Chapter Seven
In which Dmitri approaches the bachelor party with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for an IRS audit.
Dmitri…
“Really? You swore on my life, Mat', Mother?”
She’s leaning against Ava’s bed, arms folded. “Well, I have three sons,” she says unrepentantly. “That does spread out the karmic risk, right?”
“You were looking right at me,” I say. “It seems pretty pointed.”
Chuckling heartlessly, she gives me a kiss on the cheek before picking up her iPad. “So, your girlfriend-”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Miss Blue,” she continues, “has a bit of a jangled nervous system from repeated shocks. I ordered an MRI and fortunately, it doesn’t look like there’s any permanent damage. But her injuries were significant. Your girl-”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“-has injuries consistent with a severe beating, based on the defensive cuts and bruises on her forearms and hands.”
I will find who did this and peel their skin from their body.
“She’s mildly concussed, and you’ve already seen the burn marks on her neck,” Mother is getting angrier as she reads, her customary distance during a medical diagnosis seems to be failing her.
“However, as earlier noted, most of the blood isn’t hers.
It looks like she utilized a glass shard or something similar as a weapon.
The body Roman brought in from the apartment bled out from parallel cuts to the femoral artery in the left thigh.
Impressive. Most people would go for the throat or chest.”
“The areas you’d most likely protect during an attack,” I note.
“Exactly,” she says approvingly. “She went low, and it was two precise cuts. They weren’t accidental. Miss Blue knows her anatomy.”
“Interesting,” I murmur, looking at Ava's still form. Her cheekbone is bruised, she's got a black eye and there's a cut on the side of her mouth that looks ugly. "How soon before she wakes up?"
“I had to give her a fairly heavy dose to get her to rest long enough for us to examine her and run the necessary tests,” Mother says. "It could be a while."
“I need to question her,” I say, folding my arms. “We have to find out who did this to her because there's something off about the whole thing."
“What do you mean?" Mother asks.
"The set up of that apartment,” I say thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. “Roman sent me a report and the whole system looks too professional, like it was built from a template."
"Like it's been done before?" My mother's brows draw together. "You don’t think this is an isolated incident. You think this could be a new trafficking ring."
"It's too good,” I admit. “The way everything was laid out, the isolation…” Roman's team conducted some inquiries around the building, and nobody seemed to know anything about the girl.
Our tech team already pulled surveillance from the apartment complex before their cyber security tried to shut it down.
I have to know who was in that apartment with her. "
Pulling out her penlight, Mother gently lifts one of Ava's eyelids, checking her pupil response. "Well, when you do,” she says, “make him regret it won't you?"
Though Dr. Ella Morozova may be dedicated to saving lives, my mother has a vindictive streak wider than the Hudson River. It's one of the things my father loves about her the most.
My phone buzzes angrily and seeing the name on the screen, I groan silently, taking the call. “Adam. Something-”
“Came up?” he asks sardonically. “I’m Facetiming you so you can see the fun we’re all having without you, my best man.
” Behind him, the party is in full swing in the VIP lounge I'd reserved for him at Bambarra, one of our most popular nightclubs.
Several of the groomsmen had requested we hold the bachelor party at our sex club.
Since Adam is one of the few men I know that would not cheat on his bride that seemed like a bad idea.
The sleek suede couches are filled with halfway past tipsy and careening toward dead drunk groomsmen, and giggling girls in silver lame dresses that have been hired to work the event tonight.
Not as prostitutes. We don't do that.
“Have you tried the food yet?” I ask. “I had them fly in those oysters from British Columbia that you like, you pretentious fuck.”
“They’re amazing,” Adam chuckles. “Along with the Australian spiny lobster and the sixteen top-shelf brands of vodka. The only thing we seem to be missing is the best man. Hell, you even dug Ilya out of his apartment and I did not think you could pull that off.”
Ilya chooses that moment to stagger past him and I'm impressed with his ability to be that drunk that quickly. What he witnessed in the hallway at The McManus didn’t seem to have disturbed his party spirit.
“Adam…” I rub my forehead and his face falls.
“Oh fuck. This is one of those ‘mysterious and serious and shit’s on fire’ things, isn't it?” he says sadly. “Are you going to make it at all tonight?”
I look up and my mother is nodding at me, mouthing, ‘Go!’
My gaze darts over to a sleeping Ava, her pale face is bruised and fragile.
“I…” Mother folds her arms, arching a pointed brow at me and I nod. “I'll be there. Of course I will. I'm your best man.”
A grin split his face as he let out a whoop. “Dmitri is on his way!” he shouts and the rest of the group cheers.
“I had no idea I was so popular,” I say dryly.
“You aren't,” he says. “They just want to make sure you're picking up the tab for this.”
“Well then. I should be on my way before you break into the McCallan 40 Year Reserve. See you soon.”
I glance down at my bloody shirt and jacket. “Hmmm.”
My mother smiles, pulling me out into the hallway. “I believe the ever-efficient Kir has already sent for a new suit and shirt for you. Go change in my office so you don't look like a serial killer who's only halfway through his night.”
“Thank you, Mother,” I say. “Your honesty is always so refreshing.”
“Yes, well,” she smiles modestly. “While I have seen you positively dripping with gore in the past, it’s not the right look for a bachelor party.
” Despite myself, I look back at Ava's room.
“Go,” Mother says, patting my arm. “This is serious and it hurts my heart, too. But there's always going to be one disaster after another, my dear son. Your father has dodged minefields nearly every day of his life as Pakhan and you, unfortunately, will no doubt do the same. You need to grab these moments of happiness when you can. So, go. I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.”
Kir, moy Vtoroy, my Second, shows up as if summoned with a garment bag and I change in Mother's office, making sure there's no blood in my hair and scrubbing my hands before heading back out to the front of the clinic. It’s a beautiful townhouse on a quiet, tree-lined street.
No one looking at it would ever think it was a high-end acute-care clinic packed with sophisticated medical equipment.
“Let's go,” I say to Kir and Demid with all the enthusiasm of a man heading towards an IRS audit. “We've got a bachelor party to get through. I mean, get to.”
My men's lips press together as if they're trying to hold back a laugh, the assholes.
The bachelor party has just passed the tipping point of enjoyable into incoherent as I step into the VIP lounge.
Adam is laughing uncontrollably as his brother strips on one of the low tables as two of the girls shout and clap, waving dollar bills.
My youngest brother Alexsey, who manages the club, is standing by the bar alternately checking his phone and watching the party with a look of polite resignation.
“Oh, thank fuck you're here," he says. “Does that mean I can leave? Please tell me I'm not going to be this pathetic when I'm your age.”
“Why thank you, brother,” I say. “I hear the innocence of a mere twenty-six years of age. Wait till you hit thirty and you've killed a dozen more men.”
“You're only twenty-eight, brat,” he points out irritably. “And don't pretend your kill count is that much higher than mine.”
Our bartender has Russian prison tattoos snaking up each forearm. He continues to polish glasses with an impassive face. It's nothing he hasn't seen or heard before.
One of the club’s security men makes his way over to the bar. “Mr. Morozov, there is a group of young ladies that state they were invited to Mr. Zaitsev's bachelor party.”
“I said no hookers,” I snap.
He folds his hands in front of him, nodding respectfully. “I believe that they are college friends of his brother.”
“Very well,” I say. “Just keep them off Adam. Make it clear to them that they are not allowed to touch the groom unless they want a few fingers broken.”
“Not that Dmitri would do it,” Aleksey adds helpfully. “But I'm sure he'd be happy to get Irina to do it.” Irinia is our head of security here, and even the biggest guards are terrified of her, with good reason. She does not tolerate fools.
Walking over to the railing, I watch the floor. The guest DJ tonight is on fire, the electronica melting seamlessly from one song to the next as a crowded floor of glistening bodies writhe and twist.
“I hear I have you to thank for tonight's party?”
There’s a girl standing to my left, pretty, with short pink hair and intelligent eyes.
“Well, I am the best man,” I say politely.
My gaze is still clocking where security is on the floor; if they've noticed the drunk couple squabbling in the east corner or the two men who look like they're slipping tiny white envelopes into the hands of partygoers.
Two men that are definitely not ours.
I'm about to message Irina, but she's already on the way with four other black-clad bouncers, seamlessly surrounding the two men and taking them away before anyone notices. I realize the girl is still trying to talk to me.
“Did you and Adam go to school?” she asks, her smile still steady. Most women would be getting shrill by now, impatient as I ignored them, but this girl's got more patience - or more self-confidence - I'm not sure. “I'm Andrea,” she says, thrusting out her hand.
I take it reluctantly. “A pleasure. I'm Dmitri. If you'll excuse me, I have some things to take care of as the host, enjoy your night.”
“Maybe we can talk later?” She calls after me, but I'm already across the room, sitting with Adam.
"When's the last time you had a date?" he asks. “You know, with a normal woman who doesn't want you because she thinks you're a bad boy?"
"Normal women want nothing to do with me," I chuckle.
"Alexsey was complaining that you're turning into a cranky bastard the closer you get to taking over your father's job. He says you haven't gotten laid in the last decade.” He knows better than to use specifics in front of the other guests.
“My little brother is an asshole, and apparently obsessed with my sex life.” I say dryly. “But in this case, you know that taking over for my father is like any other corporate transfer. There's a lot of groundwork.”
Adam chuckles. “I can just hear your mother. I bet she's been mentioning something about getting married and settling down? Or maybe your dad is talking about how ‘a union would suit your new role and show stability and maturity?’” He deepens his voice to sound like Maksim.
I take a gulp of my drink. It's vodka, ice cold, and pure in a way that only the best ones are. Fortunately, unlike whiskey, gulping it is not considered inelegant. It’s a drink that you can shoot straight back, fire burning down your throat and warming your chest. “My father got married to hold off the psychotic daughter of one of his business rivals,” I say.
“The fact that my parents fell in love with each other is one of the great mysteries of the universe, according to my Uncle Yuri. Arranged marriages are less common now, thank god. I should be able to hold off the holy chains of matrimony for another decade at least.”
“You old romantic,” Adam laughs, handing me a shot glass of Russo-Baltique. “You might surprise yourself and find some woman who can tolerate you. To the holy chains of matrimony!”
“Za zdorovye!” I laugh, clinking my glass to his.
***
Za zdorovye - Russian for “to your health!”
moy Vtoroy - Russian for "my second" a bratva rank designation