Chapter 5
The location Lev sent me is dead center in the middle of the city. A looming skyscraper glaring down at the rest of us. As I step into the lobby, I’m greeted by a man in a suit that looks like it costs more than my monthly rent.
“Can I help you, ma’am.” He’s pleasant with his question, but there’s suspicion in his eyes.
How does he know I don’t live here?
A woman exiting from the elevators with a man on her arm explains it all. She’s dripping in luxury, from the red soled heels to the diamonds cascading in a single line from her earlobes. Her escort reeks of money, with his perfectly fitted navy blue suit and his diamond tie pin.
I wrap my jacket tighter around my body, covering up the department store sweater and jeans I’m wearing.
“I’m supposed to be meeting Lev Yakovlev?” The air shifts simply from his name being put into it.
“Your name?” Credit where it’s due, he manages to hold onto his plastic smile.
“Maxine Hartman. He’s expecting me.” Or rather he’s expecting me and my brothers, but hopefully this guy won’t let on that they’ve declined the invitation.
I’m still not sure what Lev will do when he realizes my brothers won’t meet with him. All I can do is hold my ground.
Though I’m not sure it’s going to be as easy to do with him as it was in high school when Joey’s algebra teacher refused to let him retake a test he missed because he’d been out on suspension.
Mrs. Ingles, our foster mom, didn’t want to get involved, so I handled it.
One conversation and a vague threat involving his wandering eye from his wife to the dean’s secretary, I had Joey’s test retake scheduled, and he even helped him prep for the test.
“You can go on up.” The doorman walks me to the elevator and steps inside as though he’s going to ride up with me. “Mr. Yakovlev is in the penthouse. I’ve already put in the code for you.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I move to the back of the elevator as he steps off, giving me a small side-glance as the doors shut.
He’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing meeting with Lev. That would make two of us. If he wouldn’t give me the stupid gun back the night he took it, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to get him to do it tonight.
The elevator dings, announcing my arrival. While it’s a little sound, my stomach reacts as though it were a fist plunging directly into it.
I’m not sure what I expect when the doors open, but the sight before me blows any expectation I might have had out of the water.
Decorated entirely in shades of black and gray with accents of gold, the place is sophisticated, dark, and completely void of a sense of home.
I’ve been in museums that have felt more welcoming.
“Ms. Hartman?” A man steps out from what seems like nowhere. “Mr. Yakovlev is waiting for you in his office.”
The way he says it makes it seem like I’ve been keeping him. When I check my phone for the time, I realize having to find a parking spot on the street to avoid the parking fees in the lots around here, I’ve made myself ten minutes later than planned.
He looks back at the empty elevator with a curious look.
“It’s just me,” I say.
His jaw tenses, and he walks past me. Supposing I’m to follow him, I fall in step behind him. The rubber soles of my flats make no sound against the marble tiles, but his shoes click along. Each step is a tick on the time bomb that is this meeting.
My stomach clenches and grumbles. I should have grabbed a banana or something after work on my way over here.
When we come to the closed door that I assume is Lev’s office, my escort pushes the door open for me and jerks his head. Taking it as an indication I’m to go inside, I take one last deep breath, reminding myself that if Lev hurts me, Vee will make Ivan seek vengeance.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
The door shuts hard behind me as soon as I’m inside, making my bones rattle from the force of it. After a quick glance, I realize the room is empty. Lev isn’t in here.
I release a hard breath, letting my body release some of the tension as I look around the room.
It has the same bachelor ambiance. There’s a leather couch with two armchairs facing it, and a round glass table between them on one side of the room in front of a fireplace.
A large, mahogany, carved desk sits opposite.
Whoever sits behind the desk would have a clear view of everyone in the room.
I have no doubt it was set up this way with that sole purpose in mind. For Lev to loom over everyone present.
A door opens from the left-hand corner of the room and Lev steps inside. Smoothing his hand over his tie, he walks toward me. When he reaches his desk, he stops and levels me with a stare.
Oxygen whooshes from my lungs the moment his dark eyes meet mine. It’s as if he’s plugged into my mind and is downloading my thoughts. The heavy silence becomes a weight as we stare at each other. Desperate to relieve the pressure building, I want to look away, but I force myself to hold steady.
I won’t break.
“You’re alone.” It’s an accusation.
“My brothers were busy,” I lie.
He knows it. The little corners of his mouth turn down, like I’ve disappointed him.
“Brave of them, sending their little sister in their place.”
“I offered. And it’s not like you’re a stranger,” I say in their defense.
“So you’re here for them?”
“No. I’m here for the gun.” Ugh, I’m making such a mess of this. He stands in front of me, all smoothed over and put together, reeking of finery and status.
I’m basically a beggar.
Please don’t kill me or my brothers and give me back their illegal gun so they can go back to doing illegal things.
It’s a horrible plan. But it’s all I have.
“I told you if they wanted it back, they needed to come.”
“They’re busy and need it, so I came.” I raise my chin, rolling my shoulders back.
My insides may be shivering beneath his heated glower, but I would sooner die than let him see it.
“They’re afraid,” he counters, tilting his head. “So they sent their little warrior to save them.”
“It’s not yours.” It’s not much of an argument, considering who and what he is. “I’m tired, and I’d like to go home. Can you stop being an asshole for one minute, and just give it to me?”
My stomach makes a rude entrance by grumbling. Internally, I groan. It’s the second time in as many meetings that this has happened.
His eyes move to my stomach; a ghost of a smile pulls at his lip.
“I’m not keeping you from something, am I? Like dinner?”
I clench my jaw. “If that’s a dig at my weight, you can fuck right off.”
Anger flashes in his eyes at my outburst.
“Two things. First, it wasn’t a dig about anything, and second, you should watch your mouth around me.”
There’s enough sincerity in his voice when he makes the first point, that I’m leaning toward believing him. And there’s definitely an underlying fierceness in the second point that I’m going to take his word for that one, too.
For now.
At least, until I get what I came for.
Then I can tell him to fuck off this way and that way and all the ways.
“I just need the gun; then I’ll go, and you won’t have to be bothered by me or my brothers again.” I manage to keep my voice from raising, but all I want to do is charge at him and punch him in the face.
It’s because of how he’s looking at me. Like he’s not sure if he wants to sweep me up in his arms or if he wants to shake some sense into me. It’s unsettling.
He says nothing but walks past me to a sleek cabinet near the bar to my left. He punches in a code and opens it.
I remain unmoving, maybe I’m actually going to get my way.
When he turns back around, the Glock he stole from me is in his left hand. He carries it to his desk, gesturing for me to follow him.
“Do you know anything about guns?” He questions me as he places the weapon onto the leather desk blotter.
“I know they kill people,” I say, keeping my attention on him and shoving away the urge to grab the gun and make a run for the door.
No doubt his men outside the door would have me tackled to the ground before I got to the elevator.
“That is their function, yes.” He turns the weapon over and points to the switch he’d shown me at my apartment. “This part of the gun has been modified.”
“Okay?” I lean over his desk, pretending to search the weapon. I have no idea what he’s trying to say. “And?”
“The Armenian’s use this type of switch. This is one of theirs.”
I have no idea what that means, but from his tone I gather it’s made things harder for me. And definitely more dangerous for my brothers.
“And what does that have to do with anything?” I stand back up to my full height. “It’s still not your gun.”
“Do your brothers do a lot of work with an Armenian gang?” He picks up the gun, cradling the grip in his hand.
“If they do it’s their own business.” And if they do I’m going to flip my fucking lid.
An Armenian gang? Have they lost their fucking minds?
He walks around his desk, each step practiced, controlled. As though he were marching toward an adversary. But it’s just me. And I’m not na?ve enough to believe I’m a match for the Bratva or the Armenians.
“Either they’ve bought this from someone who is selling Armenian weaponry in this city, or they are helping to sell the weapons. Either way, I’m interested in knowing their contacts.” He stops in front of me.
“Why? Buy from you, buy from them, why would it matter?” A criminal is a criminal is a criminal.
I’d hoped my brothers would have gone a different way after we aged out of our foster home.
It had been my hope they’d join a union, get a skill that would put food on the table without having to cross the line of legal or not.
But while I’ve done my best to shield them from harm whenever possible, I’ve never been good at steering them away from it in the first place.
“There’s a difference.”
“Look. I just need it back. I’ll see if I can get a contact from them. If I do, I’ll pass it along. All right?”