Levin smirks. “There are a considerable number of excellent assassins that trained under Vladimir. And then there’s me.”
“Pride goeth before a fall,” Max mutters, tossing back a slug of his old-fashioned.
“Who brought the priest?” Levin cuts a sideways glance at him. “That’s a fancy drink to shoot back like that.”
“Fuck me for not drinking straight rubbing alcohol.” Max gives him back the same glare. “Liam wanted someone to say last rites over his dead body, I assume, when he gets himself killed going after Anastasia.”
“You’ve got a filthy mouth for a priest.”
“Enough, both of you.” I shoot the rest of my whiskey in one gulp, motioning for the waiter to bring me another. “Are you going to answer me or not, Levin? The fuck was that coin?”
Levin sighs, tossing back the rest of his own drink and motioning for a refill as well. “It was a favor,” he says, when the waiter walks away. “When I left, in consideration of my service to the syndicate, Vladimir gave me that coin. It was understood that if I were ever in need of a favor, I could trade the coin for it.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “Anything?”
“Anything,” Levin confirms. “Up to and including the life of anyone I might wish to take, no matter who they were. That coin was worth a great deal.”
“And you traded it for a name?” Max sets his drink down, looking narrowly at Levin. “This Greek assassin?”
“If I hadn’t,” Levin says evenly, “Vladimir would have had us leave empty-handed. He’s not in the habit of giving leads or exposing the inner lives of those who work for him. If this Adrian Drakos moonlights as a vigilante, hunting men who traffic women, he could well lead us to the Frenchman.”
“And you considered it worth that?” I take a breath, leaning back against the booth. “You only had one coin, correct?”
“Yes.”
“It seems like an uneven trade,” Max observes.
“I’d agree.” I look at Levin, still confused. “That coin for a name.”
Levin takes another deep drink of his vodka, his handsome face pensive. He bends his head for a moment, his dark hair falling forward, and I see his shoulders rise and fall, as if he’s deep in thought. He looks up, at last, fixing me with his gaze, intense and blue.
“You love this woman, yes? Anastasia Ivanova?”
I stare at him, taken aback by the directness of the question. “Yes,” I say finally. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know her that well, but—yes. I love her. And I promised that I would find her.”
“I loved a woman once, too.” Levin spins his glass in his fingers. “I loved her, and she loved me, for all my faults and sins. She married me, despite the danger.”
“What happened to her?” Max’s voice is quiet, weighed down with some grief of his own, as if he knows what Levin is recalling and is remembering his own loss.
“She died.” Levin tosses back the rest of his vodka. “As did the men who killed her, slowly, once I found them. After that, I was forced to leave the syndicate and seek other employment. But Vladimir gave me the one favor.” He sets his glass down, fixing me once more with that piercing stare. “If trading that coin for a name saves the woman you love, Liam McGregor, then it was not an uneven trade.”
Neither Max nor I speak for a long moment, the words hanging heavily over the table. I open my mouth, still unsure of what to say, when something else catches my eye.
Three stunning women, one blonde, one brunette, and one redhead, are headed in our direction, moving gracefully through the bar on heels that must be six inches high and legs a mile long, drawing every eye in the bar as they pass. The blonde is wearing a skintight, pale pink dress that stops just above her knees, her generous cleavage straining the neckline, the brunette is dressed in a jewel green cocktail-length dress that swoops low enough to show off her rounded breasts, and the redhead is wearing a dark blue slip that glides over her petite frame in the same way that every man in the room wishes their hands could, and probably some of the women too.
It seems highly unlikely that they’re coming to our table, but sure enough, they stop in front of us, all three of them looking delighted to be there.
“Hello, gentlemen,” the blonde says, pursing lips painted only a few shades darker than the pale pink of her dress. I can only imagine what other lips they must match.
“Hello yourself.” Levin leans back, eyeing the three women. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
“Vladimir sent us.” The brunette smiles. “This is Nadia—” she gestures to the blonde. “I’m Katerina, and this is Natalia.”
“Lovely names for three lovely ladies.”
“Three lovely ladies for threehandsomemen.” The redhead glances at me, her green eyes sparkling. “It’s not often I find another ginger around these parts. Irish?”
“Aye,” I say, stifling a laugh at the resigned expression on Max’s face. I glance over at Levin. “A gift from Vladimir, I’m guessing?”