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About fifteen minutes in, the doors open and the waiters swoop in with armfuls of food. Each person gets a dish set down in front of them. Mine is a sizzling steak, cooked medium rare, surrounded with roasted vegetables, a leek and potato puree, and individual pots of jus. The jus is so thick and red that it looks like blood.
But I’m hungry enough that even that thought doesn’t put me off my appetite.
“Let’s eat,” Kolya says, raising his wine glass.
My glass is filled with lemon soda. Part of me wants to be flattered. Part of me just wants to scream.
In the end, I split the difference: I keep my head down and eat my food quietly. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sounds of cutlery scraping over ceramic. It’s almost comforting. The food is good enough that everyone’s focus is off me.
Then that pleasant little oasis of time dries up.
“So,” Kolya says in a tone that suggests the social aspect of the evening is at an end. I notice that he’s barely touched his food, but his hand is still grasping the steak knife.
He’s got a scar snaking down between his first two knuckles. Next to them, in the meat of his fist, he’s also got some pretty noticeable bite marks.
I smile inwardly. I did that. It makes me feel powerful for a moment. It’s a false, fleeting sense of power, but I cling to it anyway.
It’s rare that I feel like this anymore. Dancing was the only thing that made me feel even remotely powerful. I’m sure that this power will get snatched away from me any moment, just like that did.
“Let’s talk about the gun shipment.”
It can’t be a mistake that he switches to English. The other men certainly notice it. They all bristle, a wave of tension running around the round table, and more than one of them casts a frowning glance in my direction.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go—”
“Sit.” Kolya’s tone cuts like a whip. I fall back into my seat instantly, feeling goosebumps ignite across my skin.
Kolya’s eyes scour over each man at the table. “ You must be wondering what caused the cut on my face,” he says. “You should know what happened. I was ambushed yesterday by some of Ravil’s men.”
A murmur runs around the perimeter of the table. Some of the men look more outraged than others. The burly man with the diamond tooth hisses—actually hisses, like an alley cat. The skinny man with grotesque scabs running down his neck sits up a little straighter and leans in urgently. The man missing an arm doesn’t have much of a reaction, but his eyes darken with promise.
Whoever this Ravil guy is, no one here seems to like him. At least, they’re pretending not to. One by one, they all chorus their disapproval.
“Ravil’s growing bold. He must be stopped.”
“We must put him in his place.”
“Say the word, sir, and I will break every fucking bone in the coward’s body.”
I watch for Kolya’s reaction. He looks around at the men, his expression satisfied. “I invited you all here today, because you have been loyal to me, and to my‘krov.”
‘Krov.I repeat the word a few times in the hopes that I can look it up later and make some sense of whatever the hell is happening here. But I’m tunneling through so much new information that I doubt it’ll stick.
The atmosphere in the room has changed considerably ever since Kolya mentioned the name Ravil. It makes me feel strange. Not unsafe, exactly. Just… unmoored.
I’m now weirdly glad that I’m sitting next to Kolya, though I can’t quite say why.
“But sometimes,” Kolya continues, “loyalty isn’t always a permanent state of being.”
More shifting. More murmurs. The man without an arm tenses visibly. His eyes dart to and fro, growing frothy with panic. The one with the gold tooth leans back in his seat and cracks his knuckles. It’s a sound too close to breaking bones for my liking.
Kostya resumes speaking. “For some, loyalty can be bought. Cheaply, as it turns out. And someone at this table sold theirs for pennies on the dollar.”
It’s amazing how he manages to whisper and still appear to be shouting. Every word sucks the last vestiges of warmth from the air.
“Someone at this table gave Ravil and his goons my location yesterday. Someone did everything short of cutting my face open themselves.”
I watch Kolya. The way his eyes fall on each man in turn. The way each of them either bristle under his gaze or recoil from it. It’s like a dance I can’t follow, set to a rhythm I can’t match.
