Thirty-Three #2
But worse still, Amelia’s still in danger. It’s tough to care about anything but that.
“Let’s go,” I bite out.
In minutes, we’re back on our skis, heading down the mountain, leaving the chalet behind us.
I call Amelia on New Year’s Day, but she doesn’t answer. A minute later, I get a text back: In person, or fuck off.
I can’t even blame her for that.
“Why don’t you go home?” Haynes asks.
“I want this finished.”
He nods, conceding the point. “So what do you want to do?”
“Keep the pressure on,” I growl. “Keep them too busy to worry about anything but themselves.” I pull up our list. “Next target… Colorado.”
The Volkovs are too spread out across the States, and the locations blur. California. Seattle. Wisconsin. Houses, estates, nightclubs. Days turn into weeks, January becomes February.
Each night, I check my cameras. Amelia doesn’t sleep in our room again, and that’s where I have most of the coverage. The views in the rest of the house are limited. She doesn’t answer her phone when I call.
I speak to Tony instead. “How is she?”
“Withdrawn. She’s a free spirit, Lukas. Captivity doesn’t suit her.”
Fuck. “Take her out. Go shopping.”
“We do. She doesn’t engage.” He pauses. “She wants to see her sister, and her gallery friend.”
“No,” I say curtly. “The Volkovs will know about them. It’s too risky.”
“I agree. Was just telling you.”
“It won’t be much longer.” I hope.
“It better not be,” Tony mutters. “She’s… becoming a shadow of what she was.”
I hate hearing that, and it’s my fault. Or the Volkovs’ fault. Fucking Dmitri Koval.
“You called her a spoiled princess. Now you care?”
“I was wrong, okay? She isn’t.” Tony sighs. “I’ve spent every other day of the last two months with her. Of course I care.”
“Don’t care too much,” I growl.
“I’m not an idiot, Lukas. I know she’s yours.”
“Keep me updated.” I kill the call.
He says the right things, but I still spend too long poring over footage, watching how she looks at him, her comment about his ass ever present in my mind.
But there’s nothing. My Little Stray was just being provocative, and Tony is careful to keep his distance.
I almost reassign him anyway, except I trust the guy and he’s the best we have.
If anything goes wrong, Amelia will need the best.
Early March, Bastien calls me.
“Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” he says without preamble. “Koval reached out. He wants to meet.”
Fucking finally. “Where? When?”
“Manhattan, tomorrow. He asked for you by name. I don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I?”
Shit. If they know it’s me, then that’s put Amelia right in their sights. If they go after her, I’m going to kill every last one of those fuckers, whatever it takes.
“No, you don’t,” I say coldly. Although he probably does. I’m not thinking as clearly as I should be.
“I’ll send you the details. Good luck.” The line goes dead.
“Haynes,” I say. He’s never far from me these days. “Where are we?”
“Uh…” It takes him a second. “San Francisco.”
“We’re taking the jet home. Tonight.”
Koval’s choice is a gentlemen’s club in the Meatpacking District.
“Keep your trigger fingers ready but not twitchy,” I say to the men as we drive over. “We don’t want a bloodbath.”
Haynes clears his throat. “I’d like to state again, for the record, that I think this is a fucking stupid idea. You’re being rash. It’s not like you.”
I meet the eyes of each of them. “Then the rest of you need to be that much cooler, don’t you?”
Haynes is probably right, but I want this over. I want this war done, I want Amelia safe, and I want to get back to her. The last update from Tony has me more worried than ever.
What’s the point of keeping her safe if I lose her in the process?
We’re met inside by armed guards, and a metal detector which we ignore. They watch us, we watch them, the tension already running high.
“Are you armed?” one of them asks, his accent strong.
“Of course we’re fucking armed.”
“No entry with weapons.”
I cross my arms. “Sovietnik Koval called this meeting, not you. Ask him if he’s wasting my time and wants me to go back to hunting his brigadiry.”
The man turns half away, pressing his finger to his ear, listening for all of three seconds. “You go in,” he grunts, jerking his head to a set of stairs leading down.
“Thank you so very kindly.”
I lead the way, my men following me, Haynes bringing up the rear.
There’s another guard at the bottom, and a set of double doors which he opens.
The club inside is a large open space with a bar and a dancer’s pole, with a half-dressed girl gyrating around it.
There are no patrons, but a dozen of Koval’s men sit around at the tables or lean against the bar, watching us, several of them with girls on their laps.
We’re outnumbered two to one, but I’m guessing Koval doesn’t want to die tonight any more than we do.
The man himself is in a booth against one wall, two of his goons flanking him.
At fucking last.
I take my time studying the man who’s responsible for all of this. Amelia. Bastien. The millions he’s cost us.
Koval is heavyset, grey-bearded, maybe fifty years old, some of his muscle going to seed. He watches me with intelligent eyes, and no hint of emotion. He’s dangerous, but then so am I.
“You’re a difficult man to track down,” I say as I approach.
“And you’ve been busy.”
“I assume we’re here to talk.” I slide into the booth, giving the men a hand signal that makes them draw back and fan out. “If not, everyone is going to die.”
“Are you so keen for death, Mr. Van Wyk?”
I smile coldly. “My wife died over a year ago, Koval. Life is less appealing after that.” Half of that is true, but he doesn’t need to know which half. I want him thinking I’m unstable, focused on me, and underestimating the importance of Amelia.
“Very sorry,” he says with indifference. His fingers tap on a thin folder lying on the table, drawing my eye to it, like it’s somehow relevant. But I’m not interested in his power plays.
“You asked for this meeting,” I say. “What do you want?”
He shifts in his seat. “This was… all an accident,” he says, waving his hand to take in both his men and mine. “We did not intend to hit your Los Angeles deal, and Serranto was a fool.”
“It’s gone a long way beyond that.” I lean back against the leather booth. “You’ve been disrupting our business and costing us millions.”
“You’ve been killing my men.”
“Yes, I enjoy it.” Except I don’t. Not when it keeps me from my Little Stray.
His eyes flash. “Do you really want to escalate this? Up until now, we’ve played by the rules.”
“As have we.” I head that threat off early.
He nods, conceding the point. “It has been noted. Still, some are less forgiving than I am.”
“You think you can win if this—to use your word—escalates?”
“No, Mr. Van Wyk, I do not,” he says frankly. “But neither will you. Which is why we’re having this meeting.”
“Then I’ll ask you again: what do you propose?”
“A truce is in all our interests, don’t you agree?”
“How would that be achieved?”
“We will withdraw all conflicting business interests and you will stop targeting us.”
That’ll keep Bastien happy.
“If you do, we will.”
“We will, but with one condition,” he says, leaning forward. “We want you to put someone inside Cadrion.”
I scoff. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, we are. This is no longer about Fournier, Mr. Van Wyk. This is about you.”
A chill runs across my skin. “And why do you think I can be bought?”
Koval smiles, opening the folder on the table. “Her sister, Lucy.” He slides me a photo. “Her best friend, Sierra.” Another photo. “Her recent shopping trip.” More photos, this time with Tony and Jorge around Amelia. “And yes, we know where she is.” Another photo, of the gate into my house.
Amelia’s face in that photograph. Koval’s hands on it.
The rage comes up so fast it whites out the room, the men, even the calculus of survival. My hand is on my weapon before I know it, and whatever Koval sees in my face makes him very still.
“Careful, Mr. Van Wyk,” he murmurs. “If we die today, she dies tomorrow.”
It takes everything I have not to draw and shoot him, right beneath this table before he has a chance to know he’s dead.
“You have rules,” I snarl. “Do you know what I will do if you break them? To you, to your men, to every fucking member of the goddamn Volkov family?”
“Ah, a possessive man.” Koval nods. “I can work with that.” He tucks the photos back into the folder, then slides it across the table to me. “Are you in control enough to listen?”
I’m still gripping my weapon. Releasing it takes everything I have, finger by finger.
“Yes.” It’s all I can manage.
“We only want someone inside Cadrion.” He waves a hand. “A precaution, if you will. A way of ensuring that we know what you’re doing, so we can avoid stepping on your toes.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “You think I’d put an assassin close to Fournier? What sort of fool do you take me for?”
“We are not the assassins, Mr. Van Wyk.” Koval leans back, then jerks his chin at the folder. “You’ll find their profile in there. Do your own research and satisfy yourself.” He gives a wry smile. “Let’s call it… a marriage of convenience.”
“I’ll look,” I grind out, “but I make no promises.”
“My number is in there too,” he says quietly. “When you’re ready to make promises, let me know. Until then, we can’t keep anything off the table, can we?”