British Bratva

by Flora Ferrari

  I didn't know what Maxim did, or got Valentin's people to do, but one minute there were no appointments with the man for the next two weeks and the next I had a meeting booked at four.

  As the day went on, I felt the nerves building to the point where I felt queasy. I thought I was going to bring my continental breakfast right back up, and the smell of the coffee turned my stomach.

  We strolled through the city, trying to find a distraction in the beautiful old buildings and cafes sprawling people out onto the streets trying to walk the nerves off.

  If we'd been on holiday, I would have loved it. The place was so picturesque, with snow capped mountains in the distance, the lake stretching out long in front. It seemed like an ideal place, except for the cost of things. I was glad that the Bratva was footing the bill. I still didn't understand how the expenses worked and none of that was going to matter unless I managed to convince this man to join us.

  A lot was hanging on this. If I failed to persuade him, not only did I risk Valentin deciding that I was more risk than I was worth, but I also knew what would happen next. One way or the other we were here to close down the possibility of the list of the London property owners coming out into the open. If I didn't manage it with my methods, Maxim was here to manage it the old school way and the man's death would be on my head. Whether or not the Swiss authorities would give him a wrist slap, or a prison sentence, we couldn't risk him leaking what he knew to anybody else before he went down.

  The Bratva wanted to keep their assets secure, and the Kremlin couldn't afford to be embarrassed by the dealings of their close associates. There had to be no paper trail, and I understood that now. The world Maxim lived in, the world that Valentin and Roman seemed to orchestrate became precarious when there were holes in the defences, and Jean Alaman had been picking a hole.

  Maxim tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear as he looked down at me. We were across the street from the bank, waiting for the hands on my clock to tick around. The building was all pale stone and architectural detailing around the windows and doors that nodded, discreetly, towards how skilled the stonemasons must have been, and how costly the building had been to erect when it had gone up over a hundred and fifty years before. The bank's modern sign was one of the only nods towards a more modern financial era. It was nothing like the marbe, glass and steel that was steadily encroaching on all of London's financial district, the square mile of The City. Only the most conservative institutions kept more than the facades of the old buildings back home.

  I wouldn't know what I was walking into until I got a sense of how traditional they were. Max seemed less distracted by the architecture, set on giving me the final pep talk.

  "You'll be fine. Better than fine, you'll be perfect. You sit down and tell him exactly how it is. Tell him he's fucked off the KGB. No one ever knows who the fuck the FSB are. Ask if he really wants Russian enemies. Tell him you have friends who would make whatever the Swiss authorities would do to him for selling information sound like a holiday."

  I pressed one finger to Maxim's lips, stopping him from talking. "Max. I've got this. I need to do it my way."

  At exactly four o'clock I walked in through the tall wooden door of the bank, into a marble-clad reception area. A staircase sweeping down from the floor above had brass stair rods holding down the carpet on each tread and it felt like walking into a period drama rather than visiting a bank. I was half expecting a butler to waltz in holding a silver tray and ask to take my calling card.

  Then I saw the CCTV camera mounted in the corner, and the computer screen tucked neatly behind the traditional wood reception desk and the security gate that was positioned for you to walk through before you had any further access, and I felt more at ease. This was all sheen, all veneer. Beneath the surface, this was just another bank.

  My heels clicked on the shiny hard floor tiles and I kept my head held high, a vaguely bored smile on my face as I walked up to the desk. Even if no one was out to get me here, I was glad for the large sunglasses Maxim had talked me into getting. Back in London, my face had been all over the news following our escapade getting the data stick off Sandra, and I didn't know how international the reports had gone.

  I was offered coffee and shown straight through to a private meeting room, where I set my folder down on the table, and sat down to wait, one leg crossed over the other at the knee.

  Jean Alaman was older than I had thought he might be. Definitively middle aged, with something of a paunch, and his receding hairline reminded me distinctly of Sutherland. His suit was far more expensive than he made it look and he had a weary, worn-down kind of look that made me think of my science teacher while he'd been going through his divorce.

  It made sense that Sutherland had managed to get the man to talk to him. No doubt they were of the same school of thinking, that the world owed them some grand favor and it was high time they got what was coming to him.

  This was not the kind of man who would put his findings up for all to see on the internet. At least, not by my reckoning. And I wasn't convinced he was the kind of man who was going to take kindly to being on the Bratva payroll either.

  "Ms Toropova," Alaman greeted, and I stood up, reaching out to shake his hand primly. His grip was far too limp, and the slight clamminess of his hand made my skin crawl. "I understand you arranged to speak to me in particular."

  I smiled, resisting the urge to wipe my hand on my skirt. "That's right Mr Alaman."

  The man looked a little confused, a little nervy. "May I ask why?"

  Perhaps my surname carried more weight than I'd perceived it would. I hadn't thought about it before I walked in here, but to him I was Russian and for the first time, I felt like I could be too.

  "I think you know. I believe we have an acquaintance in common. Mr Pierce Sutherland."

  Alaman visibly blanched. All the color drained from his face and he stepped back as though I'd physically shocked him.

  "I don't know that name."

  I tilted my head, feeling a surging thrill go through me as I realised that he knew exactly where the power lay in the room, and it wasn't with him. For the first time in such a long time, I was the one a hundred percent in control rather than doing my best, rolling with the punches, reacting to whatever came my way, and it felt amazing.

  "I think you do. I think you met him in London. I think you left a list for him in the left luggage at St Pancras station. I think he paid you, quite a reasonable sum. And I don't think you cared what he was going to do with the information you gave him. I think you were pleased when he talked about publishing a book. I think you liked the idea of getting all those wealthy foreigners to go back to where they came from."

  "No. You don't understand."

  Alaman swallowed visibly, and I realised he was sweating. He looked over his shoulder as though he expected the doors to burst open at any minute and I wondered whether he thought I was part of some kind of internal investigation, or whether he thought his bosses would let the Russians in here to do their worst.

  Maybe they would, if they knew he'd compromised their client list, gone against his banker's vows.

  "Please. You have the wrong person."

  "No, I don't. We've been very thorough."

  His hands were shaking now. "Who are you?"

  A smile curled onto my face. "We're the Bratva, Mr Alaman. And it was the last mistake you'll ever make crossing us. You're a worm. I came here to see if I could make you a deal, to secure this situation. Make sure there are never any more leaks, but I see now what a relic you are. What an opportunistic creep. Look at you, with your Patek Philip watch. You don't even have a moral reason for doing this. You just wanted an easy pay day."

  He shook his head. "No. No you're wrong. Please."

  "Am I? I don't think so. You're useless to us, halfway out the door with all your focus on your retirement plan. You're not who we need at all."

  He sat down in the seat that was supposed to be for me, so heavily that i
t looked like his legs had given out from under him. "Please. I could -"

  "You could, what? We don't need you. You're a snake and a liability."

  "I could make sure this never happens again."

  "How are you going to do that? We can't trust you."

  "I could move the accounts over. To another associate. Someone you vetted."

  "Someone who'd be more loyal than you?"

  "Yes. Exactly. Just, please don't do anything to me. Don't tell the standards authorities."

  "You're in no position to ask favors, Mr Alaman. You send us names before you think about doing another thing with our accounts and then we will make our decision. If you so much as breathe without our say so, there will be trouble. You go to the police, you'll be lucky if you see next week, and I can guarantee you will never work in banking again."

  He nodded, meek, humble, almost penitent. For a moment the way Roman had talked about bankers being like priests made sense to me. Money was this man's god and the bank was his temple. Being cast out would be a fate worse than death and it was just as much of a threat.

  I was on a high when I walked back out of the bank and onto the street. Maxim was right there waiting for me and he met my smile with his, falling into step as we walked away.

  "How did it go?"

  I shrugged. "Well enough. We can't use him, long term, but he's sorting out an alternative situation."

  "What's to stop him from causing more problems?"

  "He's terrified of his career going down the pan. And he really doesn't want to get hurt."

  Max looked back over his shoulder towards the bank. "It would have been easier to take him out. We still don't know what he's going to do next."

  I rolled my eyes. "Sooner or later all these bodies are going to start catching up to you, you know."

  He shook his head. "No one ever finds-"

  "A Toropov corpse. I know, I know. But he's more useful finding us a banker we can work with exclusively, who'd properly be on our payroll, wouldn't he?"

  Maxim grumbled, but I knew he was coming around to what I was saying. "You're turning me into an enforcer, you know that?"

  "Would it be so bad?"

  Maxim looked at me, and at the sun soaked street we were walking down and let out a slow breath. "I suppose this beats staking him out in a disused building for weeks at a time."

  I let my shoulders rise in a shrug, as though I hadn't already thought it. "We get to enjoy the city. Don't have to hide our faces quite as much."

  "We do. That's true. And I would like to show you a good time. You deserve better than spending half your life in the shadows."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. Did you bring that dress? That silky one that clings all the way down?"

  I grinned. There was a distinct kind of heat seeping into Maxim's eyes and his voice sounded husky just thinking about it.

  "I’m sure someone packed it."

  CHAPTER 33

  Maxim

  For all the time we had together in London, I hadn't had the chance to romance Elizabeth the way I would have if she was any other woman. She wasn't any other woman. Far from it. She was the most unique person I'd ever met and nothing about her merited any standard approach at all.

  I'd been more than happy training her and working with her and spending all the hours we had together. But in Geneva, I had plans to show her all the perks that life in the Bratva could offer.

  I arranged for one of the company cars to be dropped off outside the hotel and was pleased to note that my contact here had chosen wisely. A yellow Ferrari F8 Spider. There was never any point being subtle when you had a V8 engine that does zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds. The purpose of a car like that was to make sure everyone was looking. It was exactly what I wanted.

  Elizabeth was gorgeous in the gold dress and heels to match. I opted for a full on dinner jacket, black tie affair. I was pulling out all the stops.

  She looked at me like I might have cracked my nut when I took her hand and ducked down to kiss her knuckles. "This way Mademoiselle."

  Like a gentleman should, I opened the car door for her, and Elizabeth's eyebrows twitched up as she took in the car we were getting into. I'd seen how she reacted to my motorbikes. This was going to be something else entirely.

  She slid down into the leather seat, hands caressing the sides of the racing-style seats and the purr she let out was enough to have me stiffening inside my trousers.

  "Just wait," I told her, and turned the key, foot to the floor as I revved the engine and the full power of the V8 roared, vibrating through us.

  "Oh my God," Elizabeth whispered, "I think I just came."

  I cut my eyes to hers, grinning. "Don't make me jealous of the car, love."

  She laughed. "Are you worried? You should be."

  I roared us out of the hotel parking lot, winding us fast and sharp up along the main road towards the mountains.

  When we were free of the city, I let her rip, tearing around the bends that hair-pinned back on themselves, tight and narrow around solid rock. She was gripping onto the seat but her smile was wide and her nipples were tensed beneath the silk of her dress.

  I hit a button on the dash and the roof started to fold down, tucking itself neatly into a compartment in the chassis of the car and Elizabeth let out a woop, lifting her hands to feel the rush of the night air going past.

  It was another fifteen minutes before I skidded us into the gravel drive of an ancient little farmhouse and got out to let her out of the car.

  Elizabeth squinted up at me with some confusion and took my hand to help her out of the slow seat in her heels. For thirty seconds, the farmhouse was quiet, and then a door in the garden wall opened, showing us a glimpse of a glowing courtyard lit up with naked bulbs strung along a wire.

  "Maxim! It's been a long time!"

  Philippe greeted me with a double handshake and a kiss to each cheek. "This is Elizabeth, my fiance."

  He offered a dip of his head that almost looked like a bow.

  "Absolutely charmed. Please, come in."

  With my arm around Elizabeth's waist, I guided her in through the small courtyard door, holding my breath slightly in anticipation of her reaction. Inside, the garden was something out of a fantasy, climbing plants wafting perfume into the warm air and a fountain in the center bubbling quietly.

  There was only one table set beneath the sweeping branches of a large tree, and Philippe showed us over to it.

  "Tonight, there is no menu, my friends. You are our guests, so please, let us introduce you to a culinary feast."

  Elizabeth leaned in to me, across the table, eyes sparkling and wide. "Maxim, what is this place?"

  "A very well kept secret. You're about to find out what heaven tastes like."

  Elizabeth

  Maxim wasn't wrong about the food.

  Philippe brought out endless little plates of dishes to tantalize our taste buds and make us laugh and smile and guess what each thing was. There was a little shot glass of a seafood soup that tasted like crab and prawns, and crispy little bites that crunches and then dissolved on my tongue in a burst of flavor.

  He popped open a bottle of champagne, but he kept bringing out different wines to go with this dish and that dish. I didn't know much about any of them, but Philippe definitely did because they all tasted fantastic together.

  He brought out a whole fish and peeled the skin back and served the thick, white flakes directly onto our plates with new potatoes whose skins were flaking off and vegetables which he said were fresh from the gardens. It shouldn't have tasted as good as it did. There must have been something magical in the sauce. Or maybe it was all the wine we were drinking.

  I felt like some kind of Roman noble woman who should have been lounging back being fed grapes when the courses kept on coming.

  Duck came next. Perfectly cooked breasts with crispy skin and the meat still pink in the middle. It all but melted when I bit into it.

  "I could get used to t
his, Maxim."

  "You should. When we go to Russia, I’m going to employ a chef and he will make you whatever you want to eat, whenever you want it."

  I propped my chin on my hand, grinning at him across the table. "Even if I want rice pudding, or baked beans on toast."

  He laughed. "Even if you want butterscotch Angel Delight."

  "That sounds perfect." And it did. I loved that we could have all this, experience all these things, but still go home and just be us. I wouldn't have wanted champagne and jet-setting every day of the week.

  By the time Philippe brought out a plate of delicate little pastries and cakes, carefully stacked with cream and layered with chocolate, I was close to bursting.

  Still, I couldn't say no when Maxim forked off a morsel and held it out to me across the table. I licked my lips to make sure I got all the cream and Maxim cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  "You're a devilish little minx, Elizabeth."

  I laughed and reached out to scoop another forkful of chocolate and cream. "I have no idea what you're talking about Mr Toropov."

  CHAPTER 34

  Elizabeth

  I was a little surprised when Maxim took us back to Greenwich from the airport instead of to the Knightsbridge apartment, but it was where we went, right after Maxim called Valentin to tell him that Alaman was going to play ball.

  Everything Pierce had set in motion unwittingly to threaten the Bratva had come to a close, and I was free. Maxim and I could do as we pleased, at least for a little while.

  When he opened the door to his apartment, it felt like coming home.

  "I grew up here," Maxim said, looking faintly pleased with himself as he set the suitcase down and surveyed the living room. It might not have been all that grand, but it was his and I absolutely understood the appeal of that. As of that moment, I had precisely nowhere that I could call my own.