Fury races through my veins, exploding out of my throat. “Protect me?” I shout. “Protect me by getting me fired and putting me in jail? Thanks a whole fucking lot!”
“Okay, okay, maybe it’s not too late. I just brought it to them on Friday. Maybe they haven’t pawned it yet. He said it might take awhile.”
“You…” —my brain flits over a million words trying to pick the right one— “asshole!”
“I’m totally an asshole. I fucked up, okay? I’ll try to call Nikolai.”
“Call me back,” I order, ending the call. I pace around the room, seething. The contents of my stomach swim around like I ate angry eels.
When Zane doesn’t call me back immediately, I call him again.
“He didn’t answer. I don’t think it’s actually a cell number. They probably use a VPN for game communication, so it can’t be traced.”
Fuck!
“Give me the number,” I say, in case Nikolai just doesn’t want to answer a call from Zane.
“I’ll text it to you now,” he mutters and hangs up.
I try, but there’s no answer, and it doesn’t go to voicemail. I call Zane back. “We need to find him. Right away. I can’t go back to work tomorrow without this ring.”
Zane’s quiet for a moment, then he says. “There’s a building on Lake Shore Drive. I don’t know the address, but I heard the neighborhood calls it The Kremlin because only Russians live there. I don’t actually know if Nikolai lives there. I brought it up, and he neither confirmed nor denied. I’ll bet he does.”
“So I’m supposed to find some random building on Lake Shore drive without an address?”
“I don’t know, Chelle, that’s all I’ve got. You want me to go down there with you, and we can ask around?”
I draw in a measured breath and exhale. As I do, the movie reel of me telling Janette I took the ring home, and my brother gave it to the Russian mafiya plays out in my head. I clutch my stomach. I’m definitely going to puke. Desperation swirls around my head, hot and heavy.
“Okay. yeah. We’d better go down there.” If that’s the only lead we have, I have to follow it.
“Okay, pick me up?”
The thought of being in the car with my brother makes me want to scream. I will probably punch him in the nose.
While he should be the one pounding the pavement to figure this out, I don’t know if I can even look at him right now.
“I’m going to go by myself.”
“No way, Chelle.” I hear the fear in Zane’s voice. “It’s not safe for you. Come pick me up. Or I’ll meet you there.”
“Honestly, you’ve fucked things up enough. You work on getting the money you owe them, and I’ll get the damn ring back. I seriously hate you right now.” I end the call then immediately feel guilty for saying I hate him.
I know from my dad’s suicide how easily I could lose him. What if he shot himself because he thought I hated him?
Gah.
I shove the thoughts out of my mind, grab my jacket and head out of my apartment.
I have to find the ring. That’s the only option here. I’m not losing my job over this, and I’m not going to jail.
Two hours later, I find a convenience store owner who knows about The Kremlin and points me to it.
As I stare up at the beautiful multi-million dollar building though, doubts creep in.
This is nuts. The Russian mafiya wouldn’t operate out of a luxury building like this, would they? Could running a weekly poker game really net profits enough to afford something like this?
Then again, Zane was into them for tens of thousands of dollars, so maybe it would.
The moment I march in, I know I have the right place.
The security guard or doorman or whatever you call the guy sitting behind the giant curved copper desk is covered in tattoos, same as all the guys I saw at the poker game. He gives me a stony stare.
I attempt to clear the desperation from my voice. “Hi, I’m here to see Nikolai,” I say, like I’m at a doctor’s office and have an appointment.
He stares back at me without comment.
Shit. I glance around to see the elevator bank behind him.
“Um, I’ll just let myself up, then?” I don’t know how that would work. Do I plan to knock on every door in the place?
Yes. Dammit. If I have to, I will.
The security guy shakes his head. “You can’t go up.” His accent is thick and definitely Russian. There's no doubt I’m in the right place.
I want to toss out something reckless like, “try to stop me,” but one look at his bulging biceps and menacing scowl tells me he’d more than try.
I swallow. “Listen, I really need to see Nikolai. It’s super important.”
“Nikolai who?”
Crap!
“Nikolai, um, the one who runs the poker games?”