11. Konstantin
ELEVEN
Konstantin
I fucking hate Andronov.
Listening to him on the phone makes my jaw tense, and if he were in the room with me, I wouldn’t be able to pretend to be polite. He prattles on about the “stock” he’s got all ready and willing to hop on a plane to New Bristol. America! The land of freedom and opportunities, and where young, naive women get their dreams destroyed.
I shouldn’t care. They were the ones dumb enough to sign up for such an obvious scam. But it leaves a bad taste in my mouth regardless, and even if I didn’t have irrational moral qualms, I’d still hate Andronov and his condescending tone.
“Let me know when and where the cargo will be,” I tell him with barely concealed annoyance, before hanging up on him. I don’t know why Petrov is so eager to get into this line of business.
I probably should meet with Pavone to discuss this. The Pavone family runs most of the flesh trade in the city, and I don’t want to step on any toes.
The other thing I need to do… I sigh and sit down on the couch again, opening a small notebook. I’ve written in cypher, a mixture of Cyrillic and Latin letters, with a code only I know. I’m writing down all my suspicions on possible leaks within the group.
Not leaks to the FBI or local police. No, I need to know which of the men are still directly reporting to Petrov, and which of them are reporting to my father.
I wouldn’t be able to do anything about them, but I’d know how to direct the flow of information.
It all gets derailed though, because my mind keeps going back to the new line of business we’re about to enter. Where the fuck will we keep these people? How do we line up buyers, and how do I ensure none of them blab to the authorities?
I’ll probably need to find more contacts with the New Bristol police and more people to bribe.
My frustration grows, and I send quick texts to Nikolai and Yura to come to my office. I need to tell them about this so they can get started on all the groundwork.
Nikolai arrives first, whistling cheerfully as he enters the room. The relaxed demeanor dissipates when he sees me, though, and he eyes me warily. “Uh oh. What’s wrong?” he asks. He starts to close the door, but Yura is on his heels.
I hear Yura say something to the guard on duty—Stepan—about his new shoes.
“Yura!” I bark, annoyed by the delay.
Yura snaps to attention and waves to Stepan before closing the door behind him. “Sorry, Kotya,” he mumbles.
I shake my head. “If I tell you to come over immediately, I mean immediately . Don’t fucking dawdle.”
Yura scowls at me and says, “Yes, Boss.”
Nikolai’s eyebrows have shot up, but he echoes, “Yeah. Okay.” He heads to the couch to sit down, then looks back at me. “What has your panties in a twist?”
“I contacted Andronov.” I state. “This is not up for debate. We will do this. I need you to start looking into a suitable storage location. I’ve got a few potential buyers lined up already, but we’ll need to expand the network if we want to make this all worth it.”
Nikolai stares at me. “What the fuck, Konstantin?” he asks. “You’re getting us involved in the flesh trade without even talking to us about it? And you expect us to fall in line without a word?”
“Yes,” I say, folding my arms in front of myself. “I expect my subordinates to do as I say, and not undermine my leadership of the group.” I look between Yuri and Nikolai. “Unless you think I’m not fit to lead?”
Nikolai’s expression turns into an ugly glower. “It isn’t that, and you know it,” he snaps. “I sort of doubt Giulio fucking Pavone is going to let us waltz in and steal business, for one, and two… Did you forget what me and Yuri said? Sierra would rather castrate us than go along with this. I thought you wanted her on our side.”
Anger surges through me. “I am not going to base my business decision on the opinion of a fucking woman,” I growl, although my heart hammers as I say it.
She’s not simply a woman.
She’s smart, and beautiful, and carrying my child.
Yura bursts out laughing. “If she’s just some woman, why the fuck did you brand her? Without me present? You were so sure of her, you didn’t even ask me.”
Nikolai frowns at that, but he says, “Yura’s right. And like I said… Pavone. Or did you forget that we aren’t the only players in town? I can’t believe you’re acting like this because?—”
“Think very carefully how you want to finish that sentence,” I snarl at Nikolai.
His lips purse together, but he falls silent.
“I think it’s bullshit,” Yura says. “I don’t want to do it. We’re doing fine now. If you want more business, we can look at other avenues. I met somebody who does cars while in jail—total freak for them, would probably have fucked a car if it was a nice vintage Bentley. He gave me a few tips on how to move parts?—”
“We’re dealing with Andronov!” I shout at him. “If you don’t like it, get the fuck out of here. I don’t need anyone around who can’t fall in line.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to think carefully about what you’re saying,” Nikolai mutters, but he sounds resigned enough to keep me from snapping back at him. “Yeah, whatever. We’ll do this shit until you wake the fuck up and realize how fucking dumb it is.”
The thing is, I don’t want to do it. I’d rather start a chop-shop operation than a human trafficking ring.
But this is what my father wants, and he gets what he wants.
“We need a place to store the cargo,” I repeat. “Nikolai, you can handle that. Yura, we need proper documentation for everything that’s coming into the country.”
Yura sneers at me. “Fine. I’ll look into documents.” He gets up and flips me off as he storms out.
I look at Nikolai. “Are you going to make an immature gesture, too?”
“No,” he says. “But I’ll be thinking some real immature things. And some mature ones, too, since you seem to have forgotten—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head before asking coldly, “May I be excused, boss?”
“Get out of here,” I bark.
“Happily,” Nikolai mutters. He stalks out, too, and he shuts the door a little harder than necessary.
I hadn’t expected either of them to be happy, but I also hadn’t thought they’d be so openly defiant.
If I don’t have a grip on either of them, how can I claim to have control over this branch of the Voronkov Bratva?
I sigh and sit down again, fumbling with my phone.
First I send a text to my father.
A sends his regards.
He’ll know what I’m talking about.
I want to go lie down, or to find Sierra and take comfort in her arms, but I know there’s more work to be done.
I look through my contacts until I find the person I need.
Damien Rossi . Giulio Pavone’s consigliere, who seems to do more of the work in the organization than Pavone himself. I wonder, sometimes, if Rossi is the real power in the Pavone family.
I refuse to be like that. I won’t defer to my underlings.
Rossi picks up after two rings. “Voronkov?” he asks, suspicious.
“Rossi,” I greet. “It was great to meet you the other day. I had a few business questions I wanted to discuss, and?—”
“Who’s that?” I hear in the background of Rossi’s call.
Rossi sighs in exasperation. “It’s Konstantin Voronkov. We met him at?—”
“Ooh, the party with the gross canapes. Why did they use that mustard? We’re rich enough that we can afford good food!”
That’s Giulio Pavone. I remember how he’d complained about the food, although everything had tasted fine to me.
“Put it on speaker,” Pavone says, and unlike my underlings, Rossi obeys. “Yo, Voronkov! I was just thinking about you.”
I’m caught off guard. “You were? Why?”
“Well, I’ve been palling around with some Russians, but I figured, more connections couldn’t hurt.”
If he already wants something from me, then I have leverage. “I am open to connections,” I say, putting as much cheer into my voice as I can.
“Right, right.” Pavone goes quiet. “But you called first. Why’d he call, Damien?”
There’s another exasperated noise. “I don’t know, Giulio. You interrupted the call before we could speak.”
This is exactly the kind of dynamic I don’t want with my subordinates. It’s one thing to share a woman—to share Sierra—but I am not going to joke around in front of potential allies or let them get in the way of business.
“I’ve been thinking of entering a new business venture,” I say. “I have product that you might want.”
Now they’re both silent. I wait for them to process my offer.
“No,” Rossi says, at the same time as Pavone says, “Let’s go on a double date.”
It’s my turn to be speechless.
“A double date?” I ask, confused. “With who?”
“You are not going on a date,” Rossi says.
“It’ll be me, my wife, you, and whoever you want to bring. A woman, unless you’re like Cresci and are shacking up with a man. But Vanessa?—”
“Is not going on a date with you,” Rossi states, and his usual deadpan voice is angry now.
“She’s my wife! And you were saying she needs more friends.”
I can practically hear the smarmy grin on Pavone’s voice.
“Okay,” I answer. “I will bring my… ah, girlfriend.” I tense up, imagining Sierra meeting a man like Pavone. “But we do not discuss business in front of the women.”
“Duh, of course not. Vanessa would cry if we did that. But I want to get to know anybody I get in business with first.” Pavone bursts out laughing, like he told some great big joke.
I wonder about the relationship he has with his wife. He sounds so blase about the possibility of his wife crying.
I don’t think Sierra would cry if she found out what I was doing, though.
“I’m against this,” Rossi says. “But fine. I will arrange the meeting.”
“The date! You have to plan my date .” Pavone laughs again. “Okay. My people will talk to your people, etc., etc. Nice talking to you, Voronkov.”
He hangs up, and I’m left dumbfounded. I’m unsure of what had happened, but I shouldn’t be ungrateful that something is going my way.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Roman, which reads,
Send me a present from A.
Ugh. Doesn’t he have enough women between his wife and his mistress?
I have to do this shit. Once my father is appeased, he’ll back off again.
With any luck, everything won’t fall apart in the process.