8. Bratva #2 #3
AT TEN O’CLOCK THAT MORNING, she entered the embassy, trotted up the half flight and down the expansive corridor toward her office. She’d never once been late to work since she started working for Bulgrov.
I’ve never killed a man either.
If she continued thinking about the Russian mobster, she’d lose it, so she shoved the Bratva from her mind—for the zillionth time—and hastened her pace.
As she passed the Ambassador’s office, his familiar voice caught her ear. She slowed, glanced inside. He was seated behind his desk, two men sitting across from him in the guest chairs, their backs to the door.
“Minka!” Ambassador Bulgrov jumped up, strode around his desk. “I was concerned. You’ve never been late.”
“Ambassador Bulgrov, welcome,” she said as she shook his outstretched hand. “Adjusting to American food.”
He furrowed his brow. “Aren’t you eating in the compound?”
Crap.
The men—both wearing dark suits—joined them.
“Yuri, I am busy man,” barked the large one with a heavy Russian accent. “I don’t have all the day. We finish meeting now.”
She’d never heard anyone telling her boss what to do. Everyone in Russia showed him the utmost respect.
Halston adjusted her James Bond eyeglasses, tapping the frame once to snap a photo of Bulgrov’s visitors.
Bulgrov did the introductions. “Dmitri Petrov and—”
“Bob,” interrupted the second man. “I call self Bob Smith. Good American name, da?”
Dmitri Petrov looked to be in his fifties. A formidable man in size and girth, his round cheeks reminded her of a squirrel readying himself for winter.
Bob Smith was Halston’s height—five-six—with a shaved head, square face, and muscular physique. One of his front teeth was missing.
“Privet, kak pozhivayesh'?” Halston said. Hello. How are you doing?
Dmitri’s dull brown eyes drilled into her. “What do you do?”
“Ambassador Bulgrov’s assistant.”
“You’re being modest, Minka,” Bulgrov said. “Minka Kotov is also our lead translator. Did you meet your team yet?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
“Mne nuzhno idti,” Dmitri snapped. “Seychas.” I need to go. Now.
Ambassador Bulgrov’s cheeks flamed crimson. “You never gave me the date.”
“January 15th,” Dmitri barked. “Remember that.” Then, he fixed his drab stare on Halston. “I need translator for special assignment. She’ll do.”
“No,” Bulgrov pushed back. “Minka’s too valuable here. She’ll arrange for someone on her team.”
“Mozhno li yey doveryat'?” Is she trustworthy?
“Of course,” Bulgrov bit out. “She’s standing right here… and she speaks Russian, for fuck’s sake!”
What is going on here?
Halston wanted to bring the heat level down, but she also knew her place. She was the assistant, so she stayed silent.
“My ispol'zuyem yeyo inache,” said Dmitri Petrov. “Davayte pogovorim v koridore.” We’ll use her in different way. Let’s talk in hallway.
Dmitri Petrov marched out and glared at Bulgrov from the corridor.
Bead of perspiration dotted the ambassador’s forehead. Never before had she seen him so flustered.
“I need to get to work,” Halston said to the other Russian, Bob Smith. “Excuse me.”
“Day mne svoy nomer. Skhodim v klub,” Bob Smith said. Give me your number. We’ll go clubbing.
“I work all the time.”
“Govorite po-russki,” he said ogling her chest. Speak Russian.
“Ambassador Bulgrov wants us to speak English, for practice.”
“You no need practice.” Bob pulled his phone from his back pocket. “Number.”
She shook her head.
“Yes!” Bob yelled.
Bulgrov and Dmitri Petrov rushed back in.
Ambassador Bulgrov regarded Bob Smith. “What’s the problem?”
“YA priglasil yeyo na svidaniye. Ona otkazala. Eto problema — dlya neyo.” I ask her out. She give me no. That is problem—for her.
Halston crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“Dostatochno,” said Dmitri Petrov. “Proyavite vezhlivost' k dame.” Enough. Show manners to the lady.
Dmitri Petrov offered a smile, which turned his puffy cheeks into balloons. “My apology. You are very pretty. He turn into animal. Won’t happen again.”
“Thank you,” she said and excused herself.
At her desk, she logged in, opened email and started scrolling through the unread ones.
Not long after, the ambassador appeared in her doorway. “Minka, I’m sorry about Bob Smith.”
“He was rude.”
“How are you doing with accommodations? Not staying in the compound?”
Dammit, he remembered.
“Sir, Natasha checked. There’s a long waitlist—”
“I can make it happen.”
Hell, no.
“I’m in the overflow building. It’s perfect for me. I’m happy there. It reminds me of home. I want to feel comfortable. You understand, yes?”
“Of course.” A pause, then, “Do you have something for me?”
“Sir?”
“Thumb drive, Minka.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Mr. Ambassador, there was no thumb drive. I searched twice.”
His cold stare sent a shiver through her. “Nothing?”
“No, sir. There was no thumb drive. Not even in the safe. I’m sorry I failed you.”
After a second, he furrowed his brow. “Mr. Petrov gave me date… but it left me.”
“January 15th. Why don’t I add it to your schedule?”
“No,” he replied.
That was the first time he’d asked her to keep an event off the calendar.
“What’s happening on January 15th?” she asked.
“Something very exciting,” he replied with a smile, “and you’ll know soon enough.”