Chapter 4 #2
“Really,” he said. “Now what could be so important as to keep your husband from basking in the glow of your beauty this evening?” Not that he actually thought Lebedev would confide details of his criminal activity to her, but he had to try.
She shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. In fact, I prefer being solo. It provides unexpected opportunity.” She slithered closer, invading his personal space bigtime by running her hands up his chest.
Viktoria gave a slight shake of her head and rolled her eyes. “Why don’t I leave you two alone?”
“No!” he practically shouted, then gently gripped Olga’s wrists and removed her roving hands.
“Yuri told me to make sure you had a good time. You wouldn’t want me to defy a direct order, would you?
” Technically, Yuri’s order had been to watch over her.
The part about having a good time had been Alex’s spur-of-the-moment idea, which served two purposes.
To get Olga’s sticky fingers off his body and give Viktoria a pleasant evening which she more than deserved.
“Well, no,” Viktoria said, “but—”
“No buts.” Miraculously, a Russian ballad started to play.
“Yuri told me how much you like to dance, and since I don’t have much in the way of dancing skills, you’d better take advantage of the slow songs while you can.
” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, sending her a silent message that was more like a plea.
Ignoring Olga’s angry pout, he held out his hand.
Viktoria took it, stammering, “I––I’d love to dance, although, I’m afraid I’m not very good at it.”
“Then together, we’ll have four left feet. Olga, please excuse us.” He whisked Viktoria onto the crowded dance floor but not before noting Olga’s deepening scowl.
After the third song, he could feel the tension in Viktoria’s body dissipate, although the tension in his own was heightening by degrees.
Her subtle, feminine fragrance was driving him crazy, and when her breasts or legs brushed against him, he wanted to pull her to his chest and cover her mouth with his.
He ground his jaw and concentrated on minimizing contact.
She actually did seem to be enjoying herself, and he wanted her to remember this night. A night without Yuri.
“You know,” she said, grinning up at him, “I highly doubt Yuri told you I love to dance.”
“He didn’t,” Alex admitted. “But I couldn’t take another minute of Olga giving me that I-want-to-grab-your-ass look.”
She rolled her lips inward but not enough to hide the smile. “Do you really think Olga is beautiful?”
“No.” Not on this planet. Or any other planet in the solar system.
“Then why did you say that to her?”
“Some people need to hear that kind of compliment.”
“So, you told her what you thought she needed to hear?”
“I suppose.” He nodded. The best undercovers had the ability to read people accurately, so they could get what they needed out of them.
She tilted her head, narrowing beautiful blue eyes on him. “Some would say that’s manipulative.”
“Perhaps.” Giant red warning flags whipped back and forth in his head. Viktoria was insightful enough to see right through the psychology of what he was doing—an undercover agent’s mission. “Then again, to some people, I suppose she would be considered beautiful.”
“But not to you?” The hint of a smile graced her lips, along with a smidge of suspicion.
“No. I prefer the subtle kind of beauty.” Like yours. “Olga’s beauty is the kind that runs you over and leaves you smashed into the ground, bloody and with your guts leaking out of your body. Like—”
She smacked his shoulder. “I get it, I get it!”
There it was again––that entrancing merriment in her eyes that metamorphosed her entire personality. Viktoria Petrova was an achingly beautiful woman, outside and in. Yuri was not only a criminal, but a fool for having the greatest gift of all right under his nose and not appreciating it.
Hell. He clenched his jaw. Somehow, he had to stop his thoughts from careening right into a deadly ditch.
Distance was key. That, and a cold shower.
A thoughtful expression overtook her face, making those warning flags ripple harder. “You’re not like Yuri. He seems to trust you, respect you, yet you’re total opposites.”
“That’s what makes us a good team. I’m the yin to his yang.” For his reference to Chinese philosophy, he was rewarded with a smile, revealing perfectly even white teeth surrounded by lips he couldn’t stop staring at.
“I know what that means, but why exactly do you and Yuri make a good team? Again, you’re so different.”
That we are.
He chose his next words carefully. “In certain elite circles, like the global market and high-end real estate, Semyon Novikov needs people who can blend in.” Which Yuri, a traditional gangster thug, could never do.
“Don’t get me wrong, Novikov appreciates Yuri’s talents.
” Because every criminal organization needs people to do their “wet work,” the most bloody and savage form of enforcement and protection.
What he couldn’t tell her was that, like most crime organizations, the Bratva was having to reinvent themselves to stay in the game.
The big money was in the global market, high-end real estate, banking and investing.
Traditional tattooed thugs pounding peoples’ faces into the pavement were, to some extent, a thing of the past, and Novikov knew it.
Yuri no longer fit in with the modern Bratva’s new breed.
That’s where Alex came in. He reported to Yuri but filled a completely different role in Novikov’s operation.
The song had led them to the edge of the dance floor closest to the bar where Olga glared at them, tapping a long, pink-tipped finger nail against her glass. Alex deftly danced them back into the crowd, away from her prying eyes and ears.
The music changed to a louder, livelier ballad. Viktoria leaned in, giving him a noseful of her pretty, flowery scent. “You don’t talk with an accent. In fact, I’ve never heard you say a single word in Russian. Are you really Russian?”
“My heritage is,” he lied. “I was born and raised here, but my parents were Russian. They brought me up with a good sense of the Russian culture and language.” More lies.
Everything he’d learned about Russian language and culture had been during a lengthy stint at the Department of Defense Language Institute and from living with a Russian family for ten months on the Ukraine border, totally immersing himself in their way of life.
“Vashi glaza tzveta siniye vasil’kov.” Your eyes are the color of blue cornflowers.
“You really are the yin to Yuri’s yang.” She smiled, but it was a sad one, confirming what he suspected.
Yuri never said anything nice to her. She swayed to the slow Russian ballad, her thighs and hips brushing against him in a sensual slide that made his slacks below his belt buckle fit a bit tighter.
“You don’t even have a single tattoo, at least not that I saw. ”
“Ah, so you were looking.” He grinned as he thought back to that moment on the yacht’s deck. He’d sensed she’d been watching him with more than just curiosity, which presented another problem. The sizzling attraction he had for her was reciprocated.
“I’m serious. Most of Yuri’s people have at least one. Yuri must have a dozen.”
That he does.
Alex had seen them in Yuri’s file. Starting as a twelve-year-old boy, Yuri had done time in a Russian Gulag and later in American prisons.
Every time he’d been arrested, his tattoos were photographed as part of the arrest process.
The three domed cupolas on his back represented three separate sentences served.
The knife wrapped in chains on one of his biceps meant he’d committed a violent assault while incarcerated, and the dagger on his chest indicated a hired killer.
Yuri’s tattoos were a living history of the violent life he’d led. Which was precisely why Novikov wanted someone like Alex working with Yuri.
Over her shoulder, he glimpsed a gray-haired, sixtyish man in a black suit—Mike’s confidential informant—lift his glass in salut and give Alex a meaningful look. With no cold shower available, Mike’s CI would have to do.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I need to go talk to someone.” He felt like a jerk for leaving her standing there with a bewildered expression. It couldn’t be avoided. Professionally, he needed to talk to the guy. Personally, he needed distance. From her.
At the bar, he picked up the Chivas the bartender had probably poured for him twenty minutes ago and made his way to the end of the bar. Alex clinked glasses. “Na zdrovie.”
“Na zdrovie.”
They sipped for a moment in silence, angling their bodies to make sure no one could overhear them or sneak up from behind. “Where you been?” Alex asked, wanting the man to know Mike wasn’t happy about his silence.
The man shrugged. “It is difficult to break free on command. I do what I can, but I must keep my head attached to my neck, yes?”
Alex nodded. He actually did understand. A CI had as many safety concerns as an undercover. The FBI had been careful not to burn Mike’s CI or use him to gain entry into the Bratva. That had been all Alex’s doing, and it had taken him two years to get this close to Yuri Petrov.
The CI took another sip. “Nikolai and Yuri left together last night. Something to do with kidnappings.”
“Where did they go?”
Again, the man shrugged. “Who knows? They took Nikolai’s truck.”
So, whatever they were doing, it was close enough to drive to but not close enough to get back in time for Novikov’s party. “Why is Yuri going to L.A. after that?”
“Something to do with the same thing. Kidnapping.”
Alex narrowed his eyes, concerned about the source of this intel. This wasn’t Yuri’s standard MO. Usually, everyone in his crew knew what their brigadier was doing. Begging the question… “How do you know this?”
The CI held up his glass. “You know how much Yuri drinks. He lets things slip, but with this, he doesn’t slip so much. If he does, Nikolai will cut off his balls. Yuri doesn’t fit in so good with the image Novikov wants. Even Nikolai does not like Yuri so much these days.”
Does anyone? “Assuming Yuri and Lebedev are behind these kidnappings, where’s the money?” For the six missing Russians, over nine million in ransom money had been paid.
“I hear Yuri has an accountant that takes care of everything. Novikov ordered him to keep a ledger.”
“An accountant?” That was the first he’d heard of that. “Do you know who it is?”
“No.” The CI shook his head. “The only thing Yuri said was this accountant hides the money so good, not even the FBI could get to it with a thousand bank subpoenas.”
Alex tipped his glass, swallowing the rest of the Scotch and welcoming the burn as it trickled down his throat.
Through the thickening crowd, he glimpsed Viktoria talking with Olga Lebedev again, and his foolish heart did a dangerous flip-flop.
He took a deep breath and smacked his empty glass on the bar.
He’d have to stay under longer, until the job was done. Which meant he was in deep shit.