EVEN WITH A hospital security guard and one of their own men babysitting the doors to the emergency room, Victor practically had to drag Artur away from the waiting area. They couldn’t talk openly in front of Maya, who managed to regard Victor with a potent mix of beauty and venom.
She still hadn’t forgiven Victor for his blackmail twenty-six years ago, even if it had given them both exactly what they wanted—Artur. Or maybe she had forgiven him but still guarded Artur jealously, as if she wanted to tell the world Artur belonged to her and her alone. Victor almost felt sorry for her. The only person Artur truly cared for was Inna, the great hero’s Achilles’ heel.
“I’m not waiting for Dato’s crew to strike,” Artur said. Victor sat across from Artur in the nearly empty hospital cafeteria with Styrofoam cups of coffee Victor had purchased from a vending machine. “It’s time to be proactive.”
“I agree about being proactive,” Victor said in an attempt at diplomacy, “but, Artur, you can’t just go in and kill them all.” Right now was not the time to let his partner go renegade.
“Why not?” Artur challenged.
Victor took a moment to assess Artur before answering. Artur hadn’t washed or slept. He had spent the night in vigil at the hospital. He was merely edgy now with adrenaline, Victor told himself. All Artur needed was a firm reminder about what was at stake to make him fall back into line.
“Why not? I’ll tell you why not,” Victor said. He leaned toward Artur, resting both hands on the gray Formica tabletop. “Because of the Directorate,” he whispered.
“I don’t give a damn about the Directorate,” Artur confessed.
Victor choked on the sip of coffee in his mouth. Artur hadn’t even bothered to lower his voice. The name of the secret organization that had cowed Artur in the past seemed to hold no special power for him now.
Not good. Not good at all.
“For all we know, they’re behind what happened tonight. It’s the kind of thing they would do. Isn’t it? To keep us in line. To make us do the next deal,” Artur said, his voice filled with disgust.
Victor had known Artur a long time. He’d had a front row seat to the dramas in the man’s life. Losing Sofia had dampened the man’s rebellious streak, had given Artur a taste of what could happen. “No, Artur. It’s not what they would do. It’s not their style. You know that. They don’t play like this. If you defy them, they kill.”
For more than twenty-five years, veiled threats against Inna had been more than enough to keep Artur on the straight and narrow, never deviating from orders. He might think those decades of threats had finally taken form. But the worst hadn’t happened. Inna wasn’t dead.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Artur said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the Directorate tonight. About what they want. About how they control us. Inna’s worth more to them alive than dead. If she dies, they have no way to make me do what they want. I’m out. Done. And they know it.”
Victor silently kicked himself for not arriving sooner, for giving Artur so much time to ruminate.
“I made the deal for her, Victor. I came to this country and did their bidding for her. So she could have a good life. But they’ll make her life hell. They’ll terrorize her. Just to control me.”
“So what are you saying?” Victor asked. Years of training kept the frisson of alarm from tightening his voice. Tonight’s events should have made Artur more pliable, more compliant. Instead, they had pushed the man past his edge, introduced a feral quality. Artur was a brilliant man, and Victor had spent the better part of his career harnessing that genius to their mutual benefit, but now Artur threatened to slip the yoke.
“You can’t go up against the Directorate. They’ll crush you,” Victor said.
Artur frowned down at his coffee cup, and Victor couldn’t tell whether the frown was one of concentration or disappointment—in him. Age had been kind to Artur, kinder than it had been to Victor, who had grayed and let himself go soft in the middle. Younger than Victor, Artur was distinguished and fit. Time had only deepened his charisma, made people want to please him, to trust him. Even now, after all of these years, Victor felt the pull, understood how easy it would be to fall into Artur’s orbit.
“Artur, step back from this. You’re upset tonight. Don’t let emotion push you to do something stupid,” Victor said quickly. “You’re my oldest friend. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“We’re all hurt,” Artur said. He took a breath as if he were about to say more, but stopped. “Vlad!” he called and waved his hand in the air.
The hulk Artur had recently hired to manage security strode toward them. Vlad was large and imposing, conspicuous, the type of man a person would remember meeting and wouldn’t want to cross.
“Artur. Victor.” Vlad gave them each a curt nod. He was a man of few words, and Victor liked that about him. He preferred the muscle to be big and silent, seen and not heard. Problems started when the help started thinking for themselves.
“What did you learn?” Artur asked.
Vlad cut a glance in Victor’s direction, as if he were asking Artur whether Victor could be trusted. Victor bristled. Artur and Victor were partners, but Victor suddenly saw how easily he could be marginalized, unimportant, replaced, the way he had been when Ivan was around—before Victor had managed to neutralize him.
It wouldn’t do for Artur to have his own secrets or sources of intelligence, his own men loyal to him.
“The information’s sensitive,” Vlad said.
“There’s no secrets between Artur and me,” Victor said. “We’re partners. And you work for both of us.”
Vlad again looked to Artur for confirmation, and Victor resolved to spend some one-on-one time with Vlad to make sure the big dog answered to him as master. Artur granted his permission with a nod.
Vlad sat down in the empty chair at the square coffee table and bent his head in toward them. They both leaned forward. “Zviad wasn’t a real member of the Georgian crew. He was an undercover cop,” Vlad said.
Artur blew out a breath. “A cop? What was he doing with Inna?”
“And why at Troika, on the same night you were sure to be there?”
Artur tapped his fingers on the table. “You think it was a setup.”
“Get rid of the cop and cast suspicion on us,” Vlad said. “It’s a possibility.”
“But why would they do that to us? What about the… deal?” This time, Victor made the cutting glance toward Vlad, a reminder to Artur that their newest associate had not been fully briefed on their activities.
“The deal’s off,” Artur said with a decisive wave of his hand.
“You can’t do that!” Panic rose up, and Victor couldn’t stem the tide. A wave of protest spilled from his mouth unchecked. “What happened to Inna is nothing next to what they’ll do. They’ll kill us, Artur. Not just you. Both of us.”
“Who’ll kill you?” Vlad asked.
“The Georgians,” Victor lied.