Chapter 41
Zoya
Ineed a disguise fast. Spotting a dingy thrift store down the street, I push open the door and step into the dim, dusty shop. Racks of forgotten clothes are jammed tightly together, and the whole place smells heavy with age. Behind the counter, a tired-looking woman looks up and notices me.
She leans over the register and gives me a weary look. "Can I help you find something specific today?"
"Yeah, I’m looking for the cheapest men’s suit you have in the building," I inform her.
She blinks in confusion, eyeing my frame. "A man’s suit?"
"Yep."
"Are you buying this for yourself?"
I let out a heavy breath, rolling my eyes. "No, it is for my pet hamster. Of course, it is for me."
She stares at me in silence for a long moment before letting out a loud sigh. "Alright then. What size are we talking about?"
"I need it to be ridiculously huge," I explain. "I want the fabric to completely swallow me whole."
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You actually want the outfit to look terrible on purpose?"
"That is the plan."
She steps out from behind the counter to guide me toward the men’s section in the back. I dig through the hangers until I find the worst suit in the entire store. The fabric is an ugly shade of gray with a ridiculously boxy shape.
"This is the one," I announce.
She winces at the sight of the garment. "That is extremely oversized for your body. We honestly have much nicer options available for you to buy."
"No, thank you,” I murmur. “This is perfect."
"It is going to hang off your shoulders terribly.”
"Even better," I say with a smile.
She finally throws her hands up in defeat. "Do you need anything else to go with it?"
"Do you happen to sell any wigs?"
The clerk points toward a corner shelf, looking defeated. I walk over and grab a brown toupee. Wrong color for my hair, but that’s the point. I place it on my head. It sits crooked on my scalp and looks fake, but men wear fake hair now. They won’t know unless they touch my scalp.
"That shade does not even match your skin tone," the clerk tries to tell me one last time.
"I’ll take it anyway," I reply.
I carry everything into the fitting room to try them all on. Standing in front of the mirror, I stare at a person wearing an awful wig and a massively oversized suit. Ok it’s a cute fit I’m not going to lie.
Paying the tired woman at the front, I hurry out the door.
I need to waste some hours before the meeting, so I find a quiet corner booth in a nearby restaurant to eat a hot meal.
The wait feels endless as I nervously drink some tea, my eyes meeting the clock on the wall at intervals.
After what feels like forever, the hands of the clock finally hit nine-thirty.
Grabbing my bags, I go into the restaurant’s bathroom to change into my new outfit. It’s as bad as it was the first time. I adjust the terribly fitted suit and straighten the fake hair one last time in the mirror. The ridiculous reflection staring back gives me a strange boost of confidence.
After paying for my meal, I walk out to the street to flag down a passing cab, handing the driver the address written on a slip of paper. He frowns at the destination. "That is a really rough neighborhood for a ride this late at night."
"I am well aware," I tell him. He doesn’t buy it, but he nods. The driver drops me at the curb and speeds off the moment the door closes, clearly eager to escape.
I’m standing outside a massive abandoned factory. The street around me is dark and quiet, only a handful of beat-up cars parked near the entrance. I move quickly to a rusted dumpster and crouch behind it.
Men start arriving in groups, their voices low with thick Georgian accents. I count about twenty heading through the main doors. I wait several extra minutes in the shadows, certain that nothing is going to creep up on me and take me by surprise, before quietly slipping inside behind them.
The interior of the building is dim, with massive concrete floors and thick metal beams holding up the ceiling. The men stand around in small groups to smoke and talk quietly among themselves. I keep my head down and walk forward confidently to blend into the crowd.
Sadly, my disguise isn’t enough to hide me from everyone.
"Hey. You," a deep voice calls out.
I freeze in my tracks.
A large man walks over, giving me a once-over, a look of disgust on his face. "What in the world happened to you?"
Another guy standing nearby burst out laughing. "Look at this pretty boy over here. What are you even doing in a place this dangerous?"
A third thug steps closer to join in on the fun. "Seriously, did you get lost on the way to a fashion shoot?"
I force my voice to sound low and tough. "I am just here for the meeting." My answer only makes them laugh much harder.
"Which specific group are you working with?" the first man demands.
"I am with the north side crew.” The lie falls from my lips easily, having prepared for this outcome.
"The north side?" he repeats suspiciously. "Who exactly sent you here?"
"I have been working around the area for a while," I answer vaguely.
The guy steps close enough for me to see the dark bags under his eyes. He looks me up and down, a tired frown taking over his face. "You don't belong here," he mutters. "You look soft and way too pretty for this kind of work. Are you even eighteen yet?"
"I am twenty-two," I lie again.
"Twenty-two and you look this fragile?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Pretty boy, you really should not be here tonight. This is definitely not the place for someone of your type."
His friend nods in agreement. "Yeah, you need to go find yourself a rich woman to take care of you. Don’t come die in a dirty warehouse."
"I’m perfectly capable of handling myself," I shoot back.
"Sure you are," the man mocks. He reaches out and aggressively grabs my chin. "Look at this skin. Do you use expensive lotion or something? That is certainly not a grown man’s face."
I quickly push backward to escape his grip. But suddenly, another thug grabs me firmly by the shoulder. "Wait a second, maybe this person is actually a girl, I mean he smells good"
His heavy hand starts moving slowly downward toward my chest, and panic locks my muscles in place. Before his hand reaches his destination, a loud voice echoes across the massive room.
"Attention, everyone."
All the talking stops at once. The entire room turns to watch an older man step into the glare of the lights. He wears a tailored suit, looking too put-together for this crowd with his gray hair and calm posture. I freeze. Levan. It is the exact same man from the photo.
Behind him is Dato, looking better than the last time I saw him.
He has a deadly look on, with excitement in his gaze.
Every single person in the room stands up straight to show their respect.
I do the same alongside them, even though it irks the hell out of me.
The men, together, deliver a loud Georgian greeting, and I have to be grateful that no one is staring at me right now.
I cannot understand the greeting as it’s a secret even in the underworld, but the deep rumble of their voices vibrates right through my chest.
The room is filled with a heavy mix of blind obedience and fear disguised as respect.
I silently mouth random syllables while praying that nobody notices my fake participation.
Up at the front, Levan steps onto the raised platform and places his hands flat on the table to look out over the crowd.
Dato stands firmly by his right side with crossed arms to scan the faces in the audience.
My heart beats furiously against the tight fabric binding my chest. Panic rises in my throat as I worry about Dato staring at the back row and noticing the small recruit wearing an awful suit. Thankfully, his intense gaze simply sweeps past me to check the next section of men.
Levan finally breaks the silence. "Everyone, sit down," he orders, and every guy in the room hits a chair. He speaks with a raw power that leaves zero room for arguments. Leaning forward, his expression goes hard and cold, waiting for everyone to settle.
"Gentlemen, I have some excellent news to share tonight."
The warehouse goes quiet.
Levan offers a chilling smile to the crowd. "It seems our enemy is incredibly distracted these days," he continues. "His brand new bride has gone missing once again. The entire Russian organization is running blindly around Moscow trying to find her."
Several men around me chuckle at the insult.
"That woman is always causing massive problems for him," a guy near the front shouts out.
Another thug quickly joins the conversation. "She is probably just off spending all of his dirty money while he panics."
Levan nods in agreement. "You are right. It seems the great Alexei Romanov cannot even manage to control his own wife. What kind of powerful leader allows his woman to wander the streets without any supervision at all?"
The cruel laughter grows louder.
"A very weak one!" someone yells from the back.
"Exactly," Levan agrees loudly. "He is an incredibly weak man who cannot keep his own partner in line. We know she is pregnant, yet she continues to run wild and embarrass him in front of his entire empire. A true boss would never let a disobedient woman make him look foolish."
The men cheer and laugh even harder at the awful insults.
"Maybe she is sleeping with someone else behind his back," a man suggests with a nasty grin.
"That is highly probable," another agrees. "She definitely has that deceptive look about her. She probably acts perfectly innocent while sleeping with anyone who offers her a little bit of power."
I sit frozen in my folding chair. My fingers dig harshly into my kneecaps while the compression bandage around my ribs suddenly feels unbearably tight. I force myself to breathe slowly as Levan raises a hand to demand silence once more.