“It’s. . .a good location,” Louis offered.
I waited for Rafael to explain more. Instead, he popped the bottles open and poured us both a glass. Once he was finished, he raised his glass in the air.
Louis and I followed.
Rafael declared, “Let’s toast to our victories.”
“And Shalimar,” Louis added.
I sipped my glass.
Rafael watched Louis. “Why did you say you wanted to toast to Shalimar?”
“It’s the name of your restaurant,” Louis said.
“Yeah, but you have something to say about that?” Rafael set the glass down.
“Hey.” I stepped next to Rafael. “Shalimar is the name of your restaurant. Of course we would toast to. . .the name.”
“Okay.” Rafael nodded and finished his glass.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “But. . .while we’re on the name and Shalimar, perhaps you could explain the inspiration.”
“I like the name.” Rafael poured another glass and turned his attention to the bottle.
Louis exchanged a worried glance with me.
Good point. We don’t need another obsession and war. One love-crazed fool at a time.
I was about to push the topic further with Rafael, until the restaurant’s door opened.
All of us turned that way. Neither Louis, Rafael, or I said anything, but I was sure we cursed in our heads.
Several Russians stepped inside. We’d seen many Russians in these years and killed damn near all of them.
But this Russian would not be killed on this day.
Silently, Kazimir stood in the doorway several feet in front of us, wearing a crisp suit. The outfit was something I might’ve picked up at the Paris Runway. Had it been other circumstances I would’ve asked him for his tailor.
He studied the space as if he’d been considering buying the property.
We all remained quiet and alert.
What is he doing here? This could go either way.
Paris women bragged about Kazimir’s looks. It annoyed the shit out of Rafael, whenever he heard whispers of The Lion. Now face-to-face, I could admit Kazimir was a handsome man. He had the whole structured face thing. The kind I saw in movies and on runaways. Dark hair. Blue eyes. He had the look that made women imagine he was a bad boy that would save them.
I doubt he would save anybody.
I sized him up. He was a big guy. At least 6’4. Shoulders a mile wide. And a sleek jaw that looked like it had taken a lot of punches.
I’d been studying The Lion for these two years, waiting for this moment to occur. We’d never killed any men close to him, but still we’d hacked away a good set of the Bratva. Enough to get his attention for sure.
It was only a matter of time before this meeting occurred.
I just wished we had more than glasses of Prosecco in our hands.
Two men flanked Kazimir.
I recognized both.
The one on the left was Misha. He was the son of Celina’s lover Igor. Therefore, Misha was Kazimir’s cousin and also pretty pissed with us for messing with his father’s plaything. He was as tall as the other two men with the same dark hair and chiseled features as Kazimir.
On the right was Sasha. Many called him The Wolf. He had pale blond hair that was cut close to his head. I’d learned that he was Kazimir’s stepbrother. After Sasha’s mother died, his father married his mistress—Kazimir’s mother. They’d called his father The King. Long ago, he’d been Vory v Zakone—a thief in law. Later, this King ran the Bratva and was killed. By all accounts, Sasha should’ve been the next in line, but Sasha enjoyed the pleasure of men. And Kazimir had gained a violent, bloody reputation as a fierce leader.
The Bratva crowned Kazimir, and Sasha stayed loyal at his side.
More men entered. Large, muscular men. They were dressed in black suits. When each one stepped inside, they stood by the wall and scanned the space. Some scowled at us. The rest held stiff expressions as if they were on edge. Almost all of them had tattoos on their necks. Others had a few scars.
The other faces weren’t familiar, but all screamed one thing.
High-level Bratva. They’ve bought the leader in to talk this through.
He walked toward the wall on our right and studied the pink coating. “Is this the final color?”
Rafael looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Yes,” Rafael said.
“Hmmm.” Kazimir continued to walk around the restaurant and check it out. “What sort of food will be served here?”
“Chinese,” Rafael said.
Kazimir turned to him. “A Chinese restaurant ten blocks from the Eiffel Tower?”
“Sure.”
Kazimir checked the wall again and then shook his head. “No. I don’t like this idea at all.”
“Excuse me?” Rafael straightened his jacket. “I don’t think I asked you for your opinion.”
Kazimir stalked our way, then stopped three feet in front of us, and directed his view to Rafael. “They said you were the funny one. Don’t they call you the Comedian?”
“Le comédien,” Rafael corrected.