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“I need to go see Dimitri Sokolov,” I say, changing the subject. “Be ready in ten minutes. I want three cars to protect me along the way. I can’t afford another assassination attempt.”
Ivan grabs his own gun, loads it, and secures it in his shoulder holster. I follow his example, fastening the weapon around my torso. I’m not walking into the lion’s den unarmed. Dimitri Sokolov might be my ally at the moment, but I also forced him to give me his daughter. A man like him is known to hold grudges.
After I step out of my safe haven, one of my security guards, who went out for supplies earlier, parks a black Corvette in front of us.
He opens the door to the passenger side, and I nod at him as I slide into my seat. Ivan follows a second later, taking the wheel and pulling out onto the tree-lined West 80th Street.
Ivan skillfully navigates the busy traffic as three other cars follow us. I sit back to contemplate my next move. I don’t have much time to come up with a plan.
Before we arrive, I remind Ivan, “Put a guard on his front gate and another on the intercom. No one enters the property unless I clear it.”
“Absolutely,” he confirms with a nod and starts to divide the others.
I watch my men standing around my car for several minutes before returning my attention to my main reason for coming here. The two-story, beautiful Victorian mansion rises before me as I walk up to the entrance. Two guards stand at either side of the door.
“Gentlemen,” I greet them in Russian.
“Mr. Volkov, we are not permitted to—” the guard on the left stutters.
“Tell Dimitri Sokolov,” I interrupt him, keeping my tone pleasant, “that his future son-in-law has arrived.”
The guard clears his throat and takes a step forward, positioning his body firmly between me and the door. With a frown, I watch him defy me.
“Sokolov says to let him in,” the other guard tells his partner, speaking in low tones. His hand is pressed against his earpiece.
“That’s better,” I sneer at him, still smiling.
He swallows, turning pale as he falls a step behind. His comrade opens the door. I wipe the scowl off my face and stroll inside.
The new guard hesitates and then closes the door behind me.
The scent of dried and potted flowers fills the air, but I keep walking without looking left or right. The butler leads the way into a small parlor, where Dimitri sits on a leather sofa. Irina is reclining on a chair, reading a magazine.
Katarina sings in Russian from somewhere in the house. I suppress a smile upon hearing her lovely voice.
“Ah, Nikolai,” Dimitri says cheerfully. “Come in.”
“We need to talk,” I say coldly. My eyes briefly dart toward Irina. “Alone.”
Dimitri nods and gets up. “Let’s go to my office.”
After he murmurs something to his wife, the pakhan takes me deeper into the house.
“Vodka?” Dimitri asks me as I shut the door.
I shake my head.
“Suit yourself.”
“We have a problem,” I cut to the point as I sit down in front of him. “Someone ordered an attack on my oil rig. It almost cost me my life and everything I spent years building.” I pause and glare at Dimitri. “Do you have any idea who would be so stupid as to attack me directly?”
Dimitri shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and I narrow my eyes at him. I can’t help but wonder if this man will stab me in the back the moment I let my guard down.
“You have to know that I had nothing to do with it,” he mutters and shoots me an apologetic look.
“Tell me who the hell is desperate enough to take me on!” I hiss, leaning closer.
Dimitri takes a sip of his vodka. The pause grants my imagination time to get the better of me. Flashes of memory from when multiple people tried to take my life make my thoughts run amok. Dimitri puts his glass back down and meets my eyes. There’s nervousness swimming in them. But also hope.
