Instinct pushes me into the room to avoid whoever is heading my way. I close the door with a soft click, just as footsteps thump past in the hallway. When they’re almost gone, I open the door a tiny crack and stick my head out.
I see a shadow disappear up the stairs.
Then I hear voices.
“We’ve gone through the entire night without talking about any heavy weaponry,” Anton says.
I find myself creeping forward despite my better judgment. I’m no lawyer, but “heavy weaponry” sounds like it might not be legal, strictly speaking.
“We’re not selling anymore,” replies someone I don’t know.
“Is that so?” Anton says in a dangerous growl. “That’s not what my reports say.”
“Reports…?”
“Benyamin, we've been doing business now for how many years?”
“A long time, Mr. Stepanov.”
“That’s right. And we’ve had a good working relationship, wouldn’t you say?”
“Of course, Mr. Stepanov.”
“So why do I get the feeling that something has changed?”
“N-nothing has changed.” But even I can tell that he answered much too fast and much too shakily.
“Your son’s face says differently,” Anton remarks. The threat in his voice is undeniable.
“My son is… young. He is learning. He doesn’t know how to conduct himself at these meetings yet.”
I turn to the left slightly, putting myself just behind the ajar door. Enough so that I can peek into the room.
The first person I see is Anton. He’s facing the door, taking up most of the sofa he’s sprawled across. Opposite him are three swarthy men, all of whom look small and hunched in comparison. Another man stands to Anton’s right, but his face is out of my line of vision.
Even from where I’m standing, I can feel the tension in the room.
“I don’t know why you’re letting him call the shots,” one of the trio whines. His voice is not quite as deep as the others. “I don’t know why you’re letting him talk to you like this.”
“Quiet, boy.”
“No! The whole fucking night, he’s been talking down to you.”
“Your son has a lot to learn indeed,” Anton observes. He looks vicious. I shudder involuntarily.
The man in the middle nods, and even from behind, I can sense his fear radiating from him. “He does.”
“Tell me, boy,” Anton says. “What is it about me that you disapprove of?”
The boy in question turns to Anton. When he speaks, it’s with a nasty undercurrent of disrespect. “Everything. Our other business partners know how to treat us with respect.”
“Respect is earned.”
It sounds like Anton is leading the boy right into a trap, but he’s too incensed to see that. “Respect is owed. Rodion Ivanov knows how to treat us.”
The room goes quiet and I know immediately that the boy has made some terrible mistake. I shudder again, and this time, it doesn’t stop. Keeps me in its icy claws, shaking me everywhere.
Something bad is about to happen. I can feel it.