“And you’re the best at it.”
He throws me a glare. “Asshole.”
Clenching my jaw, I head into the room that Ivanov and his men are in. The windows along one wall show the southern swathes of the city twinkling in the night.
Lev stands fidgeting off to the side, clearly impatient for me to arrive. Ivanov is sitting on one of the high-backed black velvet chairs. A freshly-lit cigar dangles between his fingers. He must keep a whole damn Cuban factory in business, because he’s been smoking two or three of the same brand every single day for as long as I’ve known him. The smell makes my hackles rise at once.
“Rodion,” I growl. “Glad you could finally join us.”
He gives me his best imitation of a smile, which is eerie and unsettling in its own way. Like an alien pretending to do what humans do. “Business held me up. You understand.”
“Of course,” I say, even though he isn’t really asking for my understanding or my forgiveness. “You’re here now.”
“So, it seems, is the entirety of the underworld. The ones that matter, at least.”
He’s gained weight since I last saw him. He’s still not a large man by any means, but he was always so slim that even the slightest difference stands out. The circles under his eyes are more pronounced now, too. He looks like a caricature of a villain, pale and paunched and puffing on that damn cigar.
“I wouldn’t bother with them if they didn’t matter,” I say coolly as I sink to the seat opposite him.
Lev remains standing. I’ve made it clear that he doesn’t need to play bodyguard when we’re in these kinds of situations, but he prefers to. He gets a strange sense of security out of it.
“Not all that glitters is gold,” Rodion advises.
I smile. “Otets used to say that a lot.”
“He was a wise man in his time,” he says. “I can’t say the same for the men I’m forced to rub shoulders with these days.”
It’s a more pointed jab than I’m expecting. Kudos to the old man for sacking up. Maybe his daughter’s death was the catalyst for him to finally grow a pair.
“Well, then I should have invited you sooner.”
Rodion glances towards the window. “Marina loved this hotel.”
Jumping straight to it, then. So be it. It’s better that way. I don’t want to be stuck in this room any longer than I have to be.
“I know,” I say. “I brought her here on our third wedding anniversary.”
“Is that the anniversary you gave her the black eye?” Rodion asks. “Or the one where you gave her the scar down her leg?”
I can feel Lev tense behind me. The atmosphere in the room changes, but I refuse to lose control of the situation.
“I don’t recall the black eye,” I say smoothly. “And as for the scar on her leg… she gave that to herself.”
“My daughter would never.”
“There’s a lot your daughter did that you didn’t know about,” I tell him, refusing to pull my punches anymore. “Did you know that she got pregnant at seventeen?”
Rodion’s whole face seems to puff up suddenly, like a bird fluffing its feathers before an attack. “Of course she didn’t. Don’t be preposterous.”
“Remember that ski weekend she wanted in the Alps right before her high school graduation?” I press. “She didn’t go to Switzerland, Rodion. She went to Austria to abort the baby.”
Just when I think he’s about to attack, his face drains of color. He stares back at me, pale and shaken. In this moment, he very much looks like the old man he is.
“The father was someone who worked for you, by the way. He probably still does. She never actually gave me his name.”
“Why would she even tell you the story?” Rodion demands, grappling at straws now.
“We were in the middle of a fight. She wanted to reveal something about herself that would… shock me? Impress me? I don’t know her motivation. Maybe she just wanted me to know what she was capable of,” I say. “The point is, she threw it in my face one day, about a year into our marriage. I know she loved to visit you, Rodion. Loved to tell you about our fights, our lowest lows. Did she ever tell you that little story from her past?”