Igor settled into his seat, wondering if he’d been stupid enough to walk into a trap. Watching Aleksy’s body language, Igor didn’t calculate a threat. For the moment, he didn’t feel the need to reach for his weapon underneath his jacket—or the one strapped to his leg.
“I don’t want to do business with Olaf,” Aleksy said, taking a seat on a comfortable chair across from Igor. A plate of baked goods rested on the coffee table in between them, and though they looked delicious, Igor wasn’t hungry.
“You don’t want to do business with Olaf,” Igor repeated.
“I want to do business with you,” Aleksy stressed. “You’re innovative. I like that. I also like that you are willing to speak with me when Olaf gives me no respect. I only do business with men I respect.”
Igor inclined his head in humility at the man’s words. “We have a slight problem—Olaf is the head of the Russian mob. I’m just his successor.”
“Yes.” He paused. “Is there no way to change that?”
Igor said nothing. He didn’t speak of these things with men who were not in his trusted circle. Vlad had proven himself. Sasha had been his friend since they were children.
“Would you be willing to help?” Igor asked instead.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing. At the moment.”
Aleksy’s eyes held Igor’s. “But we have a deal, yes? From here on out, you and I conduct our business without Olaf present.”
“Agreed.”
The two men rose and shook hands. Just as Igor was about to leave the travel agency, Aleksy’s question stopped him. “It was you, wasn’t it? Behind the Bosnians and Chechens?”
Igor’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “If it was, do you honestly believe I would take credit for that?”
Aleksy shrugged. “Some men are braggarts. Your father for instance. He’s the one claiming he orchestrated it.”
Igor had a lot of pride—but only about certain things. He didn’t care that Olaf wanted the spotlight. Let him. Men in the spotlight were targets.
“I have no idea if Olaf was behind it,” Igor lied.
“The Russians moved into their territories—fast. Something was in place. I find it hard to believe it was your father who had the foresight.”
“Believe what you will, Aleksy.”
With a final wave, he left the agency. His car was waiting for him and after Igor got in, he asked his driver to go for a walk. Igor wanted complete privacy to make his calls.
His first was to Sasha.
The second was to Vlad.
He told both men about the meeting that had just taken place—without Olaf. Something about it had felt off to him. Igor needed eyes on Aleksy, and he trusted Vlad to do it.
On his way home, he stopped at a flower shop and bought Maryruth a bouquet of pink roses. Though she’d been completely understanding about the change in their schedule, he hated to disappoint her.
Entering his building, he gave the doorman a wave and then headed up to the roof, not bothering to stop at the penthouse. He had a feeling she was still out in the sunshine, lingering in the warmth, daydreaming and sketching.
“Maryruth?” he called as he stepped foot onto the roof. “Maryruth, I’m back.”
No reply. Was she listening to music, earbuds stuck deep in her ears so she couldn’t hear anything?
He moved across the garden and turned the bend, thinking she might be sitting in one of the wicker chairs. But she wasn’t there. Igor frowned. Maybe she was in the apartment taking a nap.
Just when he thought of turning back and heading inside, he saw it: an outstretched hand nestled in a cluster of tender, purple blooms.
The pink roses in his hand dropped to the ground. He ran.
Her dusky pink sundress was stained with dirt. Her wavy mass of blond hair shielded her face.
Everything around him ceased to exist.
He crouched down next to her and gently rolled her onto her back. Igor brushed the hair away from her terrified sightless eyes, her mouth open as if to call out.
But there hadn’t been a chance.
The bullet to her forehead had made sure of that.