Chapter 17
ISABELLA
The home of Maxim Mechnikov looks more like a castle than a mansion.
It sits on the edge of the city at the end of a winding road flanked by thick forest trees that make everything dark even though it’s still early in the morning.
When we pull up to the large wrought iron gates, I find herself peering over Alexei’s shoulder at the structure in awe.
It’s so large that it casts a shadow over the acre of land before it, a beige brick exterior with a circular room and steeple near the center.
The windows are all large and square shaped with the hint of drapes covering most of them.
Alexei drives the car right up to the circular drive and the front doors open.
A man with a thick beard barely covering rosy cheeks comes walking out.
He’s wearing a suit, but he doesn’t look like that’s his normal attire.
His shoulders are too broad, making his head look too small under the collar and tie.
He looks like he should be a bouncer rather than whatever he is right now.
What the hell do they feed these guys? Every one of them is built like walking, talking brick walls.
Alexei pulls up as the man walks to the edge of the front stairs. “Remember what I said,” he says to me. “Stay on your best behavior in here. This isn’t a game.”
“I heard you,” I say in a failed attempt to keep the bitter tone out of my voice. He looks back at me with a silent warning, then he gets out of the car.
I wait for him to open my door and I get out. I take a second to straighten my blouse. The big lug wrinkled it carrying me like a baby. Ugh.
The man says flatly in a heavy Russian accent, “Mr. Mechnikov, they are all gathered in your father’s office.” His eyes move to me tentatively, then, with a short nod, he goes, “Mrs. Mechnikov.”
I don’t have a response, so I don’t say anything. He still lets us pass and as we do, Alexei says to him, “Uncle, please show my wife to the parlor to wait for me.”
“Of course, sir,” he says.
I don’t object, even though I kind of want to know what they’re going to be discussing. I don’t imagine that they’ll try to attempt a jailbreak or anything like that, but clearly, there’s big planning going on. And I have a really bad feeling about all that.
My father-in-law’s house is enormous. The foyer is more like a lobby in a hotel than anything else, with dark marble floors and walls with dark patterns in the wallpaper. The staircase is wide. Like, I imagine ten people could probably walk down it all at once.
I follow ‘Uncle’ up those stairs, my hand on the cool wood of the railing. At the landing is a large, circular stained glass window with figures portrayed in it, a man standing with one foot on a big stone, holding a sword in the air while a beautiful woman with long black hair stands at his side.
It’s all very Medieval. I wonder if he had this place brought to the States stone by stone.
The upstairs hallway is carpeted. Dark, blood red with gold, crisscrossed designs. It’s pretty gaudy in comparison to everything else in here so far. The parlor is only a few steps away, but as we walk toward, it I can hear the soft rumble of conversation from one of the rooms behind me.
Maxim’s office. It sounds like a lot of voices, even from here. Probably all his captains or whatever the Russian word is for that. I’d kill to be a fly on the wall in there.
The parlor looks about what I would expect, given the design of the rest of the house. Antique couch in front of a stone fireplace, a writing desk in the farthest corner with a bookshelf wall next to it. A caddy with alcohol, ice, and glasses for making drinks…
And the faint smell of some manly cologne that I imagine is seeped into this ugly wallpaper. I wander over to the drink caddy… no water. Of course there’s no water. Maxim probably lives off vodka and human souls.
The door opens and Anya walks in. Her long, curly hair is up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a T-shirt and tight jeans. She looks at the drink caddy and smirks at me. “A little early, no?”
“After the morning I’ve had, not really,” I say.
“Well, then, let me make you a proper drink. It’s a rough morning all around.”
I step aside as she pulls out two glasses, then kneels down to see what alcohol she has to work with.
It’s kind of odd that she’s here. I don’t think Anya’s a soldier or anything.
Women being close to the action… that kind of thing wouldn’t fly in my father’s side of the family.
Then again, I’m not really in Kansas anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her. “Did you get the call like everybody else?”
“I did,” she said. “And now I’ve been tasked with babysitting you.
” She stands holding two decanters, one with a transparent liquid and the other with an orange-red liquid.
“I don’t know what you did, but I don’t remember the last time I saw Alexei quite that angry. You’ve really gotten under his skin.”
Good. I watch her as she puts ice in both glasses and starts mixing the drinks. “Yeah, I have that effect on men.”
She snickers as she stirs the orange concoction with a glass stirrer. She hands me a glass and says, “A nice blood orange screwdriver. Perfect for morning drama.”
I take it gratefully. The first sip is really good, sweet and tangy with just a hit of vodka. I wonder how much of what’s happened I can tell her. She is one of them, after all. And we’re kind of friends now.
“So, you’ve been sent to babysit me,” I say. “Sounds like a shit job to me.”
She shrugs. “It’s not really necessary for me to be in there. They’re talking about territories and contingency plans in case Maxim doesn’t make bail. I’m not needed unless somebody needs to go away quietly.”
I pause mid-drink. “What does that mean?”
She just smiles at me as she takes a sip from her glass. “With any luck, you’ll never find out.”
Well. That’s unexpected. I leave it alone, though. Some things I really don’t want to know, anyway.
“So, what did you do to upset Alexei this morning?” she asks me.
I sigh, still wondering if I can trust her. “Just a disagreement between us. Marriage stuff.”
“Mm. I’d believe that if I thought you two married for love. What’s really going on?”
I regard her for a moment. Clearly, she’s not going to let go of this.
Oh, what the hell? I can’t just walk around holding onto this.
Besides, now that I think of it, she probably has more intel than I could ever have.
“There’s something going on that doesn’t make any sense.
You know about Alexei being shot, right? ”
She nods in response. “Of course. It’s a big deal when a Bratva prince is injured.”
“Right, so… so now he thinks that my father arranged a hit on him.”
Her smile fades. “I see,” she says. “That actually explains a lot of the movement I’ve been seeing in the past twenty-four hours. I knew something big was happening. The club has been buzzing more than normal.”
“So, then, you know something about all this?”
“I don’t know anything. Not really. What I know about this situation you could stuff in a thimble.”
I don’t believe that. She wanders over to the couch and sits on the arm, sipping her drink as if there’s nothing more to be said.
“The weird thing,” I continue, “is that this just doesn’t track. Why would my father attack Alexei? He’s the one who wanted me to marry him.”
“Didn’t I hear that your sister was the original bride to be?”
“Not the point. I got the job when she bailed, and he didn’t exactly object to it.”
“Hmm. Sounds like a great guy, your father.”
I look down at my drink. That stung a little.
“Sorry,” she says. “I should know better than most that no matter how terrible your father is, he’s still your father.” She regards me for a few seconds as if debating something. Then she says, “You know, my father used to be Pakhan.”
I’m gagged momentarily. “Really? Wait.” I try to think about when we broached this subject a month ago. “Sorry, I was under the impression—”
“I deliberately kept that information from you,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “It’s a sore subject for Dmitri and me.”
I nod slowly. “So… so, he was the last Pakhan? Before Maxim?”
She takes a drink from her glass. “The story goes that he and my uncle never really got along. Even as children. They were always in competition with one another. And when my grandfather died, my father took over, as he was the elder brother and the most capable. It was expected of him.”
She took a sip from her glass. “What wasn’t expected was his little brother causing problems. Even though they were always at odds, no one believed that Maxim wouldn’t fall in line as soon as his brother took control.
Suddenly, he was lax at doing his job taking care of his soldiers.
Money and merchandise started to turn up missing.
It was a mess. My father decided that something needed to be done about it, so he thought the best way would be to fight it out with him. ”
I snickered. “Like physically? Are you serious?”
“Very serious,” she says. “Maxim had gained quite a reputation in the underground fighting circuits. He was known as ‘The Bear’ because his fighting style was so vicious. People would say that his opponents looked as though they’d been mauled after a few rounds with him.
What is less commonly known is that it was my father taught him everything he ever knew.
You see, he was considered a better fighter all around. ”
I’m now sitting on the couch paying rapt attention to the history lesson. Anya pauses and takes another sip from her glass.
“I was very young when this happened, but I remember everyone talking about it. Gathering at our house to make bets. It was treated like some kind of recreation. A friendly match between brothers.”
“Friendly? Doesn’t sound like it was meant to be friendly.”