Then Mikhail died and he pulled them back into the darkness like a selfish bastard.
And here they sat. Men they swore to never be. Digging into the filthy darkness of the mafia life looking for a killer.
“What did she use to get past the third-level locks?” Lucian popped a piece of candy into his mouth from a bag in the middle of the table.
“She swiped a keycard. Monitor it. See where else it is used in the building for a while. I’m not sure if she played her angles right or if the guard gave it to her, but Seraphina had no problem getting her hands on the card. Watch where the guard goes and if there’s any suspicious activity and pull his file. Maddox’s too. I want to refresh my memory.”
Lucian looked up with doubt written all over him. “We don’t exactly employ legit people with paper trails. We’re not in that kind of business.”
“I know.” Sevastyan cut him off abruptly. “Just keep an eye on them.”
“I’ll pull records and anything else I can find. Or we could just fire them and move on. Less risk if you think they’re catching on to what we’re really doing here.”
In went another gumdrop.
Sevastyan considered Lucian. “I’m not ready to step off that ledge yet, but it doesn’t hurt to cover our asses.”
Lucian angled his head to the side. “Maddox’s been a good asset to have on the ground. He keeps the clients in their place. It would definitely be a shame to lose him. I’ll look into amping up our security so we don’t have any more surprises. Maybe we should consider some closed feed cameras here and upstairs.” Lucian scribbled something in a notebook, not really wanting an answer. “I’ll speak to Roman.”
Roman was the people person of the group and handled security with Lucian and the last man that rounded out their motley crew of misfits.
“Speaking of, how long do we have to wait? Anyone heard from Roman or is he still on the floor?” Matteo swiped a candy and received a growl from Lucian. Like kids at times, he swore.
Of all four of them, Matteo was the more tactical. Always making sure everyone was where they belonged. He’d been that way since childhood.
He could split a stray hair off a drug lord’s head five hundred yards out in the middle of a hurricane and in the same breath convince an informant that sharing confidential information to the Volkov family was in their best interest.
Sevastyan sidestepped the full pot of coffee Lucian had the foresight to put on and angled for the fresh bottle of Moskovskaya. With a fresh tumbler in hand, he poured a couple of fingers’ worth and shot it back.
The smooth burn hit the back of his throat and he let the welcomed sizzle find its way south to work over the knots of tension that had taken root since he spread Seraphina over his secretary’s desk.
Seeing the mountain of files in the middle of the conference table Lucian printed out for tonight’s meeting, he poured another.
Sevastyan settled in a chair. “Second order of business.”
“Don’t we need to wait for the last man?” Matteo asked.
“No. I need this checked out.” Sevastyan slipped out the matchbook from his shirt pocket and slid it down the length of the table to Lucian.
He snatched it and turned the cardboard between his fingers.
“Open it.” Sevastyan waited, tossing back the rest of his drink.
Lucian whistled low as he considered the worn material, absentmindedly rubbing at his thigh. “Any reason why I am looking at your tattoo on a matchbook? I mean it’s not exact but pretty damn close if you ask me.”
He wondered too. Only he and Mikhail shared the same neck tattoos.
Not many people knew that fact. If he had to guess, either Seraphina was really good with details from the very few times he’d changed his shirt in the office and she’d caught a glimpse through the window, or she knew more about him than he did her. Either way didn’t settle well with him.
Sevastyan shook his head. “Seraphina had it on her last night. It slipped from somewhere in that uniform of hers and she didn’t notice.” The more he chewed on the details, the more bitter they became.
“Forget about the drawing for now. It’s the number along the bottom that has me intrigued.” Sevastyan reclined his full weight against the soft leather back of his chair.
Lucian flicked the stiff cardboard with the back of his middle finger. “Interesting indeed. Any particular reason why she needed access to the office? Why she went through so much trouble to get in there?”
Sevastyan inhaled. “Good question. Her answer: deliver a note but she can’t lie worth shit.”
Lucian slipped the half-used pack of matches in the stack of files. “Before we signed her on, I did a background check. She looked clean even if overqualified for the job. We might have missed something.”