Chapter Twenty-Two
In which we learn it's a very bad idea to throw Dmitri a surprise party.
Dmitri…
I've been in ambushes before, so I know the signs.
That night when sixteen Albanians closed in on us at one of our own clubs, and I was tipped off by the sweaty guy at the end of the bar who didn't quite cover his mafia tattoo.
Or, the Di Stefano Mafia, the fucking idiots, who tried to steal one of our partner's gun shipments from our own dockyards, thinking we wouldn't notice the change in dock security.
We circled their crew and lit up the night sky with so many bullets that our dock foreman had to call it in to dispatch as fireworks for the Chinese New Year. It was May. No one questioned it.
Even worse, my twenty-sixth birthday surprise party, where Roman attempted to lead me into a dark room without the common decency of a fair warning. He had the audacity to be upset that I'd already drawn my gun when the lights went on, everyone screaming "Happy Birthday!"
So, when I find Will Grand chatting amiably with the Manhattan Planning and Licensing Board, I know it's an ambush. Sadly, one that I can't end quickly and easily with gunfire. Given the insolent grin he gives me, a bullet is almost too tempting.
I'm already in a bad mood because I was forced to leave Ava this morning, warm and sweet in my bed. After her nightmare, she slept like the dead until around midnight.
Late last night…
"Are you hungry?" I'd asked.
"Yes, please," she mumbled, still half asleep, following me into the kitchen.
"What looks good?" I open my fridge to see rows of neatly stacked meal containers. She examined the labels: seafood risotto, stout-braised lamb shanks, chicken Kiev…
"Do you have peanut butter and jelly?" she asked.
Smothering a grin, I shut the fridge door. "We can do that."
We sat at the counter and ate our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, an item I find disgusting and haven't willingly consumed since maybe the age of five, but if it made her happy...
She told me about surgery that day. "The way the occlusion blocked the large intestine should not have been remedied by Ella's transfer of the healthy tissue to the blocked area, but it did.
It was so fascinating to watch," she said, taking a huge bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"So few men can stomach hearing about surgery," she said.
"It's so refreshing to talk to a civilian who doesn't want to vomit up his dinner after talk about a large intestine turning septic. "
"Well, since I'm usually the one that sends them to the ER, I can't very well be squeamish, can I?" I said lightly, but I see the dichotomy between us and wonder if my father felt the same when he met my mother; how my hands maim and kill, and hers heal.
"How did your parents meet?" she asked, putting her sandwich down.
I almost choked on my vodka. "It's a long story."
That started with a mistaken identity, a kidnapping, and a forced wedding… I thought.
"Was she a doctor when they met?" Ava asked with a slow smile. "Maybe, they saw each other across a crowded ER - where he had sent someone - and the rest is history?"
"Actually, no," I said. "She was in pharmaceutical research. She very much wanted to be a doctor, but she didn't have the money to get through med school. Her brother had stolen her inheritance."
"Well, that's disgusting." She chuckled humorlessly. "My family has six children. There won't be any inheritance." Before I could ask more about her family, she pushed ahead. "So, how did she end up as a surgeon?"
"My father saw how much she wanted it, and he had contacts."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course, of course he had contacts."
"She finished her degree much in the way you are doing now," I explained. "Working under supervision to build her experience, patching up trauma patients. One of her colleagues helped her create some new medical innovations with burn treatment and abdominal surgery."
"That's nice," she smiled. "That your father understood what this meant to her. Watching them at Adam's wedding, I could tell they love each other very much, even though your father is…" She was searching for a nice way to say, 'terrifying and aloof.' "Reserved," she said.
I bit back a grin when she winced, getting off the stool and despite her protests, I carried her back to bed.
Because I wouldn't be a gentleman if I let her fall asleep with a sore pussy, I wedged my shoulders between her thighs, licking and stroking her until her nails dug into my shoulders and she cried out for a higher power.
"No god to save you here, Magpie," I grunted, kissing her, my lips and chin still wet from her orgasm. "Only me."
Currently…
Sex was so good with Ava that my dick is holding it against me that he was forced to leave his place between her legs. I should be focused on my presentation to the planning board but first, I have to deal with my treacherous dick getting instantly hard as I think about Ava last night.
What's worse, I have to deal with Will motherfucking Grand.
The insolent prick is lounging there, his gut straining his dress shirt over his ridiculously large belt buckle.
It takes everything I have to clamp down on my demon raging to jam my hand down Will's throat, rip out his esophagus and strangle him with it.
I'm Dmitri Morozov, heir apparent. I can't set my demon loose any longer. Roman and Alexsey are free to rage their way through New York. But not me.
Instead, I smile urbanely, shaking hands with the planning commission. Marian Hargraves is a sharp-eyed woman in her 50's and the only one who knows what the fuck she's doing. She's also the hardest one to crack because she doesn't take bribes.
Then, there's the petulant Frank Kotter, who didn't get the apartment he wanted in our new complex - and fuck you very much, Roman - though I managed to satisfy him by gifting him a corner unit with an arresting view of the harbor.
Michael Fernandez, is trickier, he moves easily between accepting bribes and then weaponing moral indignation when it suits him.
Their meeting room is an uninspiring shade of beige that my architect has dubbed, "if clammy was a color, this would be it.
" The board sits behind an expensive walnut table in comfortable seats.
But if you're presenting, you get a shitty folding chair with a sagging padded seat.
I suspect they selected those chairs specifically to irritate the billionaire developers who are forced to pay homage to the board.
"How are you doing, son?" Will says with a huge grin. "I was catching up with my friends here, we just finished my presentation. I'd sure like to sit in on yours."
"Ah, Will. I'd sure like it if you didn't." I've always suspected the stupidly wealthy have no sense of self-preservation, because even though the board members are shifting uncomfortably, Grand just settles his ass deeper into his seat.
"Well, that just seems unneighborly," he pouts.
My demon starts throwing itself against the walls of my self-control.
Hearing that fucking fake Texas accent sets it off every time.
"See," he says with a look of patently false concern, "I've just been real worried about how you're going to handle a project as demanding as the Newton Creek waterway when your own family seems to be putting folks in danger.
Including my very own wife and daughter! "
Will turns to the board, and every one of them are suddenly on high alert. He reaches up, thoughtfully sliding his ostentatious cross back-and-forth on its chain.
For fuck's sake, the asshole wore a cross?
"My very own sweet Lula and my wife Lorraine, they were caught up in the middle of a real suspicious organized crime maneuver, a kidnapping when Dmitri's lady friend was abducted right out of a wedding at the Ritz Carlton last weekend," he says with faux shock.
"Lula and Lorraine were zip-tied, trussed up like animals!
Hell, even Dmitri's own mom got tied to the bathroom sink.
It's hard to feel like you could have confidence in a family that would let their own be put in such jeopardy, much less mine. "
He plays with the cross again, making it flash under the yellowish overhead lights. "It makes me concerned that he's gonna be capable of creating a safe new development in such a rough part of town."
Oh, this motherfucker…
When we're finished here, I'm going to have Roman set his new development in the West Village on fire.
Just enough damage that his insurance will have to cover it, and then they'll drop the policy and he'll have to start over.
The thought gives me so much happiness that a feral grin stretches across my face and even he pauses, unsettled.
"I'm sure you've spoken to the police, right?" Will asks archly.
"Of course," I say with mock offense. "Detectives Marshall and O'Halloran, they were very concerned about this random attack. I'm sure they've contacted your lovely wife and daughter for a statement, have they not?"
He realizes his blunder. "Well, Lula is still real upset and I'm thinking about getting therapy for her.
It's a terrible thing for a young woman to feel so unsafe," he says.
"I worry that I've sheltered her too much.
" He turns to look out one of the grimy windows, attempting an appearance of noble sorrow.
Marian just barely contains a snort. "It sounds tragic," she says sharply. "But as far as we can see, it is unrelated to this development."
Frank, who's been lounging his entitled ass in the one and a half million apartment we gifted him, says nothing, staring down at my proposal. He's about to become homeless if he doesn't step up.
With the satisfied air of a man enjoying a Job Well Done, Will rises. "I'll just be on my way, then." Picking up his ridiculous cowboy hat, he saunters out of the room, followed by his bodyguard, Smith. Smith's a cadaverous-looking bastard who puts in overtime as Will's "fixer."
"Now that the posturing is over," I say dryly, "allow me to introduce Polina Novikova, our head architect for the New Creek waterway project."
She straightens her red suit jacket and stands, bringing her PowerPoint up on their monitor mounted on the wall.
"Thank you for your time. Our vision for the Newton Creek development is simple; a community that can be created and replicated again as needed, following the same pattern of walkability and sustainability.
The key elements here are the ones that create a community footprint, coffee shops, libraries, a park by the river.
" Polina's PowerPoint is spectacular, stunning visuals, and clear, precise costs and projections that make it easy to visualize what can be accomplished.
Michael leans forward, tapping his copy of the prospective thoughtfully. "Have you budgeted for soil remediation?" he says.
"Absolutely," I say. "You'll find the budget there in the final projected costs along with two grant options for local community organizations to offer input on the park and two recreational centers."
"What about the ratio of low income to high income housing?" Marian asks.
My jaw tightens for a moment, remembering The McManus and the twisted fucking trap offered to young women who were desperate for affordable housing.
"We have. We will outsource the application process to the Manhattan Women's Foundation and the Mara Poverty Coalition.
It's been disappointing to find so many low-income units - that have been required by the city - with such shoddy manufacturing.
I've seen the recent reports about the inadequate electrical wiring and plumbing systems built separately from the rest of the luxury building, so that the only problems were in the low-income units. "
Marian's eyes narrow. "Are you thinking of a specific building?"
Smiling pleasantly, I go in for the kill.
"Will Grand's new build on 27th, The River Royale.
I'm sure your own city engineering department can tell you about the complaints.
But here's a few reports from your East side division.
" I drop a thick pile of reports in front of each of them, Michael is pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.
"Oh, and his Premium Partners office building… "
I flip through the reports helpfully. "Then, there's his Meatpacking District parking garage that's already crumbling from faulty concrete. You really do have to keep up on those construction subcontractors, don't you?"
Battles in boardrooms and city offices can be just as savage as those in the streets. By the time I finish the presentation, I know that we have the deal.
"Thank you for an excellent presentation," Frank gushes. "We'll be reviewing all the proposals this weekend and we'll announce our bid selection on Monday."
I hold his gaze until he drops his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. "I look forward to hearing from you."
Kir and Demid smoothly step in behind us as I escort Polina out of the building. "It was a hell of a presentation," I tell her as I hand her visitor's badge and mine to the security guard.
"Thank you. Though I think your little comment about the absolutely shit job Grand's company has done with The River Royale," she drawls sarcastically, "was inspired.
It was timed so perfectly. His electrical subs are shit, and don't get me started on their budgets!
Where is all the damn money going because it's not going into the wiring.
I talked to our concrete guy yesterday and he said they're going to have to tear out half the foundation at his parking garage to accommodate the new-"
"Subs…" I muse. "Do me a favor, would you? Find out who won the electrical bid on The McManus apartments."
"Anything specific you need to know?" Polina asks.
"Any other builds they've worked on in the last twelve months."
"It's done," she says. "I'll send over my findings tomorrow. Are you headed back to the sparkling towers of Morozov International?"
"You're only calling it that because you designed the remodel," I laugh. "Unfortunately, yes, I am. I have two other projects I have to address today."
"Work?" she asks, "Or work?"
"Both." I pat her shoulder and slide into my SUV. Fucking meetings and more meetings.
And sweet little Ava resting her overworked pussy at home.
With a groan, I push the heel of my hand against my rapidly swelling cock. I've been working with an almost constant erection since Ava came careening into my life.