Chapter 32
32
The next morning…
Roman
I awake to an unfamiliar feeling of bliss. I’ve never done hard drugs, but I imagine this is what it’s like before your life begins to unravel.
Quinn is enveloped in my arms, her warm back against my chest. She’s naked, and although it wouldn’t take much to rouse my interest, I don’t want to wake her yet.
She’s used to control, which is evident in her inability to resist it. She knows I have been stalking her and orchestrating changes in her life, yet had little to say on the subject. Even the knowledge I’d been watching her apartment didn’t phase her like it should.
Her isolation and loneliness may have been a defense mechanism designed to keep away dangerous people who would seek to rule her. I can’t deny that her particular psychology makes her easy prey for me, but it does nothing to distract from the creeping unease coiling in my gut.
I want her to tell me about her life. Who hurt her? Where are they now?
I disentangle myself from Quinn’s sleeping frame and go into her lounge. The pizza box is still on the table, so I put it in the trash and fire up the coffee machine.
My cell phone is on the table, the voice message icon flashing, so I dial my voicemail inbox, putting it on speaker as I stir cream into my coffee.
Leon’s voice is too loud and comes out distorted. “Roman! Jesus fuck, where are you? We got problems.”
I stare at the phone like it’s a tarantula. Problems ?
A beep and another message. “The fuck did you do that for? It’s all over the news. Stop fucking around and pick up!”
I hang up and grab the TV remote. A few clicks later, I’m watching an over-botoxed local news anchor, her face weirdly stiff as she chatters beneath a picture of me.
A picture of me with Quinn.
“Local businessman Roman Kazanov may have met his match! Mr. Kazanov is famously a lone wolf, but ABC7 New York has these exclusive photos of the handsome Russian billionaire getting up close and personal with a mystery woman.
Sources have identified her as Quinn Sullivan, the manager of Sugar Rush, which was acquired by one of his businesses. Mr. Kazanov is clearly not a man who minds mixing business with pleasure!”
The article cuts to a long-lensed shot of Quinn and me embracing in the pagoda, evidently about to kiss. That bastard photographer. He had the shots he wanted all along. How long was he there? Screw my embarrassment; if he makes a laughing stock of Quinn, I will fucking take him apart.
A horrible thought hits me, and I peer through the gap between the blind and the wall. A couple of news vans are already outside, and reporters stand with their backs to me, doing their bits to the camera. I retreat before someone sees me and drop onto the couch, my head in my hands.
My phone is ringing again, and I swipe to green.
“Well, fuck me. Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Leon’s voice drips with sarcasm. “I hope I didn’t wake you. Relax, have breakfast, maybe get a massage with a happy ending, the works. But take your fucking time, yeah?”
“Obviously, I didn’t know I’d been papped,” I say. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Yes, I do. Jesus , Roman. Are you at her place now?”
“Yep.” I rub my face with my palm. “I’m not the only one. The press is already gathering outside. I moved my car; they can’t know I’m here.”
“No shit. There are loads of them at your house and the office, too. I’m at your downtown building now, but I almost punched some permatanned fuckwad on my way in. Told the hacks you’re here and you’d give a statement.”
“Great plan, genius,” I spit. “I’m stuck in Quinn’s apartment. I can’t deny anything if I appear in yesterday’s clothes.”
“So climb down the fire escape at the back and vault the fence. Then you can go to your car and get to the office. I need to talk to you about other stuff anyway.”
I glance up to see Quinn in the doorway, looking adorable in her pajama nightshirt. She stares at the TV, her eyes widening as she realizes what she’s seeing.
“I’ll be there. Gotta go.” I end the call and stand. “ Rusalka , I have to deal with this. It’s bad news for me.”
“You?” She’s suddenly childlike, her expression pleading. “What about me? Us ?”
“I’m a well-known figure in this city, and that’s not always a good thing,” I begin. “I have enemies.”
“It’s always got to be about you , doesn’t it?” Her eyes flash with anger, and I’m taken aback by the sharpness in her voice. “I have spent over a decade hiding, Roman. You forced your way into my life, and now you have the gall to act like I’m a liability?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Sadness washes over her pretty face. “Someone tried to kill you on the night we met. Why? What are you mixed up in?”
I can’t tell her, not like this. It’s hard enough to watch the innocence leaching out of her with every minute she spends in my presence, but how can I tell her the ugly truth about my life? Things will never be the same once that mangy cat is out of the bag.
“Quinn.” My voice is firmer than I intended. “I have to go. Stay here and wait for Leon; when the coast is clear, I’ll send him to collect you.”
As I dress and gather my things, she sits motionless on the couch, watching the news. She yelps with shock to see her apartment on the live feed.
“Shit, they’re outside?!” she cries.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” I pick up my jacket. “I’m leaving via the fire exit. Do not talk to those people.”
I lean in to kiss her. She flinches and turns away.
“I’ll sort this out,” I say. “I promise. I’ll do whatever I must to ensure you’re safe.”
I silently beg her to say something, but she doesn’t, and I have no choice but to leave.
I make it to my car without incident, and before long, I’m at my downtown office. No one notices me arriving because I can use my pass to park in the underground garage.
I take the elevator up to the penthouse suite to find Leon in the lobby. Sitting beside him is none other than Ricky Lubomski.
“You brought him to my legitimate place of business? I don’t have time for this.” I gesture at Ricky. “What happened to your arm?”
Ricky raises the sling. “Vercotti happened. I’m getting scared, man. The guy is way too volatile, and your breaking his toes was the last straw. He thinks I’m spying on you for him, but you don’t give me nothin’, and he’s losing patience.”
“So what do you expect me to do about it?”
“I have some information that you’ll wanna know.” Ricky’s eyes meet mine. “But I need some assurances. Protection. I don’t want to associate with that fucker anymore, but you gotta take him out. Otherwise, he’ll come after me for double-crossing him.”
I’ll never know why Vercotti would trust Lubomski with anything, but he never had much foresight. Running mafia operations demands a sharp mind to stay ahead of all the moving parts, and Vercotti is too emotionally driven to be disciplined.
I usher the two men into a side office and close the door. “What do you know, Lubomski?” I ask.
“Swear you’ll stop him getting to me.” Ricky’s eyes are wild. “Swear it, and I’ll tell you. You must be able to see I’m freaking out over here. I came to Leon for help, for fuck’s sake.”
Leon raises his eyebrows at me. Even he isn’t baiting Lubomski, and these guys hate each other. It must be serious.
“Ok, you got it,” I say. “Now spill.”
We have no choice but to let Ricky go; Vercotti will smell a rat otherwise. Once the hoards of the press have left, Leon will sneak him out, but I need to give my statement first.
Luckily, I always keep a clean suit here, and there’s a bathroom next to my office, so it doesn’t take me long to get smartened up.
“What do you wanna do?” Leon asks as we take the elevator to street level. “If even half of what Lubomski said is true, we could be in trouble.”
“Nah. Forewarned is forearmed. We’ll lock down and wait for Silvio and his men to show up. They won’t expect a fight, but they sure as hell will get one.”
“Attacking your house is insane.” Leon thrusts his hands into his pockets. “Why didn’t he do this sooner?”
This question has been on my mind. I stopped Vercotti going into the bakery, and now this news coverage? It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. And Silvio would be delighted to make me suffer; in his warped mind, it would be an eye for an eye if he hurt Quinn.
“He doesn’t want me, at least, not yet,” I say. “He’s coming for Quinn because he’s worked out that she matters to me. I have to get her out of her apartment immediately and to safety. When the press leaves, get rid of Lubomski first, then collect Quinn and take her to the yacht. Viktor will do his part.”
“Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
“You bet I am,” I reply. “Break out the tuxedos, tovarisch .”
In the lobby, the crowd of journalists are visible through the frosted glass, jostling for position. It’s like a scene from a zombie apocalypse.
I give the doorman a nod, and he opens the door, urging the mob to back away. The hubbub reaches a crescendo as I step out, and microphones are thrust into my face.
“Mr. Kazanov! Who is Quinn Sullivan to you?”
“Roman! Look here, let’s get a good shot!”
“Sir! Marcia Ingles, CBN. Is your dalliance with the baker an abuse of power?”
I hold up my hands and appeal for silence. The noise dies down, and I clear my throat.
“Good morning, everyone. Thanks for coming.”