Chapter Four
In which nothing is more enraging than two hot blondes and a smirking Nikandr.
Nikandr…
I have no interest in seeing that little card shark again.
Caroline may be an effective hotel manager, and I had certainly checked my sources and the Lyric's P right cheek, then left, then right, lingering on the last kiss before they leave the hotel.
Caroline is across the lobby, speaking to an older couple. I recognize the woman, Marta Borremans, the ambassador to the U.S. from Belgium. Caroline is all smiles and charm until she turns and sees me.
"Hello, Caroline," I say.
"Is there something you need, Mr. Morozov?" she says. Her eyes are glittering - with murderous thoughts, no doubt - and there's a faint flush on her tanned face.
"Not at this moment," I say graciously. "But I did want to tell you that the table service was a bit lacking this afternoon. You might want to instruct your room service staff on the proper placement for a floral centerpiece when serving a full meal."
She's staring at me as if she can't decide whether to punch me in the throat or just shoot me. I suspect she'd go with the former, since the latter move would involve trying to get the blood out of these pristine oriental rugs.
"The proper placement of the floral centerpiece?
" she asks, radiating incredulity and a tasty dash of fury.
She folds her arms, which pushes up her breasts, an action I note with approval, since it shows the delicate swell of her breasts over the neckline of her silk blouse.
What color are her nipples? Pink? A dusky, darker shade?
"Every detail matters when you're establishing a hotel's reputation, does it not?" I ask solicitously. I watch her fingers curl into claws, but she keeps her expression placid, and professional.
"Of course, Mr. Morozov," she says. Her smile is wide and showing too many teeth. "I'll be sure to pass that on to the wait staff. Is there anything else?" She says it as if it's physically painful for her to continue talking to me.
I put my hands in my pockets and take a long, slow look around the lobby, letting the minute stretch out as she stands next to me, fuming. Just as she opens her mouth, I smile regally. "That's all."
My second, Vasilisa, is waiting by my Maserati SUV when I emerge from the hotel. She cocks an eyebrow as I walk to the car, laughing. "Oh, was it that kind of lunch?" she asks.
"No." I get in the car "I don't sleep with business partners."
"Is this a new policy?" she asks, pressing her lips together as I eye her sternly.
Vasilisa is the daughter of one of my father's most reliable Brigadiers.
We learned how to shoot together, use a knife, and she was inducted into the Morozov Bratva the same night I was.
She's got pitch black hair and eyes, matching the color of her soul.
Everyone in my direct employ is terrified of her, so it's easy to keep order in the ranks.
"Tell me what we have on the counterfeit deal," I ask as the car slides into afternoon traffic. "Have Castillo's people signed the distribution forms and sent the first shipment of currency?"
"Yes," she says, opening her phone to show me the numbers. "The first batch should arrive tonight with the courier. Castillo might be in town for the handover. I hear he's dealing with an issue in South Africa right now."
"I hope he stays there," I murmur. If Castillo finds out that Caroline is the GM of the Hotel Lyric, he won't rest until he's ensconced in a suite there tightly enough that even a crowbar couldn't pry him loose.
I spent an exhausting thirty minutes on the phone with him the day after the poker tournament, forced to listen to him rhapsodize over Caroline's "beautiful cheekbones," and "exquisite hair.
" When he moved on to her "spectacular breasts," I hung up.
It's been a long day, and my last meeting is with Alexsey and Roman. They're waiting for me in a VIP booth at our club Heaven and Hell, both wearing anticipatory grins. This never bodes well.
"What?" I say sharply.
"What do you mean, cousin?" Roman says, widening his eyes innocently.
"You only get that expression when you're about to wire a building with C4 and explode it into dust or you want me to do something particularly unpleasant."
"That can't be," says Roman, he and Alexsey look at each other, deeply shocked. "When have we ever?"
I sigh, straightening my cuffs. "You will recall the time I had to fly you out of Morocco after you demolished Nikos Papageorgiou's newly renovated mansion? Dmitri couldn't go fetch you because Ava was nearing her due date."
"Papageorgiou had it coming," Roman says, shrugging.
"And you, Alexsey, you'll recall back in your bachelor days when I had to meet with Boris Müller to explain to him that you couldn't possibly marry his daughter, even though you'd spent the entire weekend with her on the Müller family yacht?"
"She said she had a boyfriend and she was only interested in a fling," he says haughtily. "I feel like it's in very bad taste for you to keep bringing up the past when you - as our new Sovietnik - are such an important part of our family's great future."
Tapping my fingers on the table, I stare at them both, waiting for the other shoe to drop because with these two it always does.
"Well, we were thinking," Roman says as a server hurries over with a drink for me. "Since both of us are now happily married we would be useless for this particular mission. You, however, are completely free."
"And still a man whore," Alexsey adds helpfully.
I can feel a headache starting at the base of my skull and spreading. Tormenting Caroline was the only enjoyable moment of my day and I don't feel like this conversation is going to lead to anything pleasant. "What exactly are you planning?" I ask.
"It just so happens that Maybelle Sinclair is in town," Roman says, "Her uncle Thomas has been an enormous pain in the ass.
We're certain he's the one who stole that shipment of pharmaceuticals we'd had compounded in Bermuda.
You just have to spend one good evening with Maybelle and she'll not only spill why he's going after us - when he knows we can crush him - and where those pharmaceuticals happen to be.
He hasn't had enough time to disperse the shipment. "
"Just so we're clear, you're expecting me to sexually service Maybelle-"
"It's not like it's the first time," Alexsey adds.
"-In order to take our drug shipment back?" Downing half my drink, I massage the back of my neck. "I believe you might be overestimating my charm and skill. Or, my inclination to fuck Maybelle."
They look disappointed. These assholes.
"What's option two?" I ask.
***
Ser - Sir or Mr. in Russian