12. Nikolai
Nikolai
I pull up as close to my new building as I can. Two fucking fire trucks are parked across the entrance. Hoses run from the hydrant to the backside of the building. Half my crew is standing around in hard hats, doing nothing, which is the most expensive thing a construction crew can do.
I get out and spot Frank.
"Electrical fire," he says. "Third floor, north wing. Contained fast. Nobody hurt."
"Then why are they still here?"
"Inspector's saying there might be a wiring issue throughout that whole section. Won't sign off until they re-clear it."
I look past him and to the fire captain, who’s talking to one of my electricians.
"We already passed inspection on that wing," I say. "Three weeks ago. We are long past electrical inspections.”
"I know."
"So why are we doing it again?"
Pasha's car rolls up behind mine. He gets out and takes one look at the trucks. He knows what happened: He sent me a text while I was dropping off Gabby and Luke.
“After a fire, we have to go through another round,” Frank says.
“Why?” I ask again.
"You know why," Pasha says.
Frank takes that moment to disappear into the fray.
"They keep finding new ways to cost me money,” I say.
"They keep finding new ways to remind you they're still here."
The fire captain breaks away from my electrician and walks toward me.
“Mr. Sokolov, I explained it to your foreman, but I’ll tell you the same thing. There’s got to be another inspection.”
“You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with the wiring,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “There’s a report. Can’t pull it back. Maybe you can make a call.”
It’s always about making a call. Shove a little money this way or that way. Grease the wheels.
“We’ll take care of it,” Pasha says.
I walk back to the car.
Pasha falls into step beside me. "Where are we going?"
"I feel like meatballs."
He sighs. "This should be interesting. I’ll follow you. Don’t ditch me. I know how you get.”
I get into my SUV and drive to the east side of the city. I only check once to see if Pasha is behind me. He’ll roll right through anyone that gets between him and me.
I reach into the center console and check the Glock I keep there. It’s always loaded. One never knows when it will be needed.
The restaurant smells like garlic when I push through the door with Pasha on my heels. It’s an old mob establishment. They’ve never bothered to update the place. It still has the same ugly red leather booths. White tablecloths. A Sinatra song plays overhead.
I notice everything.
The hostess sees us first. Fear fills her eyes.
"Table for two?" she manages.
"No," I say.
I walk past her, tightening my grip on the Glock. Her running footsteps are all I hear behind me.
Pasha moves on my left.
An older couple deep in conversation falls silent. The man’s fork stops halfway to his mouth.
I hear my name whispered. Sinatra is still crooning, but no one is talking or eating.
I see my target. Low-level. The kind of guy who would be sent in to fuck with my building.
He sees me before he sees the gun. By the time he sees the gun, it's already done its job. He goes down screaming, clutching his hand, blood running between his fingers and onto the white tablecloth.
His eyes lock on mine like he can’t believe I’m standing in front of him.
“Sokolov!”
I move swiftly as the second guy reaches for something under his jacket. I put one in his thigh before he gets there. He drops, swearing and grabbing at his leg.
I hear a shot and feel a bullet whip past my ear. Another shot rings out less than a second later. I don’t have to look to know it’s Pasha hitting the guy who just shot at me.
Neither shot was meant to kill them. Dead men don't deliver messages. Wounded ones do.
Someone comes through the kitchen door with a gun raised. Pasha puts a round through his shoulder before I fully register the threat. One shot. Clean. The man howls. I already know Pasha will brag about that one later.
A fourth one steps out from behind the bar with his hands up, not stupid enough to reach for anything, but still stupid enough to start shouting.
“You’re in the wrong fucking restaurant.” A man steps forward. “You’ll pay.”
“I’m returning the favor. Tell your boss the next time he fucks with my property, I won’t be shooting his goons. I’ll be visiting him at his hotel and his fucking house.”
“You don’t run this city. We do,” he snaps.
Pasha scoffs. “A bunch of old, fat Italians living in the twentieth century, pretending they have power. Slow learners.”
“This is your final warning,” I tell him. “I so much as suffer a broken window, and I’ll be back. Your boss would be wise to pay attention. I’m not the one.”
There’s shouting as we walk out, but nobody is brave enough to stop us. The hostess presses herself against the wall like she's trying to disappear.
Pasha holsters his gun and rolls his shoulders like he’s just finished a light workout.
"Now, I'm hungry," he says.
“Casino,” I tell him.
“I’m behind you.”
I put the Glock back in the console and briefly think about the weapons placed around my house. I’ll need to have a talk with Luke about gun safety. And I suppose we’ll need to secure them better.
I park in the garage and enter through the back of the casino.
“I called ahead and brought in the extra security we’ll need after that.”
“You think I should have let it go?”
We step into the service elevator.
“No. Just saying we’ll need extra security.”
“The casino and the house.”
We go into my office where a cart from the kitchen is waiting.
That’s Pasha’s doing. We sit at the table in the corner with a view of the casino floor. Steak and potatoes and a bottle of red that Pasha opens.
“Anything you want to tell me?” He swirls the wine in his glass.
“About?”
“The dealer.”
"I moved them into the estate," I answer.
Pasha chokes on his wine. “You did what?”
He sets down his glass and stares at me.
“You moved a woman you barely know and her child into your home,” he says slowly. “Your home, Nik. The house that no one goes to.”
“I did.”
“Are you aware of how that sounds?”
“I am.”
He leans back in his chair and looks at me the way he does when he’s deciding how to handle me. I’ve seen that look since we were twelve years old. It means he’s choosing between two approaches. I should probably be more disturbed by his ability to handle me.
“She was on the street,” I say. “Her and the boy. Landlord put them out.”
“There are hotels, Nik. Shelters. A hundred options between the street and your private residence.”
“She doesn’t have money for a hotel.”
“You could have given her money.”
“She wouldn’t have taken it.”
“Please don’t tell me you forced her into your house.”
I give him a look. “I didn’t kidnap them.”
“How long?” he asks.
“I don’t know. She said two nights, but she’s not going to bounce back that quickly.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“It’s fine.”
“Nobody goes to the house. No business. No women. Nobody.”
“I know the rules,” I say.
“Is something going on there?” he asks.
“No.”
He gives me a look that suggests he finds that answer incomplete.
“She’s interesting,” I say.
“Interesting.”
“She’s not who she says she is, and I want to know who she is.”
He smirks. “So, you move her into your house.”
“Keep your enemies close.”
“Is she an enemy?”
“I don’t know.”
He cuts his steak. “What’s your instinct? Threat or not a threat?”
“Not a threat to us,” I say. “I believe that, but she doesn’t like the police. It’s more like she’s afraid of being seen.”
“But she works in a busy casino.”
“We don’t get a lot of police asking questions in here. I think there’s a level of safety in being surrounded by security.”
“If that’s what she’s doing, hiding in plain sight, that’s smart.”
“Exactly.”
He laughs. “You admire her.”
I shrug. “I’m intrigued. And she has a kid. I’m not going to leave him out there on the street.”
“Never took you for a bleeding heart.”
“I’m not a monster. I like the kid.”
Pasha smiles. “We’ll have to schedule a playdate.”
“What the hell is a playdate?”
He laughs. “We’ll figure it out.”
I take a few bites, mulling over the situation. I hadn’t given myself much time to think it through. I just tossed her shit in my SUV, and the decision was made.
“It feels off,” I say. “The whole picture. And I don’t like things in my orbit that I don’t understand.”
“So, it’s strategic.”
“It’s practical.”
“And if it’s nothing?” Pasha says. “If she’s just a woman with a complicated past who needed a fresh start and made herself one?”
“It’s not nothing.”
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” he says.
“Don’t. Nothing on the books. Let me see how it goes.”
“Nik, be careful with the kid.”
“I would never hurt a kid, especially Luke. I like him.”
Pasha looks surprised, but he just smiles and eats his steak.