Torrid (Sordid 2)

As we got out, my father’s men didn’t pay attention to me. They watched Vasilije and Filip intently, ready for anything.

“I need a word with Sergey,” Vasilije said. “It’s urgent.” He opened his outer coat and pushed his jacket to the side, showing them his holstered gun. Then he buttoned the coat closed, signaling he didn’t intend to use it. “I’m only here to talk.”

“Leave your gun,” one of the men said, “and you can come inside.”

Vasilije gave them a dubious look. “I’m not going in unarmed. He can come out here and freeze his balls off like the rest of us.”

Negotiations ensued, and after we’d been searched, we were brought inside. Vasilije and Filip were allowed to carry their guns since security knew where they were, and could watch for them.

The entryway of the house was grand. My first time here, I’d gotten angry as I looked at the inlaid medallion on the hardwood and the space large enough it had a couch in it. As if someone would need to rest the moment they walked in here. The room was nearly as large as my mother’s apartment in Russia. The massive staircase curved upward, and beneath it, the arched doorway led into the rest of the house.

Sergey Petrov stood at the top of the stairs, inspecting us like we were fleas. He had on a black and blue striped robe, one hand on the belt and the other in a pocket, no doubt holding a gun inside. Was he wondering about me? Did he think I’d been forced to bring Vasilije here?

“Vasilije Markovic,” I said, my vocal cords strung so tight it barely sounded like my voice, “would like to speak to you.”

We’d caught him off guard, but he had to see this meeting as advantageous. This wasn’t public, so no one would know what happened, and it was in his home, where he was comfortable and could control nearly everything.

“Merry Christmas,” Vasilije announced. “Sorry we’re showing up late and without calling, but it’s important.” He used the same friendly tone he’d had at dinner last month, and it set me more on edge. I only had a fingertip’s grip on it.

“Let me get dressed.” Sergey’s distrust was so huge, it flowed down the steps and nearly knocked me backward.

“You don’t need to do that,” Vasilije said. “This won’t take long.”

My father was irritated, but controlled. “Fine. I’ll come down and we can discuss in my office. I don’t want to wake my wife.”

Only I was sure she was wide awake and hiding around the corner, just out of sight from where my father stood. She’d have a gun in her hands, ready if my father needed her.

He took his time coming down the stairs, cautious as a cat. His gaze landed on Filip.

“I’ll speak to you, Vasilije, or Goran without my security if that goes for both of us. Your uncle’s man will have to wait outside.” My father knew what Filip was capable of.

“Your men go, too, then I’m fine with it.”

Sergey gave a look of disdain. “I’d also feel more comfortable if you’re not armed.”

Vasilije unholstered. “Same. Also, Filip is my man now. My uncle’s dead.”

Sergey’s movements slowed as he considered the news. He glanced at Filip, who gave a single nod in confirmation. My father produced the gun from his pocket and set it down on a side table with a quiet thud. The wheels were turning in his head. He believed Vasilije would be easier to control than Goran, but he was dead wrong. My father gave a perfunctory smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Feels more like my gain,” Vasilije said flatly. “I’m the one who killed him.”

He plodded to the side table, set his gun beside my father’s, and told Filip to wait outside with the other security guards.

My father had no response to Vasilije’s statement. Instead, he turned and paced toward the office.

I’d only followed the men a few steps when his sharp voice made me flinch. “No. This conversation won’t include you.”

“Except she’s the whole reason I’m here,” Vasilije said.

He looked so confident and carefree walking into my father’s office, when he should have been studying every inch of space. I’d drawn him diagrams. I’d explained the layout in the best detail I could, but it wouldn’t compare to the real thing. I’d told him the couch was only a few feet from the bookcase, but I’d underestimated.

I needed to know Vasilije would succeed if I failed. He promised if anything happened to me, he’d finish what I started, and he told me he’d do it with pleasure.

It still smelled like darkness and death in the office. I’d killed a man in this room, but Ilia was just one of many to die here. It was my father’s preferred spot to end business deals. He moved toward the desk, but Vasilije was smart enough to stop him before the gun taped beneath the center drawer was within reach.