Chapter 19 Gennadiy
GENNADIY
I’d only been passing by the restaurant. It’s one of our legitimate businesses and turns a good profit: it’s the secret gambling den upstairs that I was there to visit. But then I’d seen Alison and that...that pridurok.
I’d never thought about her fucking anyone else. Now I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Her tossing that long, silky hair back over her shoulder and leaning in to take his cock between her lips—
All the feelings that had been building for months boiled up inside. She was...she was…
She was mine.
I barged through the double doors into the kitchen. Inside, it was the usual pandemonium. Giancarlo, the chef, was ranting at his underlings, half in Italian and half in English, and eighty percent of it cursing. They were scuttling to wash, chop and broil, wincing every time he bellowed.
Then one of them noticed me. “Chef?” she said quietly, pointing in my direction.
Now it was Giancarlo’s turn to go pale. He waddled over to me, wiping his hands on his apron. “Mr. Aristov! What—”
“The couple at the table in the corner. The dark-haired woman and the idiot with the blond hair. Where is their food?”
Giancarlo assumed they must be honored guests. “Coming right now, sir!” He waved at the plates. “They both ordered the same thing, the linguine.” It looked and smelled amazing. “On its way!” Giancarlo waved frantically to a waiter, who grabbed both plates.
I put a hand on the waiter’s chest. “Wait.”
I reached into my jacket and took out the little bottle I always carry. I twisted off the cap and dripped exactly three drops onto the plate on the right. Guns and bombs are for amateurs. In Russia, dispatching one’s enemies is an art form.
I gripped the waiter’s chin between finger and thumb. “This one is for the man,” I told him, pointing to the food I’d doctored. “This one. Get this wrong, and you won’t see morning. Do you understand?”
He nodded as best he could, sheet-white with fear. I released him, and he hurried off with the food.