20

A bit worse for wear, Dmitry was glad to be back at work just three days later, even if he wasn’t sure he’d still have a job the following week. With Mr. Nick dead and a string of murdered donors under investigation, the Center might be closed for good. But this morning, Dmitry was looking forward to reframing the Kandinskys he’d rescued from Sergei. It would take a while, but he could work the canvas and adjust the frames. He enjoyed working with his hands.

With his brother behind bars, Dmitry’s wife and daughter were safe, at least for now. He thought of his poor mother. Why did Sergei do it? He was getting the paintings, or at least he thought he was. Dmitry hoped they locked up Sergei for life.

He picked up Kandinsky’s Composition and admired it, as he’d done so many times before. The symphony of colors and shapes had gotten him through many tough nights over the last two decades. He gently wiped the frame with his cloth, careful not to touch the canvas. Staring at the painting, Dmitry lost himself in a particular patch of soft green shaded with gold. He thought of childhood summers at the Count’s estate, running through the grass, fly-fishing in the stream—those glorious weeks without his tyrannical father. The Count was his mother’s cousin, and it had all seemed so innocent. Even his father didn’t suspect anything.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, bringing him back from his daydream. Lolita was texting from outside. What is she doing here? He slowly sat the painting on the floor, leaned it against the wall, then hurried to open the back door. He winced. Too fast. His legs needed time to heal.

He hoped Lolita wasn’t in trouble. Yes, she insisted she could take care of herself. But even a black belt in karate was no match for Sergei’s MSS VUL . . . or any thug’s gun, for that matter. She was young and thought she was invincible, and that just made her more vulnerable.

He entered the code and opened the door. Lolita, her friend, and Vanya were waiting in the back alley.

“What’s going on?” Dmitry asked.

“We want to take a look around.” Lolita kissed one cheek and then the other. “And ask you some questions.” She was getting so thin. She really needed to come home for some of Sabina’s pelmeni—so much better than Italian tortellini.

Vanya blew out a cloud of smoke. “Hi, boss.” He flashed his toothy grin, dropped his cigarette on the pavement, and ground it out.

“Thanks, Mr. Durchenko,” Jessica said as they filed past. Poor girl had dark circles under her eyes. With her hair going every which way, she looked like she’d just tumbled out of a dryer. She must be taking Mr. Nick’s death pretty hard.

He thought of one of his mother’s sayings, “Death doesn’t take the old, but the ripe.” Mr. Nick had been in the prime of his life. In a sense, Dmitry’s mother had been, too. She’d only recently been freed from the yoke of Anton Yudkovich and reunited with the love of her life, Count Volkov. Poor Mama. If only I could have seen her again. Had anyone notified the Count of her death? Dmitry should make a phone call.

“We want to look through all of the donor files,” Lolita said, striding past him toward the elevator. “I presume they’re in Nick’s office?”

“Yes, but it’s locked, and the police have—” He hurried to catch up to his daughter.

“No problemo,” Vanya chuckled. He removed a small black case from his pocket and held it up.

“But the police—”

“Do you really trust the police to find the killer?” Lolita jammed her thumb into the elevator button. “Not a chance. Especially if Bratva is involved.”

“Detective Cormier’s not afraid of Bratva,” Jessica said. She slid past Dmitry into the elevator.

“Well, he should be.” Lolita poked the button for the second floor.

“I’m not afraid of Bratva,” Vanya said, grinning.

“That’s because you are Bratva.” Dmitry scowled. “And don’t have the good sense to get out.”

“Once you’re in, there’s no getting out.” Vanya slapped him on the shoulder as they all left the elevator. “Right, boss?”

Vanya was right. As hard as Dmitry had tried to escape Bratva, they’d always caught up to him. He couldn’t hide all his life. Even staying out of trouble and cleaning up other people’s shit for a living hadn’t been enough to go undetected by the brotherhood. They had eyes and ears everywhere. Otherwise, how had Vanya found him two years ago?

“Nick’s office,” Jessica said. Her hand was trembling as she pointed at a glass door.

“This is a very bad idea.” Dmitry shook his head. “My job is hanging by a thread as it is.”

“Don’t be such a worrying wart.” Ignoring the yellow police tape, Vanya removed a long, thin steel tool from his pouch and jimmied the lock. When the door clicked open, he glanced over at Dmitry and grinned. “Easy and peasy.” Like a runner finishing a race, Vanya strode right through the police tape. The girls followed him into the office.

“What are we looking for?” Vanya spoke around an unlit cigarette.

“Anything related to the donors,” Jessica said. “Especially the VIPERS whose donations kick in only after they croak.”

“Yeah. Anything that suggests Nick was raising money for his precious Center by offing people.” Lolita sat in Nick’s chair and opened his desk drawers.

“Nick didn’t kill anyone!” Jessica glared at Lolita, then picked up a laptop from the desk. “What about his computer? We need Amber to hack it for us.”

“Amber is another prime suspect,” Lolita protested.

“She’s definitely hiding something.” Jessica sat on the windowsill behind the desk, kicked her feet up on the back of Lolita’s chair, and balanced the computer on her thighs. “But I don’t think she’s a killer.”

“I still think my brother had something to do with all this.” Dmitry stiffened. “And he is a killer.”

“Sly always did have good timing,” Vanya said.

Dmitry frowned. “Sergei shows up and everything goes to hell. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“If Bratva’s behind this, we’re screwed.” Lolita was rifling through some papers she’d removed from a manila folder in the bottom drawer. “The only way to get to the brotherhood is from the inside.”

Jessica tried to guess the password on Nick’s computer. Is it his initials, or his birthday? His mother’s maiden name? On a whim, she entered her own name. Nope. Unless . . . She typed “dolce” into the box on the screen. Nope. She played around with various numbers—his birthday, her birthday, the date they’d met . . . Bingo! She was in. The Tinder icon made her wonder if this was such a good idea. She had no right to be jealous. It’s not like they were together.

What am I looking for? What would make someone want to kill Nick? Had he known something about his father’s business, something that had gotten him killed? She refused to believe he was actually involved with any shady business deals. Scrolling through his e-mail was worse than looking through his underwear drawer. “Sorry, Nick,” she said under her breath.

“These accounts don’t add up,” Lolita said, holding up a ledger. “Why was Nick selling art donated to the Center?”

“He was selling paintings?” Jessica asked. “Don’t most museums buy and sell to fine-tune their collections?”

“The Center isn’t even open yet and he’s sold two major paintings.” Lolita pushed the ledger under Jessica nose. “See. And here’s a list of paintings he was planning to sell next month.”

All Jessica saw were a bunch of meaningless numbers. “Wait!” She grabbed the ledger. “He sold a copy of The Blue Rider Almanac?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. He was more invested in the Blue Riders than me. Oh my God. No way he would sell these.”

“Blue Riders?” Vanya asked.

“A group of early twentieth century Russian and German expressionist artists founded by Wassily Kandinsky,” Dmitry said. “Mr. Nick’s specialty.”

The former janitor knew his art. He was always as much fun to talk to about Russian art as Nick had been, except with Nick there had been the added benefits of a beautiful face and cute butt. If only she could stop thinking about him. She’d blown her nose raw over the last few days. At night, she cried herself to sleep and woke up parched.

She stopped scrolling. “A message from Nick’s dad.” She opened it and skimmed the text. “Sent three days before his death. He asks to meet Nick and says he has a surprise for him.” She swiped to the bottom of the long message. “Then it gets strange, almost as if it’s written in code. Has anyone heard of the ‘Fersman catalog’?”

“Sounds familiar,” Dmitry said.

“The message talks about Bourbons, solitaires, a regent—”

“I remember!” Dmitry came around the desk and peered down at the computer screen. “The Fersman is a catalog of the Romanov jewels, most of which are still missing.”

“The Romanov jewels.” Vanya whistled through his grill. “Those babies must be worth a fortune.” Click. Click. Click. He snapped his lighter open and shut.

“My father—Anton—had a Romanov brooch and a tiara in his safe,” Dmitry said. “I wonder if they’re still there . . . or if mother . . .” his voice trailed off.

“Reading between the lines, I’d say Mr. Schilling acquired four pieces of Romanov jewelry and was bringing it to Nick.” Jessica looked up into a chorus of stunned faces. “I don’t remember Detective Cormier mentioning anything about finding jewelry in Mr. Schilling’s hotel room.” She bit her lip. “Wait a second. Nick said something to Cormier about rubies and diamonds. This must be what he meant.” She thought of Sally What’s-Her-Name, dripping with diamonds. Had she somehow gotten the jewels out of Nick’s dad, then killed them both?

“I’d say a treasure trove of Romanov jewelry is a motive for murder.” Lolita held up a fat file folder. “The file on Richard Schilling’s donations to the Center. It’s full of sales receipts. Looks more like Mr. Schilling was selling art through the Center rather than donating it.”

“Nick mentioned he was worried about his dad using the Center for money laundering.” Jessica shut the computer and put it back on the desk. “Could Mr. Schilling’s business associates—Mr. Teeth and friends—be responsible for the murders?” She paced the length of the office. “I wish we could get ahold of those police reports.”

“I got a friend in the police.” Vanya leaned back in his chair until its front feet were off the floor, its back touching the wall.

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

“What, you don’t think I got any friends?” The feet of his chair hit the floor with a thud.

“Let’s just say the police seem like they’d be on the opposite side of the aisle from the brotherhood.” Lolita glanced up from the file folder and smiled at her cousin.

“My friend is Bratva. He’s vegetable.” Vanya chuckled. “How do you think we stay one step ahead of cops?”

“Vegetable?” Jessica asked.

“I think he means plant.” Lolita laughed.

On Nick’s desk, under a pen holder, Jessica spotted a white envelope with her name scrawled across the back. “What’s this?” She slid the envelope out and examined it. “It’s from the development office, a copy of Mr. Schilling’s VIPER agreement.” She turned it over in her hands. Seeing her name sent a shiver up her spine. On a whim, she sniffed it—and the acrid smell made her jerk her head back. “What the . . .”

“Excuse me,” a familiar aged-whiskey voice said from the doorway.

Jessica got a whiff of citrus and juniper. She gasped. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Nick,” she whispered.

“I’ve come to see Nick’s legacy. I’m his cousin, Bobby.” He looked just like Nick, maybe a couple of years younger. “Bobby Charis.”

Jessica put her hand over her mouth. It was the same man she’d seen at the Parker reception desk just after Nick’s death.

“How’d you get in here?” Dmitry asked. He looked surprised. Jessica could tell he saw it too: the uncanny resemblance.

“If this is a bad time . . .” Bobby ran his hand through his hair. “I can come back later.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Lolita said, a bit too abruptly.

Jessica remained speechless.

“Okay. I’ll come back tomorrow.” Bobby looked flustered. “Sorry to interrupt.” He turned on his heels.

“Wait—” Jessica barely got the word out. But it was too late. He was gone.

Dmitry’s phone buzzed. He didn’t recognize the number, but the familiar voice on the other end almost made him drop the phone.

“Sergei. What do you want?” Was his brother calling him from jail?

“I want to see you before I leave,” Sergei said.

“You want me to visit you in jail?” That was the only place he wanted to see his brother.

“No. Just come down and open the back door for me.”

Dmitry peered out the office window, trying to see into the back alley. “You’re here?” His stomach sank. How’d Sergei get out of jail already? Bratva probably owned half the judges in town.

“Uncle Sly is here?” Lolita asked. She sounded excited to see him.

“Vanya, go let him in before he raises a ruckus.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Vanya lit his cigarette as soon as he stepped foot out of the office.

“Damn! Detective Cormier said he’d make it stick. What’s my good-for-nothing brother doing out on the street?” Dmitry stroked his chin. This is bad, very bad.

“He probably just posted bail,” Lolita said. “I told you Bratva would spring him. They’ve got the DA in their pocket, so don’t count on Uncle going to prison.”

“Why don’t you take your friend and go get an ice cream or something?” Dmitry took out his wallet to hand his daughter a ten-dollar bill.

“What, and miss the show?” Lolita laughed. “Anyway, I’m twenty-one. I don’t eat ice cream, and if I did, I’d buy my own.”

“You girls should leave.” Dmitry glanced out the window again. A yellow cab was parked next to Vanya’s Escalade. “I mean it. It’s not safe here.”

“That’s why we’re not leaving, right?” Lolita turned to her friend.

Jessica nodded. She gritted her teeth and prepared for a showdown.

“Last time you saw Uncle Sergei, he shot you.” When Lolita flipped her hair over her shoulder, her hand was shaking. “We’re your backup.” She sounded tough, but he could tell she was scared. “I’m going to make sure nothing happens to you, Dad. I already lost Grandma. I’m not going to lose you, too.”

“Please, kotyonok.” Dmitry held his hands together in supplication.

Lolita scowled. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

Dmitry shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Too bad. Jessica’s a crack shot.” Lolita sat on the edge of the desk, crossed her leather-clad legs, and picked at one of her red fingernails.

The girl had nerves of steel. The glint in her gray-green eyes reminded him of Anton. He shuddered.

“A family reunion, I see.” Sergei barged into the office, with Vanya close on his heels. “I’m glad you’re here, Lolita. I need to talk with you.”

“Leave her out of it,” Dmitry hissed.

“You set me up, Brother.” Sergei was standing so close Dmitry could feel his breath on his face. “You won’t get away with it.” He circled around Dmitry, stopping again directly in front of him, too close for comfort. “You’ve taken what belongs to me for the last time. So, no, I won’t leave her out of it.”

“You touch her and I’ll kill you,” Dmitry said.

“Dad, calm down.” Lolita hopped off the desk. “I can take care of myself.” She stood in front of Sergei. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I’m glad. No girl should be afraid of her own father.” Sergei grinned like a cat stealing cream.

No! Oh God, no! Dmitry should have killed the bastard when he’d had the chance. Sergei was ruining everything, everything Dmitry held dear . . . his daughter, his wife. Why couldn’t he just leave them alone?

Lolita squinted, then glanced over at Dmitry. “What?”

“Didn’t he tell you?” Sergei pulled off his leather gloves one finger at a time. “Sabina and I, we were lovers before little Dima stole her away from me.”

“Dad?” Lolita pleaded.

“I can explain.” Dmitry held his hands up.

Lolita’s little friend backed into the corner of the office, wrapping her arms around herself. She probably regretted getting in the middle of family business. Dmitry wished he could back away from the scene, too. He felt gutted.

“They probably told everyone you were ‘premature,’ didn’t they?” Sergei bunched his gloves together in one hand and flicked them against the other.

“Dad?” Lolita repeated.

“Don’t listen to him,” Dmitry hissed. “He’s poison.”

“Wait. Sly is Lolita’s daddy?” Vanya’s nervous laughter punctuated the tension in the room. “Whoa. The apple doesn’t fall far from the pea.”

“Dad?” Lolita whispered. “Please . . .”

He balled his fists. “You’re my daughter in every way that matters,” he said, finally.

“Except for blood,” Sergei said. “Bratva’s running through your veins.” He smiled at Lolita. “That’s why I want you to oversee my Chicago operations until I get back.”

“Me?” Lolita asked, indignantly.

“Don’t listen to him. He won’t be coming back from prison.” Dmitry wanted to punch him.

“Not prison, brother.” Sergei grinned. “I’m leaving the country . . . No more tea that tastes like piss or meatloaf that looks like dog food. I’m going back to Moscow. Two weeks in this hellhole is enough for me.” He waved his hand as if to diffuse a bad smell. “Lolita will take my place until I’m back.”

“You’re insane.” Dmitry smacked his fist into his palm. “Lolita can’t run Bratva.”

“Why not? Because she’s a woman?” Sergei asked.

“He’s gotcha there, boss.” Vanya chimed in.

Lolita got a strange look in her eyes. She jumped off the desk and slapped Sergei on the back. “I can do anything a man can do.”

“And you’ll look better doing it.” Vanya winked at her.

“I’m not saying she can’t do it.” Dmitry paced the office. “I’m saying she won’t do it.” He glanced over at his daughter and hoped he was right.

Lolita glanced at him apologetically, then let out a high-pitched laugh. She sounded unhinged. It terrified him.

“It’s in her blood and you know it.” Sergei slid a chunky ruby ring off his little finger and held it out to Lolita. “Show this to anyone who doubts you.”

She hesitated and then took the ring. With a glint of defiance in her eyes, she slid it onto her middle finger.