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1
ARSEN
“Remind me why we’re going to this club opening?” Dominik adjusts his seatbelt yet again. Two months ago, he never wore one. Now, I doubt he’d sit at a drive-in unbuckled.
“Because we were invited. And because I have reason to believe that Alessandro Calcagno will be in attendance.”
Dominik’s jaw hits the floor. “Why didn’t I know this sooner?”
Because if I told you, you wouldn’t have gotten in the car.
Because you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.
Because I didn’t want to hear a single one of your thoughts on the matter.
“It’s fresh information. I found out a few hours ago.”
Calcagno has kept a low profile ever since Dom and I were driven off the road and nearly executed thanks to the bounty he put on my wife’s head. If he’s showing up to this event, there’s a good reason for it.
“You can’t move against him in public, Arsen,” he warns. “You launched Pobeda a month ago. You’ll undermine its success now if you publicly murder a prominent businessman like Calcagno.”
“Who said anything about a public murder?”
I’ve been thinking it really loudly, but I neversaidit.
“You may overestimate your self-control, but I know better.”
It’s been a rough couple months, but Dominik still knows me better than most. I would’ve hit Hotel Calcagno myself two months ago had I not gotten side-tracked by killing the men he sent to smash into my favorite car.
I consider this delayed payback.
“Blyat’.” Dominik runs a hand over his tired face. “This is going to be a fucking disaster. We should’ve arranged for more backup.”
“For fuck’s sake, man, when did you become such a wet blanket?”
“Gee, I dunno.” He pretends to think hard about it. “Maybe around the time you decided to attack our enemies in broad daylight with no plan? This isn’t like you, Arsen.”
“Just because I haven’t shared it with you doesn’t mean I don’t have a plan.”
“I forgot: you work alone now. It’s just like with Laila and Nina—you know what you’re doing, so fuck whoever else wants to know what’s going on, right?”
I take the corner fast and screech to a stop along the curb. Dominik barely avoids breaking his nose on the dashboard.
He glares at me. “Real mature.”
I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me and tossing the keys to the young valet looking at my car like it’s a naked woman. “There’s a hundred bucks in it for you if you keep the car parked and ready for me right here. There’s a broken leg in it if you don’t.”
Then I breeze into the club, striding past bouncers who don’t even try to stop me.
The walls pulse with bass-heavy music and strobing lights. People lounge in shadowy booths around the periphery. Sweat-soaked dancers gyrate in the center of the floor, lost to the allure of alcohol and the music.
I cut through the mosh pit and make my way to the velvet ropes of the VIP section. The hostess at the entryway is a leggy blonde with a face I’ll forget as soon as I stop looking at her.
“Mr. Adamov, it’s a pleasure. We have your room ready.”
She leads us down a hall of closed doors, swaying her hips like that might distract me from the muffled Italian I hear leaking out of every door we pass. At the end of the hall, she unlocks a door and pushes it open for us.
There’s a glass table in the center, fat cigars fanned across the surface beside a bottle of Dom Perignon.
