Vadim
My phone vibrates on the bedside table at five in the morning.
I open my eyes and consider throwing it through the window.
It stops, then starts again.
Only family calls twice.
I reach for it and answer without checking the screen. “Someone better be dead.”
“Gregor Melnikov is,” Lev says.
That improves my mood.
I sit up and switch on the lamp. “Anton’s brother?”
“The very same. Found in an alley in Camberwell this morning with a knife wound in his neck.”
“And you’re calling me at this ungodly hour because?”
“Baron wants you at his house in an hour.”
“He couldn’t call me himself.”
“I offered.”
“Lucky me.”
“He probably thinks it was you after what you did to Melnikov’s man outside Zatmeniye.”
“Fuck off,” I growl.
“Fucking off. I’m nowhere near this. See ya.”
He hangs up, for which I’m both grateful and annoyed. Trust him to deliver the message and leave me to it. Not that it’s a problem. It’s my mess. Or at least half of it is, and I always face the consequences. Ducking is for cowards.
I haul my arse off the bed and make it two steps before there is a knock at the door. “Coffee?” Ivan calls out.
I want to ask how he knew I was up already, but forget it. The man has the ‘sight’ as my babushka used to say about everyone with even an inkling of sixth sense.
“Come in.”
Ivan enters with a tray and sets it on the bedside table. A black coffee waits beside a glass of water. He takes one look at me and moves to the wardrobe.
“I’m capable of dressing myself.”
“Of course, sir.”
He removes a navy Hugo Boss suit, a white shirt, and a navy tie.
I point at the tie. “No tie. It’s before dawn.”
Ivan replaces it, lips pursed.
“You enjoy this far too much.”
“I enjoy preventing avoidable errors.”
He leaves before I can tell him where he can put his avoidable errors.
I take the coffee into the bathroom and drink it while the shower heats. Baron’s summons at this hour means he’s already received several calls. Melnikov will accuse us of killing Gregor, even if he has no proof. Men like Anton don’t need proof. They need an excuse and an audience.
I shower, dress, and reach for the most expensive Patek Philippe I own, which retails for over half a million pounds.
Baron notices the details.
I straighten my cuffs and load up. Glock, handcuffs which serve as a weapon as well as restraints, phone, black Amex. The stiletto stays behind. It needs cleaning anyway.
Ivan appears in the entrance hall before I reach the bottom of the stairs, holding out my keys.
I take them with a nod and step outside into the chill late autumn dawn.
Bogdan waits beside the Bentley. He opens the passenger door without a word.
“I’m driving.”
He stares at me.
“I can operate a car without supervision.”
His stare continues.
“Get in before I leave you here.”
Grudgingly, he takes the passenger seat. I drive through quiet streets towards Hampstead. London hasn’t started its daily chaos yet. Delivery vans crowd the kerbs. A few tired workers wait at bus stops beneath the early morning rain.
Baron owns a mansion in Belgravia, on a private road with enough security to survive an organised assault, which, to be fair, has seen one or two in its time.
The gates open and I pull in, parking up next to a midnight blue Rolls Royce. I get out before Bogdan can make a scene and Gregor has the door open before I reach it.
“Pakhan is in his study,” he says.
I nod my thanks and head down the marble hallways to the study, with Bogdan giving me distance.
The door is already open. Baron sits behind his desk with his glasses perched on the edge of his nose.
He points at the chair opposite him. “Sit.”
“I prefer standing.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you prefer.”
I sit.
Bogdan remains outside and closes the door.
Baron studies my face. “Did you kill Gregor Melnikov?”
“No.”
“Did you order his death?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
He taps one finger against his desk. “Anton called me an hour ago. He believes you’re responsible. He also thinks you stabbed one of his men, who lived to tell the tale.”
“That I did do.”
Nothing. No change in expression. No smile. Not even a blink.
“What? He was rude,” I say and curse myself for talking.
Baron’s silences are known to make badass men keep talking themselves into graves.
Sadly, my lesson will never be learned. “Melnikov is a low-life piece of shit, and we both know it. He wants to accuse a Voronov, let him come and say it to my face. I’ll show him less restraint than I showed to his man. But I didn’t kill his brother.”
“Noted.” He sits back and steeples his fingers.
“So why did you drag me down here at this hour?”
He smiles. It’s cold. “I enjoy bothering people before dawn.”
“Nice,” I say. We have moved from pakhan to uncle, and there is a difference. “Just because you sleep for two hours a night doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”
“Not my problem.”
“Yeah, well, this Melnikov bullshit isn’t my problem. So why did you call me here?”
“Simply to clear this up. I’ll pass it along.”
“You doubted me?”
“I had no idea. You are not supervised, Vadim. You didn’t report the stabbing, so how am I meant to know?”
“Good point. I wasn’t aware that I needed to report all my stabbings. We’ll be on the phone constantly.”
“I don’t expect that,” he says. “You are being obtuse. But I cannot unequivocally tell Melnikov to go to hell on the off chance I’m wrong.”
“And you couldn’t ask me on the phone? While I was still in bed with my coffee?”
“Coffee doesn’t keep you warm, Vadim. Find yourself a nice Russian woman, hmm?”
“Not this again,” I grumble. “I’m thirty-seven and quite capable of making this decision for myself.”
“I understand your reluctance. You enjoy the peace and quiet.”
That’s putting it one way. “I enjoy not having anyone ask where I’ve been, what I’m doing, or why there’s blood on my shirt.”
“A wife might improve your behaviour.”
“She’d need to be armed.”
“If she weren’t, there’d be a problem.”
I stand and fasten my jacket. “Anything else?”
“Anton will investigate Gregor’s death. Stay out of his way.”
“I have no interest in his dead brother.”
“Maybe not, but I want an ear to the ground, nonetheless.”
“Consider it done,” I say, turning to the door. “Bye, Baron. I’m going back to bed.”
“Alone,” he calls out. “Make sure you grab a hot water bottle from Ivan on your way in.”
“Fuck you,” I call back with a smile.
Gregor gives me a horrified stare, but I know for a fact Baron is chuckling away to himself right now.
I leave before my uncle finds another reason to interfere with my life.
Bogdan follows me outside. The rain has started again, leaving the drive wet beneath the security lights. I unlock the Bentley and glance at him.
“You can drive.”
He takes the keys without reacting. This is how I know he’s pleased. Or pissed off. Who the fuck actually knows?
I get into the passenger seat and check my phone. Two messages pop up. One is from Lev asking whether Baron executed me. The second is from our solicitor regarding a customs officer who suddenly developed principles.
“Home,” I say absently as I reply to Lev with the middle finger emoji. Business can wait. First, I need more coffee, food and more sleep, which is the only place true silence and darkness can be found, even if only temporarily.
Bogdan pulls through the gates and onto the wet road without a word. The wipers cut a rhythm against the windscreen, slow and steady, and for a while I let my head fall back against the seat and close my eyes. My mind works over the pieces Baron gave me.
Gregor Melnikov, dead in an alley in Camberwell. Stabbed in the neck.
Not our style. If I’d wanted him dead, I would’ve made it slower, and I would’ve made sure Anton knew exactly who did it and why. There’s no pleasure in an anonymous kill. What’s the point of building a reputation if nobody credits you for the work?
Seconds later, Bogdan pulls into my driveway, and I get out before he’s even cut the engine. Ivan is waiting for me with an open door, coffee and a bacon sandwich on soft white bread with HP Sauce—the only way to take it, and I will stab anyone who says otherwise.
“Prince among men,” I say, coffee and plate in hand as I head for the stairs.
“There were rumours…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Everyone says that.”
He smirks and disappears to do Ivan things while I disappear upstairs to get away from everyone. My bedroom is exactly how I left it. Dark, cold, and quiet. I set the coffee and sandwich on the dresser and strip off the jacket, tossing it over the same chair from last night.
I eat standing up, staring out the window at the rain sheeting down over the back garden.
Gregor Melnikov’s death changes nothing for me, not directly, but it shifts the board.
Anton will want blood for blood, and he’ll look everywhere before he looks at the truth.
Men like him always assume the worst enemy did the worst thing.
It saves them the trouble of thinking too hard and gives them false leverage.
Anton will come for something. The question is what.
I finish the sandwich and coffee and strip off, crawling into bed and closing my eyes.