Chapter 5 Vadim
VADIM
Iend the call with the registrar and light a cigarette while I walk through the narrow streets toward the meeting point.
The humid air clings to my skin and sweat runs down my back beneath my shirt.
If all goes well, I have twenty-four hours until the ceremony and all I need is for Danica to show up and sign the paperwork.
My men did their job adequately persuading our friendly registrar to provide her services on short notice—though I'm sure the threats and bribe money helped.
The alley where I'm supposed to meet Vuk is three blocks away and I take my time getting there. Tonight deserves my concentration, so while I’m walking, I ponder exactly how I'll bring this proposal up to a woman who thinks we're going on a first date.
It could get tricky, especially if she's the loud type, but the venue will help with that.
My leg still throbs from the barbed wire gash, but the wound is healing clean.
I've had worse and kept moving, so I don't let it slow me down now.
And when I turn the corner into the alley, I see Vuk standing over a man in an expensive suit.
He's on his knees with blood running from his nose and Vuk has one hand tangled in his hair.
A duffel bag sits on the ground between them.
I stop at the mouth of the alley and take a drag from my cigarette. Vuk looks up and sees me but doesn't let go of the man. The buyer whimpers and tries to pull away, but Vuk yanks his head back hard enough that his neck cracks.
"He's been explaining why he thinks our product is overpriced," Vuk grunts as he yanks the man's head again.
I walk closer and look down at the man's pricey suit and shiny shoes. He's not hurting for money, and trying to negotiate on price is just greed. He wants to undercut us so he can turn and make a profit, and I'm not happy to share my profit anywhere. He just doesn’t know me yet.
"And what did you tell him?" I ask as I blow the smoke right into the man's face. I really don't take people trying to swindle me well.
"That the price is non-negotiable." Vuk pulls the man's head back further. "But he keeps insisting."
The buyer's eyes are wide and his breathing is coming in short gasps. He looks at me, and I can see him trying to decide whether I'm here to help him or make things worse. I take another drag and blow smoke in his face.
"How much does he owe me?" I ask Vuk. I'm training him to be thorough as much as I'm teaching this poor sap a lesson. It's sort of a two-for-one deal.
"Seven thousand euro." Vuk releases the man's hair and steps back. "He's offering four."
I crouch down so I'm eye level with the buyer and study his face.
There's fear there but also a cold edge.
He thinks he can talk his way out of this because men with money always think words are worth more than action.
I don't like men like him, and I don't let them linger in my territory.
It may be a new venture for me here in Belgrade, but I'm not easily pushed around.
"You're going to pay the full amount," I say quietly. "And then you're going to apologize for wasting our time."
"I don't have that much with me," the buyer says.
I stand up and nod at Vuk. He kicks the man in the ribs hard enough that he falls sideways onto the pavement, doubling over to hold his gut. The sound of impact echoes off the brick walls and the buyer curls into a ball as he shifts to protect his head with one arm.
"Check his pockets," I tell Vuk.
Vuk kneels down and goes through the man's jacket while he's still gasping for air. He pulls out a wallet thick with bills and counts them quickly before looking up at me.
"Fifteen thousand," Vuk says.
"Take eight and give him back the rest." I drop my cigarette and crush it under my boot. "We're fair men. We don't steal from our buyers… And make sure he understands what happens if he tries this again."
Vuk counts out the money and shoves the remaining bills back into the buyer's wallet before dropping it on the ground beside him.
Then he grabs the man by his collar and hauls him to his feet.
The buyer sways and nearly falls, but Vuk holds him upright while striking him a few times in the ribs right where his foot connected a few seconds ago.
"Next time you negotiate after seeing the product, I break your hands," Vuk says. "Understand?"
The buyer nods frantically, and Vuk shoves him toward the mouth of the alley. He stumbles and catches himself against the wall before grabbing the bag and running out into the street. I watch him disappear around the corner and then turn back to Vuk.
I exhale smoke and watch the street while he counts the money for a second time. Violence is supposed to be a last resort, but sometimes it's the most efficient method of communication. People understand pain better than words, sadly.
"Any word on our target?" I ask my right hand. I've known him since the day I arrived here in Serbia, and he's been nothing but loyal once I taught him that I was the new leader of this territory, which didn't take much. He's eager.
"Yeah." Vuk finishes counting and looks up. "Got confirmation he's hiding in that jewelry store on Kralja Petra."
My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral. "How sure are you?" How many times have I heard this? And every time we were so certain, it's been a flop.
"Very." Vuk pulls out his phone and shows me a grainy photo. "My contact saw him go in three days ago, and he hasn't come out since."
I study the photo of a man who looks nothing like the pictures Yuri gave me. But the tattoo on his neck is unmistakable. Andrei Lebedev's been hiding in plain sight while I've been chasing ghosts through half of Belgrade.
"Who owns the store?" I pull another cigarette out, offering one to Vuk who refuses it. Then I light it and slip my lighter back into my pocket.
"Old man named Milo?." Vuk puts his phone away. "Does repairs and custom work."
"Is he connected?" I take a long drag while I watch his eyes dart nervously. We don't have the product anymore, but we have all that cash, and the last few times we did a deal like this, we had to run for it. It's good for him to be nervous and keep his eyes on the escape routes.
"Very." Vuk's expression darkens. "He moves information for anyone willing to pay."
That explains how Lebedev has stayed hidden for so long.
Men like Milo? don't just sell jewelry and fix watches.
They broker deals and hide people and know exactly whom to call when trouble walks through the door.
Getting to Lebedev means going through him first, which won't be easy. I'll need time to prepare.
And I'll need time to figure out what to do after that if it falls through. Given Vuk's informant's track record, I think I need that time. That means tonight’s "date" with Danica has to move forward.
"I'll check it out tomorrow," I tell him as we start walking.
"You want backup?" Vuk tucks all the money in his coat pocket and falls into step next to me. "I can meet you there."
"No." I flick some ash and focus on the street at the end of the alley. "I need to see it myself first."
Vuk doesn't argue because he knows better.
He just tells me to be careful and disappears back into the shadows with the money that'll be cleaned for us before I pay my men.
I stand at the mouth of the alley for another five minutes thinking about the jewelry store and how close I could actually be to finding the man I've been hunting almost seven months now.
Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to get to Lebedev without starting a war, but tonight, I have to manipulate a waitress into marriage. The second task feels harder than the first.
The restaurant I've selected for my evening alone with Danica caters to tourists and wealthy locals.
I rented the entire place for the evening and paid the staff triple their normal rate to make everything perfect.
I want roses on every table, candles everywhere, and a string quartet set up in the corner ready to play on my signal.
It's excessive and ridiculous, not at all my sort of thing, but I think it's exactly what someone like Danica would expect from a romantic date. She has no idea what's really happening tonight, and by the time she figures it out, it'll be too late to walk away. I've made sure of that.
I arrive fifteen minutes late because punctuality suggests eagerness and I need her to think I'm in control.
The staff greets me at the door and leads me through the empty dining room to where Danica is already sitting at a table near the window, waiting for me.
She stands when she sees me, and her face lights up with a smile that makes my chest tighten.
She's wearing a blue dress that hits just above her knees and her hair is down around her shoulders. She put on makeup and earrings and she's trying so hard to look ravishing. The effort is both touching and pathetic at the same time. It's so easy sometimes, like taking candy from a baby.
But one thing she isn't is plain. The curve of her cheekbones, the way her tits fill out the bust of the simple dress—it makes my dick hard.
She may not be dressed in eveningwear, but she's leagues above normal.
That stained uniform and apron do not do her justice at all.
Danica is perfectly pluckable, like apples on the low branch of a tree waiting to be eaten by predators like me.
"Hi," she says when I reach the table. Her hand wiggles in a faint wave, and she smiles nervously. Her cheeks are pinked, and I see goosebumps on her arms. She sweeps her eyes down over my black suit and coiffed hair and looks embarrassed.
"Hello," I whisper in her ear softly, then pull out her chair and wait for her to sit before taking my own seat. "You look beautiful."
Her cheeks flush a darker pink and she tucks hair behind her ear. "Thank you."