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“So a dead end, then,” I say through gritted teeth.
“All we know is that the call came from the New York area,” Peter insists. “If Dimitri is behind the attack in Russia, we’re safe to assume it wasn’t him.”
“An enemy of your enemy is your friend,” Ivan muses, pacing my office.
“What are you saying?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.
He stops pacing. “What if it was Gargarin who called you?”
I scoff. “That’s absurd. I’ve never had any dealings with them.”
“You didn’t, but Dimitri did. They hate each other’s guts,” Ivan replies.
“Ivan could be on to something,” Roman agrees.
“If that’s so, then why didn’t Gargarin get in touch again?” I demand.
“Because you beat the shit out of his son,” Peter chimes in.
I scratch my chin and pace the office. The silence stretches, allowing me to gather my thoughts.
“Do we have an eye on the Gargarins?” I finally ask. “Do we know what they’re up to?”
“No,” Peter responds. “I can assign a few men to them.”
“Maybe we should reach out to our friends in Moscow to ask them to send reinforcements,” Roman comments. “A storm’s brewing, and I’d hate for us not to be prepared when it comes.”
“Do it,” I tell him. “But also don’t forget to bring me the answers to my current questions. My patience won’t last much longer.”
“All in due time,” Peter assures me as he nods.
“Now if there’s nothing else, get ready. Boris will be here soon,” I tell them.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Roman mutters. “The Olenkos are the scum of the city. They’re in league with Dimitri now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was them who ordered a hit on you in Dimitri’s name.”
“That’s what we need to find out,” I tell them. “We need to know who our enemy is. Knowledge is power.”
The three men spread around the room as my secretary informs me that Boris, Vladimir, and Fedot have arrived. She shows them to my office, where they find themselves outnumbered four to three.
“Nikolai,” Boris’s deep voice booms through the room.
I lift my chin and narrow my eyes at him. “That’s Mr. Volkov. Don’t be presumptuous. We’re not friends.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” he says dismissively, then offers me his hand.
“Sit down,” I order as I raise my own hand, refusing to shake his.
The man doesn’t seem to pay any mind to my rejection and walks past me to one of the chairs. His brother and nephew aren’t as good at hiding their emotions. The anger is written all over their faces.
“You called us, and here we are,” Boris says. “Why?”
“I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, and you better pray that I like your answers.”
He chuckles. “You have no authority over me. You and I are in different businesses. You stay out of my way, and I’ll do the same.”
I glare at him. “That’s just the thing, Boris,” I say, deliberately using his first name. “You’re not staying out of my way. In fact, you’re throwing rocks in it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Boris replies, but his seemingly easy demeanor is now gone. His body is tense, and his eyes are shifty. There’s definitely something bothering him.
