I hope you are well?" I do not attempt to give her the three kiss greeting.

Once we're seated and Volkov has his first vodka working through his system, he noticeably relaxes. "I hear you have been dealing with some unrest with your shipping routes from here to St. Petersburg," he says, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. It makes me wonder just how far those talks have extended between him and Novikov.

"Nothing we can't handle," I smile pleasantly. "In fact, my cousin Alexsey is here as well, handling some of the more delicate matters of the issue."

Volkov's bushy grey eyebrows go up with that comment and I know he's quite clear about what I mean. Alexsey is not our Bratva's chief torturer, but he does enjoy keeping his skills sharp, so to speak.

We do the requisite social talk. I ask about his family, his daughter who is close to Polina's age just gave birth to a boy. His son, the apple of his eye, is about to graduate from Cambridge University. He asks after mine.

This is the part of the dance with our Russian business associates that always drives me mad. I prefer the American approach of getting straight to the heart of the issue, hashing out any concerns or details and getting the goddamn thingsigned.

But not here.

There is protocol, and things must be observed and be done in a certain way to make sure all the niceties have been observed. I used to sit in meetings with my father when he would negotiate for hours with endless glasses of vodka and hearty laughter over stories I knew he'd heard half a dozen times before.

I learned patience, thanks to my father, and I will exercise it. Still, by the time we leave the bar to head to the restaurant, I'm hiding a foul mood, which is not improved by seeing Sergei standing across the lobby with Caroline. They're talking animatedly, and she throws back her head and laughs as he gazes at her admiringly. With her high heels on, they're exactly the same height.