Chapter Twenty-Two
Anya
R iccardo is sitting at the kitchen island, sipping his morning espresso and scrolling through something on his phone. He’s even more watchful than usual, and I’ve been mulling over how I’m getting out of here to head to the Drewry Avenue club so I can look for Katja all night.
I hover by the counter until Riccardo looks up. His sharp eyes narrow slightly, assessing me before he speaks.
“You’re dressed early,” he says, his tone probing. “Why does it look like you plan on going out?”
“I’ve got a meeting with Sergei,” I reply evenly. “I need to fill him in on the plan and get a start on the transfer paperwork for the club ownerships before Mikhail gets any ideas to deal with this stuff. My father’s lawyer has sent a bunch of paperwork to my father’s home, so we’re meeting there.”
Riccardo’s expression hardens. “And you’re going alone?”
“I didn’t say that,” I counter, already prepared for this. “You can send Ren and Josh to follow me. I’m not taking unnecessary risks, Riccardo. But I have to deal with the business side of things. Don’t get in my way of that, too, or our deal is off.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Fine. But I’ll make sure Ren and Josh are ready.”
“Great.” I let out a relieved breath, hiding the satisfaction blooming inside me by giving him my best sarcastic answer.
Half an hour later, I step out of the house, Ren and Josh trailing behind me as we head to our vehicles.
Before I get into my convertible, I turn to them. “When we get there, you’ll have to wait in your car. Ideally somewhere a bit down the road, or someplace you’re not overly obvious. I’m meeting with some people who don’t need to know that you’re babysitting me. It’ll be awhile,” I tell them.
“We got coffee, but Mr. Angelo was clear. We’ve gotta keep an eye on the door the entire time.”
I shrug. “Fine. Just do your thing.”
The drive to my father’s house is uneventful, and I use the time to rehearse the next steps in my head. Once we arrive, I watch from my mirrors as Josh and Ren park on the opposite side of the street. Then I step out of the car and head up the stone steps.
Inside, the air is still and faintly musty, the house as empty as it has been for over two weeks now. I make my way through the front hall, past the grand staircase, where I grab a key from a hook inside a coatroom, and toward the rear of the house.
The back entrance is tucked away, leading into a garden that opens onto the next street over. At the back, there is a narrow gate adjacent to the two-car garage that always served as extra parking for our family. When my father was alive, there was always a man standing here.
Not anymore. But my father’s BMW is still here.
The club’s backstage is brightly lit, the air thick with perfume and sweat. Katja sits in front of a mirror, her hands twisting the strap of her sequined top. Her dark hair falls in loose waves, framing a face that looks far too young to belong to someone who’s seen too much.
“We need to have a word. Do you know who I am?” While I’m in the bigger clubs regularly, especially the Downsview and Flemingdon Park ones, I haven’t been in this one for quite a while. Since I don’t recognize her, it’s a safe bet she doesn’t know who I am.
She flinches but doesn’t turn. “If you’re here to tell me I owe you or your boss something, I don’t have it,” she says quickly.
I shake my head. “No. I’m here to offer you something. I’m Anya Tsepov and since my father died, I now own this club.” I intentionally use my actual last name. Despite Riccardo’s teasing, and even Eric’s assumption, I never changed my name to Angelo officially.
No point, since it’s not like I’m planning on staying married to Riccardo.
Whether it’s the name, my revelation that I’m now her boss, or the fact that I’m willing to offer her something, I now have Katja’s full attention. She twists around to face me, her eyes wary but curious. More curious than many of the girls who’ve been working for my father for a long time and whose eyes have been dulled by the shit they’ve seen and the shit they’ve taken.
Katja’s brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”
“I know Dmitri Solntsev has been visiting regularly and that you spend time with him in the back each time.”
Katja’s lips part in surprise, but she quickly shuts them again, her expression guarded.
“I’m giving you a choice,” I continue, stepping closer. “I’ll pay you to help me deal with a little problem I have with Dmitri tonight. Just one job. After that, you decide. You can stay in this life, and I’ll make sure you only take high-paying, screened clients—if that’s what you want. Or...” I pause, letting the weight of my next words settle. “I’ll pay for you to get out. Rehab, a new start, whatever it takes. You don’t have to keep working for the clubs.”
Her eyes fill with suspicion. “Why would you do that for me?”
“Because I can. And because you can help me with my problem.”
“How much money are we talking?”
“Five grand. Cash.”
For a long moment, Katja says nothing. Then she nods. “What do you need me to do?”
Riccardo
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. Across from me, Toni sprawls in his usual way when we’re brainstorming, casual and relaxed, but his sharp eyes don’t miss a thing. He taps a cigarette against the edge of my desk without lighting it. “I get the sense there is more bothering you than how we deal with Solntsev,” he says, his tone curious. “Want to talk about it?”
I glance at him, jaw tightening. “Anya.”
Toni’s mouth twitches into a smirk that I have half a mind of wiping off his face with my fist, but I respect Toni too goddamn much for that.
“Should’ve guessed. Women, man. Always the problem.”
I snort, but there’s no humor in it. “This isn’t about the usual. She’s too damn ambitious. Too reckless. She’s not going to sit still when it comes to Dmitri. Not for long. Not long enough for me to figure out how I want to play this, anyway.”
His brow arches, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “You think she’s planning something behind your back already?”
“I know she is,” I say flatly. “She’s been acting strange ever since the intel about Dmitri came in last night. It’s only a matter of time before she does something stupid.”
“So, what’s your move?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “Sergei.”
Toni gives me a skeptical look. “Sergei? You hate that slimy bastard.”
“I do,” I admit. “But he’s still her right-hand man at the moment. If I bring her and him into a discussion about Dmitri, it’ll look like I’m treating her as an equal partner in front of him, so she can’t get pissed. And it’ll keep her tethered. Sergei’s not going to back her if he thinks she’s going off the rails. He’s a Russian lunatic, but he’s also been pretty conservative while working with her father.”
Toni tilts his head, watching me like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. “So you want to actually work with the Russians on this?”
“It’s the only game,” I say, grabbing my phone and dialing Anya’s number.
The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail.
I hang up, frown, and try again. Same result.
“No answer?” Toni asks, his tone losing some of its casualness.
I shake my head. Then I call Ren, who confirms she hasn’t left her father’s place yet.
“She’s probably still with Sergei,” I mutter, though the unease in my gut tells me otherwise. I switch to the landline at her father’s place. It rings and rings until it cuts off.
Toni sits forward now, the cigarette forgotten in his hand. “You think something’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I say, jaw tight. “She’d answer. Or someone would. Unless...”
I don’t finish the thought. Instead, I scroll through my contacts and pause when I see Toni watching me.
“I need Sergei’s number,” I say, my tone leaving no room for an argument.
Toni lets out a low whistle, shaking his head as he pulls out his phone. “You’re really calling that old bastard directly? Must be serious.”
I shoot him a sharp look, and after sending and receiving a message, he rattles off the number that I’m guessing our people at the office just looked up for him.
I dial, and the moment Sergei picks up, his harsh accent grates against my nerves. Anya sounds fucking hot with her slight accent, but this guy sounds like he’d do well in a gulag.
“Riccardo Angelo. This is an unexpected call.”
“Where’s Anya?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries. “She told me she was meeting with you this morning.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sergei answers. “We did, indeed.” He draws the last word out, making it sound like he’s trying to win time. “We spoke briefly, but she’s gone now.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “Gone where?”
“I assumed back to you,” Sergei replies, his tone annoyingly measured. “Why? Is something wrong?”
I don’t let him hear the frustration bubbling under my calm. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
I hang up, tossing the phone onto the desk.
Toni leans forward, watching me carefully. “He’s covering for her.”
I nod, already standing and grabbing my jacket. “He is. And now I know.”
“Know what?” Toni asks, his voice serious.
“She’s already going after Dmitri.”
Toni stands, his casual demeanor gone. “What’s the plan?”
I glance at him as I shrug on my jacket. “We find her. Before that asshole has a chance to put his hands on her. Again.”