Chapter Three
In which we learn what a Bratva Vor considers “play crime.”
Andrey…
I see Iris and Rose next at a party that Roman is throwing to celebrate his second wedding anniversary with Violet. It is also quite clear this is a thinly disguised fundraiser for her second youth shelter that she's opening in The Bronx.
"Be careful, brother," Nikandr murmurs as he hands me a drink. "The Morozov men always seem to catch marriage at fundraisers. Venmo a shit ton of money to the youth shelter account and run. As the last surviving single Morozov, you may as well have a glow in the dark target on your back."
"I know this is essentially accurate," I nod, taking a healthy gulp of scotch. "Isn't that how Roman met Violet? She cornered him at a fundraiser to hire him to kill her stepfather?"
"Exactly. I overheard two of Liria's friends talking about, 'Having dibs on the hot, scary one.' Which could only be you." Nik laughs, the asshole.
"I am wearing my best 'do not fuck with me' expression tonight," I shrug. "I think I'm safe." He's still smiling, watching me. "What?"
"It's just… it's been good to see you more often these days." He takes a glass of champagne off a passing waiter's tray and heads back to Caroline, a foolish grin on his face. Sighing, I take another drink. Pathetic, really.
Iris and Rose are in a corner of the garden, partially shielded by a fall of ivy there. Rose has sent her fatuous boyfriend off to get them more hors d'oeuvres and whispers something to Iris, who starts coughing up champagne.
"What are you choking on?" Rose asks, helpfully pounding on her twin's back.
"My hopes and dreams, baby," Iris wheezes. "Please don't let Jeremy announce your engagement tonight. I don't like him, but I also don't want Roman tossing him in a pit of sulphuric acid."
"Wait." Rose stops slapping Iris's back, looking interested. "Roman does that? I'm not surprised. I've heard stories."
No, you haven't, I think. You'd run screaming if you heard some of the real details about how Roman questions our hostages.
"Really," Iris urges. "Jeremy is not attractive enough to overlook that he'd be missing a mouthful of teeth. Besides…" She lowers her voice. "Pete and Harvey are dropping something off. We need to be ready."
Rose makes a small, terrified sound. "Are you fucking kidding right now? We're at home. Do you know what Roman will do if he catches us doing business here? Never mind Roman, do you know what Violet will do to us? Fuck! We're gonna die."
"We will not!" Iris hisses. "We'll do the 'cry and switch maneuver' if we're caught."
"Who has to cry?" Rose says, already resigned.
"Well, you can call tears up on command." Iris sounds like she approves of this. "But it may not be necessary."
I find myself wanting to chuckle, though there is nothing amusing about this.
Thirty minutes later, a car pulls up about halfway down the street and the twins pounce on it like hyenas on a gazelle. There is a swift exchange of words and a big wad of cash is given to the driver, he hands them a wooden case, about half the size of a shoebox.
Roman is standing at the open front door and catches sight of Rose first. "What have you been up to?
" He's not happy about anything that could disturb Violet's big night.
While he's focused on a quivering Rose, Iris steps into the trees lining his side yard and disappears.
"I saw you give the driver money, Rose. What was it for? "
These two are outrageous.
They're putting the rest of this crime family to shame. As Rose looks up innocently at a scowling Roman, biting her lip, she keeps him occupied as Iris quietly moves through the crowd, with the box wedged under her arm.
This has nothing to do with me.
Still, I put my hands in my pockets and stroll after Iris, watching her head to her Range Rover.
Standing in the shadows, I pull out a cigar I've been saving - a good Cohiba Behike - and light it, letting the fragrant smoke circulate through my lungs.
I rarely allow myself one of these, but the party has been boring as hell.
Well, until now.
Iris secures the package in the back of the SUV and throws a blanket on top of it, shutting the tailgate with a wicked little smile.
"Do you think that's going to fool your bodyguards?"
She jumps half a foot with a startled little yelp, whirling around until she spots the glow of my cigar. Striding toward me, hands fisted, she snaps, "Don't you have some judgment to overturn or murderers to set free?"
Interesting. She doesn't seem to have the same awe and fear of me that those I'm not related to by blood always have. Likely because she's too foolish to know better.
"Illegality is my specialty," I say, blowing the cigar smoke out the corner of my mouth and away from her.
"Surely, something this small and insignificant is beneath your attention." She brushes the dirt off her hands and turns, as if to head back inside.
"If you were my responsibility, you would not leave the house until your streak of felonious behavior died off."
Iris glances over her shoulder at me with a bit of a snarl.
"Thank you for giving me one more thing to be grateful for.
" She hurries back into the party, and I take one last puff of the cigar before dropping it and crushing it underfoot.
Heading over to her SUV, I eye the locks.
They're good ones. Roman must have had the car upgraded.
Still, I have an elaborate app on my phone that is capable of releasing nearly any electronic lock. It was created by Kolya, the brilliant and over-caffeinated head of our Digital Defense department. Pulling the app up and holding it over the lock on the back latch, it disengages immediately.
"What do you have here?" I murmur, sifting through the blanket until I find the box, opening it.
My brow rises in respect. There are dozens of silver coins stacked in here. Very old. I hold one up to the light. It's in mint condition. A box of coins like this runs well over a million dollars. Is this their biggest heist to date?
"Hey! What do you –" Vitali, her bodyguard, stops short at the sight of me. "I'm sorry, Mr. Morozov. I didn't know it was you. I was just checking on…" He pauses, looking behind him uncomfortably and then back at me.
"Just checking on the stolen goods that she put in her car?" I ask acidly. "Do you help her with these little jobs?"
He releases a bit of a sigh. "Well, Mr. Morozov, I mean, Mr. Roman Morozov, the Vor -"
"Get on with it." My words should be giving him frostbite.
"He says as long as the girls keep under one million jobs and stay out of black-market lanes, let them go for it. He calls it more like… play crime." He shrugs awkwardly with a little grin, watching my face for a returning smile, which I do not give.
"Then you might want to examine that chest of mint condition coins," I say. "Because the value is well over one million. It's time for Roman to become involved in this again."
Vitali knows when he's been chastised, his shoulders slump and he nods, looking at the flower beds lining the street. "Yes, Mr. Morozov."
After half an hour, Roman finds me. "I heard you found the latest stolen goods?" He mumbles it, lips barely moving as he scans the crowd for his wife.
"It was a smooth transfer," I acknowledge.
"It's over." He looks exhausted. "No more play crime. They're going straight. It would kill Violet to know they were still doing this."
Shrugging, I promise, "I won't tell her, but the girls moving over a million dollars’ worth of merchandise would be a serious charge. You know this."
"I do." He pats my shoulder, ignoring how I stiffen. "Thank you."
Still, on the way home I find myself laughing, remembering how expertly Iris disappeared with the stolen goods while Rose distracted Roman with her welling eyes and trembling lips.
Well played, ladies. Well played.