Stepan
Timur's kitchen table is covered in printed reports from the past few fight nights and the incidents that took place.
He's got a mug of coffee next to his elbow that he hasn't touched in an hour and a pen tucked behind his ear.
The annoyed expression on his face tells me he'd rather be doing this on his computer, but when Kazimir requested old school paper, it was for a reason.
"Thursday's fight had three attempted entry breaches," he says, running a finger down the paper in front of him. "The south door guys weren't checking hands for stamps. The dock, I don't even know what happened. Somebody propped it open with a crate and nobody noticed for forty minutes."
"Who was on the dock?"
"Oh, I don't know. Kazimir's running fighters in a loop, which limits their ability for fight cards, but it really is smart.
" I heard all about this when Kaz told Roman the other night, but my mind spent exactly three seconds on it before I started noticing our guest. Marina is too distracting.
I should've been paying better attention.
"Hmm," I muse, "guess I need to up my game on recruitment." I scratch my chin as Timur types something without looking up. He's been running tech and logistics for the family since his early twenties, and he's really good at it—but not so much when it's all on paper and not in digital format.
"The real problem," Timur says, leaning back in his chair, "is that we're running fight security and delivery logistics with the same crews.
That worked six months ago when we were smaller, but Roman's scaling up the gun operation and I don't have enough bodies to cover both.
" He purses his lips and nods a few times and I know where this is going.
Since the rebuild, everything's been stretched thin.
The Radin merger gave us some numbers, but most of those guys are still bickering amongst themselves at times.
They need fighters on security for their gun shipments, but we need them watching guests and bettors.
It's a sticky situation and drafting help for illegal operations is tricky.
You can't just accept everyone who wants to join.
They all have to be vetted, which is a slow process.
"What do you need?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. I have a feeling my job's about to get way busier, and all while I'm trying to navigate destroying this alliance.
"I need you to build me two separate teams—one for the ring, one for the runs. We need two dedicated crews that don't overlap. Roman has pretty much separated himself from Kazimir's realm, though he still heads everything up, but we can't have either side weak. You know?"
"How many for each?" I'm taking mental notes. If Ro has three groups who operate simultaneously at times, we need at least nine men for him. Three for each group, but with fighters on the cards and men for the crowds, doors, and locker rooms, Kaz may need twice that many.
"Fifteen minimum for the fights. Ten for the deliveries, once Roman's routes are fully operational. And I need team leads for both—guys who can make decisions on the ground without calling me or Roman every time someone looks at them funny."
I pull one of the reports toward me and flip through it. Timur's already drafted a preliminary structure—names, roles, shift rotations. I have to admit he's thorough.
"I'll have a list for you by the end of the week," I say.
It's gonna challenge me, but it'll be a chance to prove I'm the right person for this job.
Roman talks about sending me to Moscow in six or eight months to find more fighters there, and if this pans out well, it'll be perfect timing to lay low after pissing off the Orlovs and Belovas.
"Good. Because Roman wants the next gun run to happen within the month and I'm not sending product through this city with a crew that can't keep a loading dock secure."
He turns back to his files, scowling, and I let my mind wander for a moment.
Finding good men to join the team who can fight won't be impossible if I sift through former fighters who didn't make the cut for fights.
I can recycle men we looked at and see if they meet the criteria for security. There may be some overlap there.
But every time I try to conjure up some names in my thoughts, the only one that sticks is Marina Belova and that alluring smile of hers.
"There's another problem," I say.
Timur looks up from his files.
"If Sergei locks this marriage alliance in, we're looking at a combined front that controls half the smuggling routes into Yekaterinburg.
Belova's already got the infrastructure.
All he needs is Orlov's distribution network and suddenly, we've got real competition in the gun trade.
" We've been working in fight ring logistics for so long that switching gears into smuggling guns is all new for every one of us.
Timur closes his eyes for half a second and runs a hand over his face. "I thought you were taking care of that. How solid is the intel that it's going through?"
"Solid enough. Sergei's daughter is the only piece he has to offer, and Orlov's agreed to take her. If that wedding happens, we spend the next year fighting a two-front war we don't need."
Timur doesn't respond right away. He takes the pen from behind his ear, rolls it between his fingers, then puts it back. “Kaz told me you were a little flirty with her at the fights.”
I chuckle and adjust the way I'm sitting because knowing Kazimir was watching makes me uncomfortable. He and I get into it too easily, and after I rode him so hard about Zora, I'm not sure he'll go easy on me if this goes sideways.
"You really think you're gonna stop that alliance by sleeping with her?" Timur chuckles, but I'm dead serious about this. It's not about getting her into my bed. That's the easy part. It's about convincing Orlov that she's soiled. He won't want her after that.
"Depends on how careful we are. Which is why I need your help." I lean forward and steeple my fingers over the table. "I need everything on her. Where she goes, what her week looks like, who she talks to. I need to run into her in the right places without it looking staged."
Timur eyes me for a second then grabs his computer off the counter behind him and opens it. This is where he really excels, searching the dark web for information we need, and within a few minutes he's got good information I can use.
"She went quiet about two years ago," he says, scrolling through the results. "She used to be pretty visible—charity events, gallery openings, the usual. Then her father pulled her off the circuit and she hasn't been seen in public since."
"He's been packaging her for Orlov. You don't put the product on display when you're still setting the price." My mind is going now, trying to decide how we make Orlov turn in disgust at the idea that Marina has been with another man. How perfect that it's a man he hates too.
Timur gives me a deadpan look but doesn't comment as he keeps scrolling. "I'll map her routine and see if I can figure her out, but it might take a few days."
"And Orlov. I need his movements, his meetings. If something shifts on his end, I want to know first." Having him surprise me during one of my hopefully impromptu meets would spell disaster and ruin the whole thing.
"Orlov's easy. He's not hiding. I'll have him by Friday."
He goes back to the screen, and I watch him work for a minute. Marina Belova's a name in a database right now. A collection of data points Timur will organize into a profile I can use. That's all she is to me at this point—an opening. A crack in a wall I need to bring down.
I get up and rinse my glass at the sink, dry it, put it back in the cabinet.
Then I sit back down while he works and take my phone out.
When she gave me her number, I immediately celebrated this as a win, but the more time that passes, I’ve begun to wise up and think about how much work this could actually be.
But there's no time like the present to get the ball rolling, so I send her a message.
Stepan: 9:47 PM: There's a place on Komsomolsky that plays good music on Fridays. Have a drink with me...
I set the phone on the table to wait, but the reply comes faster than I expected.
Marina: 9:47 PM: You really don't waste time.
Rushing to respond would be the wrong move, so I wait a few minutes, checking my socials while I bide my time. But I barely manage to make it two minutes before my thumbs are on my screen.
Stepan: 9:49 PM: When a woman as beautiful as you crosses a man's path, he relies on instinct.
These lines come out of nowhere. I can’t even tell how I drum them up. But she eats them up, responding immediately to my pause in response.
Marina: 9:49 PM: What time?
Stepan: 9:55 PM: Ten.
Marina: 9:55 PM: I'll think about it.
I like the way she is so quick to get back to me. It shows how eager she is, which means I've made an impression on her. If she's hungry for the attention, it makes my job easier. Add a little liquor and I may just have a shot at knocking this out quickly.
I put the phone down on the table and close my eyes, leaning back in the chair. If everything goes according to plan, I'll be getting laid Friday night and Saturday morning, Maksim Orlov will get the shock of his life.
God, I'd love to be the fly on the wall of the room he's in when he hears she fucked a Kuzin.