by A. E. King
Does that mean he’s in some other type of danger? Dimitri wouldn’t insist on me going if he didn’t actually need me. I nod and follow the guard.
To reach the casino, we have to walk through the noisy disco full of men and women, bodies pressed against each other and the bar. Everyone is dressed in their black and white best. I try to ignore the looks of recognition and surprise. They’ve never seen me so underdressed.
We reach the casino. “This way,” the officer instructs. “They’re in a private room.”
The guard directs me to a solid gold wall with six doors. None of them are numbered. He opens the second door for me, and I step inside the dim, smoke-filled room. I look past Dimitri sitting at the betting table, and my eyes lock on the skeletal face and sunken eyes of Kostya Dragovich. His smile widens in an evil grin. He looks like the devil himself.
Dimitri turns to see what caught Kostya’s eye.
“Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.” Kostya sneers. “Yulia, come join us. We were just discussing you.”
I look to Dimitri for a cue. His face is unreadable. I walk toward the table with my head lifted high in the air. Kostya cannot think I fear him.
“Yulia, you were supposed to be at the spa.” Dimitri stands to meet me.
“You sent for me,” I remind him.
Dimitri looks warry. “I didn’t.”
“I invited you, Yulia. This meeting was taking forever.” Kostya glares at Dimitri. “And since Yulia seem to find herself to the center of every issue, I figured we should accelerate the resolution. So I told your guard to fetch her because you urgently needed her. I like guards that don’t ask a lot of questions.”
I glance at the guard, and now the man’s emotion is visible. His face has drained of color.
Dimitri scowls, and I look around the table to gauge the reactions from the other attendees.
Their expressions are dark and menacing in an intangible way. The camouflage of their respectable, black clothes and expensive watches doesn’t reach their eyes. Instinct tells me to put distance between us, but determination demands I don’t concede or cower to this group.
“No security in here, gentleman.” An older man with bright blue eyes and a round face points toward my attendant and the guard Kostya sent to summon us.
“Wait outside,” Dimitri tells them. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, darling. It looks like our meeting will last a while.” He leans in to embrace me, whispering in my ear, “Say as little as possible.”
The men all stand as I approach the table, except Kostya, who takes a long drag on his cigar.
“Yulia Vladomirovna.” The grandfatherly man gestures to the chair. “I’ve watched you grow up into a beautiful young woman. Congratulations on your wedding.”
One of the men scoffs, and Dimitri rests his hand protectively on my shoulder.
“Have we met?” I don’t remember seeing him.
“Your father likes to keep his circles separate. But I’ve known your parents for years. I was even at their wedding.” He smiles at me, and I want to feel more at ease knowing I’ve seen his sleeve in the photo of my mother and father looking so happy on their special day.
“Well, then it’s nice to meet you.” I return his smile.
“I was also there when your mother died. What a waste that was.” He places his bet on the table. I stop smiling.
Kostya interrupts. “This meeting has lasted long enough. Let me be direct.” He lays his chips on the table. “You cost me millions of dollars, Yulia. And you disrupted my supply chain. I expect recompense.”
Dimitri answers before I can. “And I have told you, the Verkhovney Gosudar is aware of your request and currently looking at options.”
Kostya snaps, “You mean, currently looking at ways to increase his reach and power while capping our earning potential. Yulia, maybe I should thank you.” He sneers at me. “You’ve done a marvelous job cleaning up my orphanage. The children will be healthy and clean the next time I come for a supply order. They’ll sell for twice the price.”
The old man scolds Kostya. “I’m sure he means to say that the children will go to some of the best families who can afford their care.”
“You won’t touch them ever again,” I whisper, and Dimitri tightens his grip on my shoulder in warning.
The tension around the table is thick as eyes move between us, waiting to see what will happen.
“Who is going to stop me?” Kostya glares at me. “The old colonel and his geriatric soldiers? The nenoozhny whores you hired? How would any of them fare against my men and my weapons? I’ll give you some time, but if we’re not given recompense I will get my money’s worth.”
My blood is hot and angry. “You’ll have to go through me,” I say, and a few of the men laugh in response.
Kostya smiles widely. “That would solve two problems . . . or maybe three. With you out of the way, Dimitri goes back to being nothing more than an overpaid lackey. And with both of you gone, Vladimir has no buffer.”
I look up at Dimitri and he shakes his head, encouraging me to be silent.
“Would it solve your problems, or would it cause more?” I glare at him. “Who would keep the people pacified if I were gone? My father? Dimitri? You? Do you remember revolutions from your history lessons? They might start differently, but they all end the same. And it doesn’t always end well for men like you, does it?”
My heart races, and I’m grateful to be sitting because my knees feel wobbly. Kostya’s face is red, his gaze murderous.
“That’s enough,” Dimitri warns, and I’m not sure if it’s meant for Kostya or me.
“I agree.” The grandfatherly man stands. “Young people lack the art of subtlety. This is no way to treat our beautiful guest. I apologize that your evening plans were disrupted to watch a bunch of grumpy businessmen bickering over money,” he says to me. Then he turns to Kostya and Dima. “Let’s not waste the last two hours of negotiation. You’re so close. Yulia, may I buy you a drink? And we can let these two finalize their agreements.”
Dimitri opens his mouth to argue. He clearly doesn’t want me around these men. But I need to get to know this world if I’m going to do any good in mine, and my security detail will accompany me.
Dimitri’s eyes are round with concern as I slip my arm through the older gentleman’s.
My guard waits in the main room. I gesture to him, and he immediately falls into stride behind me.
“Forgive us for our poor manners tonight.” The older man pats my arm. “These are tricky times. And politics never brings out the best in men. But I’m confident we’ll all come to a peaceful resolution.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful to be away from Kostya. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t give it.” We enter the next car. “Get us a private room.” he orders the maitre d.
“I’m sorry, sir. They’re all reserved, but I can find you a private table.” He looks up from the map of the restaurant and his eyes widen in shock.
“Forgive me Gospozha, sir” he bows. “one moment.”
The matre d motions exaggeratedly to a woman escorting a couple toward a gold door and shoos them away.
“We can take any table.” I offer, not wanting to disrupt their schedule.
“Nonsense.” The old man motions toward the blinking light, indicating the Peredacha. My dear, you’re hardly dressed for the occasion, and you know how often images get leaked. I’d hate to see you end up on the front page of the gossip reports like some sloppy actress. Privacy is best.”
I stop arguing as I understand. He wants a conversation that won’t be recorded by my father.
The private room is decorated with roses and candlesticks.
“Lovely,” he says as he holds my chair out for me. “This is tricky business, Yulia. Very tricky indeed.”
He motions to the waiter. “Scotch. And you?” he asks.
“Tea, please,”
“So much like your mo
ther.” He laughs. “Although we all know how that ended.” My stomach clenches, and I say nothing.
“Yulia, I think I understand part of the problem here.” He smiles at me, and I’m certain I have traded a wolf for a fox. “You’ve been kept too much in the dark. Half of the men in that room would just as soon see you dead, through no fault of your own. They feel like it is an easy end to a growing problem.”
“There are so many growing problems. Which problem, in particular, are we discussing? Our addiction crisis? Our poverty levels, unemployment, child trafficking perhaps? Or are you just referring to my father’s ambition?” I’m careful to keep my face emotionless.
He frowns. “All this Verkhovney Gosudar nonsense. We gave him the role as head of the Council because he was neutral. His role was supposed to be one of an impartial judge, not a ruling body. No one expected quite how power hungry he would be. And once Sasha was out of the way, we were certain the succession would fall back to the Organizatsaya once your father passed on. But now, we have you and Dimitri. It all becomes . . . complicated. We Russians have always been better at gaining power than releasing it.”
A waitress returns with our drinks. My companion sips his as though we’re speaking about the weather.
“Well, if it helps I can assure you I don’t want the kind of power he has with the Organizatsaya.” I fight to keep my voice calm and in control.
“It could help, or it could hurt.” He drains his Scotch and motions for another.
“How so?” I ask.
“What type of power will you seek?” He licks his lips. His tongue is short, fat, and looks dry even though he just swallowed his drink. It disgusts me.
“I don’t care about power. I want what’s best for our people. As I’m sure you do.” I have to be careful with this man. He may be more subtle, but I suspect him infinitely more dangerous than Kostya.
“I’m glad you care about our people. The younger generation is so rash. They rush into a battle before realizing what it costs. Take Kostya, for example. I would never allow my family to be run so poorly. They were such a strong syndicate. Now they’ve become a liability. His father is losing his mind to dementia, his brother is lazy, and Kostya is a fool. He’d start a war tomorrow. But what would it cost us? We didn’t come out of the last war well. Foreign governments interfered, the people were so destitute we had to start giving drugs away, and the Organizatsaya lost so many lives fighting against each other. I’ve lived long enough to know battles are best fought with strategy. Anyone that doesn’t understand that becomes a liability, and liabilities often have to be removed.”
I don’t respond, recognizing that anything I say could be used against me, Dimitri, and my father.
Then he adds, “Only a couple of the men in that room want you dead right now. Some of them are happy to wait until your father dies and then assassinate you and Dimitri.” I shiver and grab my teacup, wrapping my hands around its warmth and hoping its heat will counter the chill in my veins.
“And what do you want?” I whisper, my voice giving way to fear.
“I want to help you, my dear.” He takes another sip of his drink. “And I imagine you could also help us.” When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’m not asking for anything too challenging. Your father’s ambition is our challenge not yours. Dimitri is more of an opportunist than a leader. I think given the choice between his life and re-establishing the original order, he’ll see the wisdom of reining in the reach of the job. He’s intelligent. He would probably make a good judge. The head of the Council was never supposed to be a role akin to royalty. And the head of the Organizatsaya was not meant to create initiatives. If Dimitri could agree to this, you could go on helping the nenoozhny, protecting them from the dangers of war and poverty, and we could return to a safer time. You can see the wisdom in this, can’t you?” he asks.
I still don’t respond. So he keeps talking. “No one said you have to like it. We just need to know that you don’t plan to continue interfering with our business, or no amount of negotiating will keep us from war. And if that happens . . .” He shakes his head in dismay. “I’ll survive. I always do. The royal family never does. But there will be so many unnecessary deaths. Communities, churches . . . nothing will be off-limits, even your precious orphanage,” he calculates shrewdly.
“What exactly are you asking for?” I ask. He’s just as murderous as the rest. He just wraps it in a smile.
“One gesture of goodwill from you would be enough to calm the contention and keep the peace a little longer. Of course, we’ll need to keep our dialogue open. Not everything will be solved overnight. But it would help.” He looks at me, his bright blue eyes greedy for my consent.
“There are some things I won’t do. Some things I can’t do. Everyone has their limits, and I think you’ll find my moral compass more similar to my mother’s than my father’s. I can’t pacify the people forever.” I look down at my feet.
“Yes, we should discuss your mother. But first, let me be clear. We keep the people pacified. They’re so low they can’t find the energy to rise up. You keep them from realizing how much we want them to stay poor. Give them a blanket, and they don’t notice you took away a job.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he continues. “We need to solve the problem at hand. The Dragovich family has an order for a large export of hydrogen cyanide gas they would like to fulfill. It would be wonderful if there were some large event to occupy the eyes of the world while Kostya transfers his products.”
“My wedding,” I say, and he nods.
“You know my father is going to pick the date,” I tell him.
“Come now, dear. We all saw him hand over the orphanage to you. Whatever you did to get that, just do it again.”
“Where is the export going?” I ask, not that it matters. It is a viscous gas used for genocide in nations too poor to be more sophisticated with their barbarism.
“The fewer details the better, my dear.” All kindness is gone. His gaze is hard and his demands relentless.
“Name your date, and I’ll see that it happens,” I say. I strongly suspect this order will go forward with or without me. This isn’t truly about them needing cover. It’s a test of whether I will assist them. Tomorrow I hope to connect with the Myatezhniki. If I play my cards right, I might be able to give them a date and location for this illegal activity.
“One last thing.” He grasps my hand. “Neither your father nor Dimitri can know about this deal. It’s unsanctioned because the group Kostya is selling to is on an international watch list. There will be questions about where it came from. But it will make up for the funds lost from your little act of heroism, and I’ve been in the game long enough to know how to ensure it’s not traced to us.”
The secrecy makes it feel even more sinister. “I need to know where it’s going,” I try again.
“My dear, think of it this way. You’ve traded lives you know for lives you don’t. Don’t you want to protect those children? Give us this small concession, and I will guarantee Kostya stays out of your orphanage for good.”
“How many people will die?” I whisper.
“Oh, I don’t know. Thousands at least. But the beauty is you won’t know any of them.”
I nod, tasting the burn of the bile rising up my throat.
“June thirtieth is a beautiful time of year to get married.” He offers his hand. I grasp it, and he wraps my trembling hand in his.
“The date of my wedding is hardly my biggest concern.” I suddenly feel like I’m at the card table, placing a bet and hoping it pays off.
“You shouldn’t have to concern yourself with any of this. We’ve had such a useful arrangement for years. You show compassion to the poor and give them just enough to make them believe the government cares. None of us is really suited to that work. And our operations continue to strengthen the power and influence of Novaya Russiya.”
“An agreement no one bothered to inform me about. And now you tell me we
’re on the brink of war and that I’m under threat of assassination. Perhaps you and I could come to a new agreement,” I say quietly, and his sinister smile spreads.
“What did you have in mind?” He leans back in his chair.
“Nothing too consequential. I can easily get married on June thirtieth. And you can just as easily share simple details with me.” He stops smiling and assesses me over the top of his glass. “I’ve always felt rather uncomfortable about your position. Every move you make creates political ripples, and yet no one informs you. They treat you like a child rather than an intelligent, capable woman.” He pats my hand. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. And it will give you a much prettier end than your mother’s. She was such a delight. She could warm even the coldest hearts. We all regretted how things ended. Your father, most of all. But in the end, she stood in his way. He had no choice but to kill her.”
“What?” I choke. He didn’t. He couldn’t have. I can’t even wrap my mind around the words. “You’re lying.” My words are as shaky as my hands.
“I wish I was, dear. She was a friend of mine for nearly thirty years. But she stabbed all of us all in the back, and it had to be done.”
“The bullet was meant for my father.” Not my mother. It didn’t happen that way. I close my eyes and try to recall her back to me. “Everyone knows it.” I try to find something in the room I can focus on, but everything is moving too fast around me. “He wouldn’t do that. He loved her.” I try to make the sunlight dance across her golden hair. I try to hear the sparkle her laughter brought into every room. But it’s so dark in my mind. All I can see is my father. I shake my head, trying to clear it as everything crumbles around me. All my strength, all my courage drain out of me, and I drown in aching emptiness.
Even as I deny these claims, I feel foolish. He loved her, but he loved himself more.
My companion smiles in triumph. “We had a party for her. Oh, it was a wonderful event. I remember she was wearing the most beautiful golden gown. She practically glowed as she moved through the room. He kissed her goodbye then shot her in the head. And we danced in her blood.”