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“If only youwouldtake that lesson to heart,” she says, sipping her champagne.
“And what about you?” I say. “Queen Shit-Stirrer.”
She smiles. “What fun would it be if I always behaved?”
“I can’t even picture that.”
“You’ll certainly never see it.”
We part shortly afterward, pulled into separate conversations. I shake hands with Simon and his new bride, and give Ilsa Markov a congratulations she accepts with brittle thanks.
The Markovs are popular as well as influential—almost every gangster of note is here to pay their respects.
I see the several of thekachki, including Cujo himself, who watches me impassively from the other side of the room. If he really has been hired by Zakharov to seek revenge on his behalf, it must irk him to stand so close without being able to take action.
While I’m keeping an eye on Cujo, Yuri Koslov sneaks up on me.
“Adrik,” he hisses.
“Yuri.”
He’s tall and shaped like a rectangle, with thick dark hair combed forward in a Ceasar. His heavily hooded eyes have a bluish tinge to the lids, crowded close to the bridge of his hooked nose. He wears a heavy gold watch and ring on his right hand.
“Congratulations are in order,” he says.
“I’m not the one who got married.”
He smiles thinly. “More the home-wrecker type.”
“I wasn’t aware you and Veniamin had officially tied the knot.”
“We had a successful partnership for six years until you showed up.”
“That’s funny. Veniamin seemed only too eager to make a new arrangement. But isn’t that always the way? The husband is surprised when the wife files for divorce.”
“Especially when someone’s fucking her on the side.”
“That happens when the husband isn’t getting the job done.”
His mouth twists in a sneer, upper lip almost touching the bottom of his nose.
“Arrogant as ever, I see.”
“Arrogance is an exaggerated sense of one’s own abilities. I’m accurate.”
“You might want to reevaluate your perceptions. You’ve underestimated the sway I still hold. I’m not the only one displeased with your attempts to jump the ladder in Moscow. The Petrovs think they can spit in the face of the High Table? We haven’t forgotten the events of the last year.”
“Nor have the Petrovs,” I say, quietly.
I haven’t forgotten who conspired against us. Danyl Kuznetsov may be dead, but Foma Kushnir is still a member. And I doubt those two acted alone. At minimum, they had the tacit consent of the otherPakhans,including Koslov.
“I thought you came to Moscow to renew the bonds of friendship,” Koslov says. “Instead you steal from me.”
“I can’t steal what you never owned. Those are Veniamin’s clubs. He was free to make a new deal.”
Koslov’s heavy lids drop lower than ever. “A deal that should have included me. You’re making enemies Adrik … it’s not too late to make a friend.”
I know a shakedown when I see one.
