The man gives the order and a moment later, it’s just the three of us and his bodyguard, my own men sent to the hall.
“Viktor is the one you want.”
“I want both.”
He shakes his head. “Sacha wouldn’t have touched your girl.”
“And you know this how?”
“He doesn’t like girls. And I know for a fact he didn’t want to have anything to do with what he called his father’s and brother’s dirty habit. Petrov was married to his mother at the time he took Mara. Viktor and Sacha are only half-brothers, you know.”
I didn’t. I didn’t much care who he was married to or the exact details of their bloodline.
“He’s very close to his mother. Always has been. Viktor has assumed control of the family, the finances, the businesses. Everything.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Sacha would prefer he did not have control of any of it. He’s the…more intelligent of the two. Definitely the more reasonable.”
“I’m sure he can hire a Russian hitman to take out his brother.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“What’s your relationship with Sacha Petrov?”
“We’ve done some business together. I’ll be honest, it would be profitable for me, too, if Viktor was out of the picture. And here we have something else in common. You and I would both prefer Viktor dead.”
“First you’re pissed that I took out the father and now you want the son executed too?”
“Considering the circumstances, I adjusted my plans.”
Silence as I study him.
“He raped her. But you already know that,” he says casually.
My jaw ticks. This asshole knows exactly what buttons to push and how to push them. He sees my weakness. Probably has from day one.
“There’s a dog fight.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out a folded piece of paper. He probably planned this all along. “Tonight. In a few hours in fact. Viktor will be there. He’ll likely be drunk. And too trusting of soldiers he shouldn’t be trusting of.”
I reach to take the sheet of paper, unfold it, read the address. I hand it to Matthaeus who quickly sends the location to Charlie to check.
“Is this sufficient to start to build trust between us? Coupled with the fact I saved your life the other night.”
“I’m curious what you were doing inside Petrov’s club in the first place. Quite the coincidence.”
“There’s no such thing as coincidence, Dante.”
He knew I’d be there. How? Was he taking a chance I’d succeed in killing Petrov? Hedging his bets.
“No, there isn’t. What were you doing there?”
“Sacha Petrov mentioned your…appointment.”
So I’m right. He’s working every angle.
“And he knows you’re giving me this information about his brother. What is this some elaborate back-scratching scheme?”
“Business. That’s all. I need something. He needs something. You need something. A show of faith is what I’m giving you tonight. Access to one of the men who hurt Mara.”
I narrow my gaze. “If you’re lying, if this is some sort of ambush—”
“It’s not.”
“I’ll kill you,” I say as if he hasn’t spoken at all. “I’ll do it slowly. The way I like.” I look around the white space. “The hotel will have a hell of a cleaning bill.”
He clears his throat, stands. “If you’re finished threatening me, I’d like to get back to Sybil. She’s had that thing in her ass for a couple of hours. Can’t be comfortable, poor thing.”
I stand. Someone opens the door, but we remain where we are, St. James and I have our eyes locked. And I’m more curious about him than ever.
The bodyguard clears his throat.
I smile. “Well,” I start, taking one last look around. “Happy fucking then.”
35
Dante
The dog fight is taking place about an hour-and-a-half outside of the city in some beat-down, forgotten neighborhood in an abandoned warehouse that looks like it’s been out of use for about a hundred years. There are no lights in the parking lot, but judging by the number of trucks, the event appears to be well attended. Sick fucks.
I drink a big swig of whiskey and pull on a baseball cap. Matthaeus and I walk to the building. I can already hear the voices of men and barking of dogs from here. Two men stand sentry at the entrance. They’re big and have a general don’t-fuck-with-me look to them. The one remains sitting on his stool assessing us while the other stands, gives a nod of his head as if to ask what our business here is.
“Can I help you?” he asks, giving us the once over.
“Hear there’s some fun to be had,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. “Money to be made.”
“This is a private event,” the man says.
I make sure he sees the bills I take out, fold over. Sees the money still left inside my wallet.
He drags his gaze from the wad of cash to me. “Like I said, private.”
I sigh, take out another two hundred-dollar bills.