Yulian looks affronted that I would even need to say that. “Don’t I always?”
“Unless there’s a piece of ass in the vicinity,” Lev points out. “In which case, you’ll step over my dead body to get to her.”
“Depends on the girl,” Yulian says with a careless smile.
I get to my feet and head for the door. “Call me after the meeting. Don’t bother me until then unless it’s urgent.”
I head to the garage and pick out one of my more modest vehicles. A silver Audi that won’t look too conspicuous driving down a quiet suburban street in the middle of Los Angeles.
I tap Jessa’s address into my GPS and cruise out.
It’s a smooth drive to Henning Street. SomersetVillas is the fifth building on a road that slopes sharply upward. There isn’t much traffic by foot or car.
Good. Fewer peering eyes.
I park on the opposite side of the street and settle in for a stakeout. There’s something almost wholesome about being here again. Like I’m a fresh-faced Bratva recruit watching and observing and learning the rhythms of the city we rule.
I don’t have to sit in the car for long. A cab pulls in front of the building and an older woman steps out. She has a small suitcase in tow.
I get out of the car, making sure to wait until the cab has driven off. Then I approach her with a smile. “Can I help you with that?”
Her eyes go wide as she takes me in. “Oh, uh…”
“I’m Darren,” I introduce with fake cheer. “Just moved into one of the upstairs apartments.”
“Oh!” she says, her smile turning warmer. “That’s nice. Welcome. Yes, I’d like the help please. I packed this gosh-darn thing way too heavy.”
I take her suitcase while she turns to the main door and uses her code to get us in. Five-five-three. I’ll remember that for later.
I follow her to her second floor apartment, chatting amicably the whole time. “Where are you coming from?” I ask.
“Maine,” she tells me. “I was visiting my daughter. She just had a baby. Her second.”
“How nice for you.”
She gives me a guilty smile. “It was nice for the first week. Then it started to get noisy.”
I laugh. “I can understand that. My brother has three kids. Family dinners are always chaotic.”
“Believe me, I know. What do you do?”
“I’m a doctor,” I tell her without missing a beat. “So you won’t see me much, I’m afraid. Crazy hours.”
The woman whistles. “Wow, very impressive. I wish my son had followed that path. He decided he wanted to be a dancer.”
“And did he succeed?”
She scoffs. “He’s stripping in Las Vegas, so I suppose he did, in a sense.”
Smiling, I wait until she gets her door open and then I pop the suitcase right inside the door.
“Thank you so much,” she says, turning around to face me.
“Of course. Goodnight, Mrs. …?”
“Donnelly.”
“Mrs. Donnelly. Hope to run into you again at some point.”