Chapter 10 #2
“Maybe.” Zinaida shakes her head slightly. “But naive though it probably sounds, I can’t really believe any of them would want me dead. Or rather, I can’t imagine why. I don’t make people stay in my operation. In fact, I encourage them all to leave and start businesses of their own.”
I can see that; nearly everything in Zinaida’s clubs, from the liquor supply to the bedsheets, comes from companies she either owns or has had a hand in helping found.
In just over a decade, she’s helped dozens of girls set up businesses in everything from furniture design to specialist gin.
Some of the girls started their careers on the burlesque stage or in the bedrooms of the Quartier.
But just as many began their association with Zinaida as residents in Sophie’s House, refugees escaping from human trafficking operations or domestic abuse.
All of her employees and suppliers enjoy generous contracts and great benefits.
Nothing about the way she treats her people provides a breeding ground for resentment or jealousy.
“Well, you’re not being hacked.” I close the tablet down and face her across the table. “I assume you control all the drug dealing in your clubs?”
It takes me a moment to realize that her silence isn’t about disclosure.
It’s because she’s actually furious.
Her eyes are hard chips of ice, her face pale, her mouth tightened into a lethal line. “There is no drug dealing on my premises.”
The finality with which she says it is clearly intended to put an end to the conversation.
“With respect.” I hold her eyes. “I simply find that unrealistic. I don’t care what people take or if you give it to them. But I need the details if I’m to do my job.”
“Then allow me to be specific.” Zinaida stares at me coldly.
“The only drugs on my premises are brought in by individuals for their own personal use, which is their business and none of mine. If, however, they try to give drugs to my people, or sell them to other members, they are dealt with accordingly.” She rests her elbows on the table and leans forward slightly, holding my eyes.
“And if you’re wondering what I mean by accordingly,” she says, her voice as flat and cold as her eyes, “let me make it very clear.
“I kill them. Personally. And I make sure there are plenty of witnesses.”
She holds my eyes steadily, daring me to react.
I don’t.
There’s nothing like watching your own mother die from an addiction nurtured by an abusive stepfather to develop a healthy hatred of dealers.
“And your staff?” I ask calmly. “Have you had any trouble with them dealing?”
Her eyes narrow. She sits back in her chair, eyeing me critically. “Occasionally. They’re warned when I hire them that dealing anything at all results in instant, irrevocable dismissal.”
“But not death.”
“No.” She lifts a shoulder. “At least, not usually. Most of my staff come from very difficult backgrounds. They need help, not more punishment.”
Interesting.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is more of a walking bundle of contradiction as Zinaida Melikov. It’s as disconcerting as it is fascinating.
As if to confirm this assessment, Zinaida’s chef enters, pushing a trolley of covered dishes that smell amazing.
“I ordered you breakfast.” Zin smiles at the chef as he serves us both. “Thank you, Max.”
“Max, is it?” I stand to shake the chef’s hand. “That looks amazing. I’m Luke.”
He beams as he returns the grip. “Si, I am Max.” He has a thick Italian accent. “Anything you need, Mr. Luke. Anything at all.”
“I didn’t realize you were going to start infiltrating my staff at the kitchen level,” Zinaida says dryly as the door closes behind him.
“That wasn’t work. That was just good manners.” I grin at her. “If you’d spent as long as I did eating army food, you’d appreciate a proper omelet, too.”
Her lips twitch in a reluctant smile. I like seeing it far more than I should.
The Spanish omelet is so fucking good I shamelessly eat the lot. To my surprise, Zinaida polishes off her own with equal enthusiasm. There’s a down-to-earth aspect to her that I find intriguing, an almost direct contradiction of the immaculate veneer she presents.
“I’d like to spend some time with Enzo, your front desk manager here, and Charlie, your driver,” I say as we finish. “Get a picture of your operation through their eyes.”
“Enzo won’t be easy,” she warns. “None of them will be. They’re not going to like this at all. And they’re certainly not going to trust you.”
“Let me handle that.” I stand up, checking my watch. “You’ve got meetings all morning. I’ll come downstairs with you and get started with Enzo, then ride with Charlie to get up to speed. You mentioned going to Pigalle Soho this afternoon?”
Zinaida nods. “It’s Nadja and Anatoly’s day off, but I’ve asked them to come in for some training, so we can head there after lunch.”
“I’ll focus on the clubs this week, and then Sophie’s House. I imagine you might need time to prepare everyone there for a man to come into the environment.”
She gives me a rather surprised look, but doesn’t comment.
“We can go over the Lowndes Square apartment when you’re done today.” I shut my laptop.
“There’s no need to go over Lowndes Square.” Her answer is swift and curt. “Mak set up the security in my apartment himself.”
The tension in her response is in contrast with the businesslike approach she’s brought to the rest of the discussion.
Interesting.
“I told you earlier that I need full access.” I keep my tone even, watching her carefully. “That’s the only way this works, Zinaida.” Saying her name is a curious intimacy, like I can taste her on my tongue.
She becomes very still. Her fingers curl around the handle of her coffee cup, like a fan closing.
Her tell.
I haven’t seen it all morning.
Unless you count the fingers clenching her pillow.
I push the thought from my mind before it has a chance to fully form.
“I don’t have time today.” She stares across the table at me, her eyes opaque and unreadable. “And I work very late.”
“I’m no stranger to long hours.” I look right back at her. “You hired me to do a job, Zinaida. I need you to let me do it.”
Don’t say it, Luke. Don’t fucking say it.
“Of course, I could just break in on my own time.”
Her eyes narrow, their color deepening slightly.
Nice, Macarthur. Professional.
Finally, her lips curve in a fleeting half smile, there and gone before it’s real. I inhale quietly, more relieved than I’d like to admit.
“Fine—Captain Macarthur.” There’s just enough emphasis on my title to make it clear that we’re back to playing games, although this game is one I definitely don’t mind.
“I prefer Luke.”
“And I’d prefer you not to break into my bathroom while I’m naked, but here we are.”
“Touché.” I lift a shoulder, not trying to hide my smile.
“Then I hope you won’t take it personally, Luke, when I say that if you ever break into any of my homes again, your contract will be terminated immediately.”
To her credit, apart from that one small curl of her fingers earlier, her poker face is perfectly intact.
“Understood.”
“Fine, then. But I’m warning you, it’s going to be a long day.” She glances at her phone. “I’ll take you downstairs and introduce you to Enzo, but be warned—he’s a bitch.”
The marble floor has the Pigalle logo picked out in black mosaic tile, beneath a high cupola ceiling with a skylight, which provides an airy feel despite the dim November day.
Soft lamps create warmth. The air is mild and scented with something both soothing and exciting.
From a marble sculpture of Pallas Athena in one corner to the live plants and discreet art on the walls, everything about the decor suggests elegance and simplicity.
Two leather couches line the walls of the foyer, which is dominated by a backlit-glass water feature wall, in front of which is a mahogany counter.
Given the club’s exclusively female environment, I’m a little surprised that Zinaida hired a male receptionist.
Until I lay eyes on him, that is.
Enzo is clad in suit pants and a formal white shirt that were clearly designed by a tailor even better than Mak’s.
He wears plain silver cuff links and has his shirt slightly unbuttoned, showing off just enough perfectly tanned, muscled chest to make a boy band jealous.
His olive skin looks like he was born on a Mediterranean beach, and his hair is just casually perfect enough to suggest he has a personal fucking barber do it every morning.
I rarely notice the looks of other men unless I’m getting paid to study them.
But even I can see that Enzo could easily be modeling underwear on a billboard in Piccadilly Square.
Beneath the dazzle, however, he stands almost as tall as me—and the muscles beneath the outfit look like more than just show.
I’m guessing he can do more than look pretty.
Hovering just behind him is a stocky, extremely grim-faced woman with crew-cut hair in a very masculine suit, her arms folded and eyeing me with visible dislike.
Charlie, I think, going through my mental catalogue.
“Zin, darling.” Ignoring me completely, Enzo greets Zinaida with a kiss on both cheeks, smoothly taking her coat.
“You’ve got the home secretary waiting in the Grey Room.
I’ve already served her coffee. Be warned, she’s in a mood after that headline in the Daily Truth this morning, so I’d butter her up by asking about her son, who’s just made the first eight rowing at Cambridge. ”
“Thank you.” Zin gestures to me. “Enzo, Charlie—this is Luke, one of Mak’s security consultants. He has his own master code for the system, but I expect you to give him everything he needs to set up access to local files.”
Neither of them acknowledges the introduction by so much as a glance in my direction. Enzo hands Zinaida a copy of the Daily Truth, London’s most savage tabloid. “Read the article, if you haven’t already,” he says. “It’s not good.”
Zinaida scans it, frowning. “Fuck,” she mutters. “How the hell did they get hold of this?”
“No idea, but believe me, I plan to find out.” Enzo pushes her gently toward the elevator. “I’ll have one of the girls bring your tea as soon as you’re seated.” He snaps an order at a young female attendant nearby, who scurries away with a terrified look on her face.
“Now.” He waits until Zinaida has disappeared before turning to give me an immensely disdainful up-and-down look. “What the fuck is this, then?”
I suppress a strong urge to laugh. Enzo’s accent is as upper-crust as a member of the royal family, but despite the fact that he’s obviously rampantly homosexual, there’s no hint of camp exaggeration.
He’s clearly all business, and all over every single detail of Pigalle Mayfair—including, I’d bet, the lives of its exclusive members.
“Zin’s hired some muscle,” Charlie answers, also without looking at me. “She’s obviously shook about whoever’s trying to knock her off.”
So much for keeping a low profile. On the upside, I’m gaining more respect for Zinaida’s team by the minute.
“If he’s one of Mak’s boys, he’ll be hard up our arses on security,” she adds.
“Hmm.” Enzo folds his arms and regards me with one sloping eye beneath an arched, no doubt perfectly waxed, eyebrow. “Despite the terrible fucking haircut, I might actually enjoy that.”
“I never put out on the first date.” I nod at the computer in front of him. “Mind if I get started?” I move past him without waiting for permission and type in my master code.
Enzo stares at me consideringly for a long moment.
Then he drops his arms and grins, flashing teeth so white they’re blinding.
“Oh, darling. This is going to be fun. I’d say slip in behind me, but I take it a fuck is out of the question.
What?” he says to Charlie, screwing up his face as she shakes her head.
“I thought you might at least play a little hard to get,” she moans, glaring at him. “You’re such a whore, Enzo.”
“Darling, I’m the best whore in the business.” He says it with the arrogant certainty of someone who has the receipts to back up his claim. “I certainly get more cock than you do. But since you march around dressed like a lesbian who got lost in the eighties, that’s hardly surprising, now is it?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Charlie heads for the stairs. “I need coffee.” She points a finger at me. “And I don’t give a fuck who you are—stay out of my way until I’ve drunk it.”
“Done.” I’m already inside the computer. “I can work in the security room upstairs until you’re ready to go. I’ll just set up my local access, then I’ll be out of your way.”
“Oh, and a man who doesn’t fuck around, either.
” Enzo puts a hand over his chest. “I think I’m in love.
But make it quick. I’d happily look at that hard ass of yours all day, but not behind my desk when we’re coming up to peak hour.
Sorry, sweetheart, but I just don’t need that kind of competition.
Besides,” he says, giving me a dirty smile, “the ladies take one look at you, and they’ll start expecting you to be included in their membership.
And I’m warning you, not even that fine-looking bulge of yours could service the collective needs of this establishment.
We already have over a hundred top male escorts on payroll, and believe me, they’re all exhausted. ”
I can’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Oh, I believe you.”
“Mollie will show you to the security room. Mollie!” he barks, and another perfectly coiffed young girl appears, eyeing him nervously. “Take Mr.—” He raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Luke,” I supply, still grinning.
“Oh God.” He rolls his eyes theatrically.
“Of course you have a cowboy name. Well, Mollie, take Luke up to the security room and give him whatever raw egg and steak concoction keeps him looking his fine self. I’ll add you to everything you need in the system,” he says, pushing me out of the way and tapping the keyboard at the speed of light.
“But no member files.” He gives me a fierce look.
“You can look at the list of names, but no details. Members are all vetted by a cyber team. We quite literally know every detail of their lives, and I don’t believe in sharing. ”
“Understood.” I’m just being polite. If I want details, I’ll get them. But there’s nothing to be gained by pissing off Enzo. I’d far rather gain his trust.
And despite the light-hearted banter among Zin’s staff, I’m under no illusions about how difficult that task is going to be.
For a split second I see Zinaida on the bed, mouth open in a silent scream as she hits orgasm.
Fuck.
Zin’s staff might be a challenge, but they’re a walk in the fucking park compared to the woman herself.
And if I’m perfectly honest, I know the most difficult task ahead has nothing to do with business, and everything to do with keeping my own savage desire under control.