by Alexa Davis
It wasn't long before Dementyev entered the bar with his guards. He was a tall man in his fifties who had the fair looks of someone with Nordic origins. His blond hair was cut in a tight, even square giving him a military aura, and he was dressed in casual clothing that looked anything but casual. Dementyev was a master of maintaining near invisibility by looking like he fit in anywhere, but having grown up in the vore y zakone, I recognized the way he carried himself immediately. The resemblance between he and my father was uncanny, despite the age difference, and I felt my stomach flip over as I prepared to confront him.
"Dementyev," I said as I stood up from my barstool and faced him. "We need to talk."
"Malinchenko, how nice to see you," he said with a smile that slithered across his lips. "Come into my office and we'll talk."
I nodded as I followed him to the back of the bar. I had my misgivings about whether this was a wise idea, but we certainly weren't going to hold our conversation in public, so I took the only option offered. Dementyev's office was smaller than the one I had at the store, and as a result, his men had to remain outside.
"I'm glad you came, Maksim," he said as he took out two shot glasses and a bottle of expensive Russian vodka that I knew for a fact could only be bought on the black market. He poured two shots and offered me one saying, "Let us toast a productive conversation, shall we?"
We downed the shots and he poured two more. He handed me the glass as if daring me to say no; I accepted it without hesitation and downed it as quickly as the first.
"Let's talk," I said before he could pour a third, knowing that if he kept this up, I would soon be at a distinct disadvantage. "I want to know what is going on."
"What do you mean?" he asked as a small smile played at the edge of his lips. I knew I would have to proceed carefully or I'd soon be caught up in his web of lies and deception.
"You know what I mean, Dementyev," I said without humor. "What's going on with all the killings?"
"I haven't killed a single soul, so I don't really know what you're talking about." His long, thin fingers drumming the desk told me otherwise.
"There have been numerous executions here in Wicker Park," I said bluntly. "How many of them are your men responsible for?"
"Mr. Malinchenko, my men are not responsible for any of the murders here on the West Side," he said, leaning forward as his eyes sparkled and a cold smile spread across his lips. "Those were unfortunate thugs caught up in business I know nothing about. Perhaps, they deserved to die."
I wanted to fly out of my seat and pummel his smug face until he could no longer smile or even see, but good sense told me that this would be unwise and that if I did it, I'd most likely be dead within minutes. Instead, I leaned back and returned his smile as I acted like I had all the time in the world to have this discussion. What I wanted to know was whether he'd ordered Kristov killed and if he had, why.
"Perhaps they did," I said as I looked at my fingernails and then picked at something that wasn't there. "Perhaps they were simply bad apples who needed harvesting."
"Indeed," Dementyev smiled as he held up the vodka bottle offering another shot, I passed and watched him take a third shot as I thought about what to say next.
"Perhaps my brother was one of those bad apples," I threw out there and watched his eyebrows rise for a brief second before he regained control.
"Anything is possible, Malinchenko," he said, sitting back in his chair to look at me. "Are you asking if I killed your brother?"
"I am," I replied, thinking that it was better to admit what I was after than to dance around the subject with a man who had spent his life avoiding questions like these. "I just want to know who killed him. If not you, then who?"
"I did not kill your brother," he told me plainly. "It wasn't my men and it wasn't my order."
"Then, who did it?" I asked.
"Malinchenko, have you ever thought that about the fact that your father is knee deep in a river of shit?" Dementyev said with a cruel smile. "He's been losing his grip on the vore v zakone for a few years now."
"So, you're saying that his own men killed his son." I was hesitant to believe anything that came out of his mouth, but I was smart enough to know that he was baiting me, so I stayed calm.
"Am I?" he shrugged. Dementyev had an infuriating way of bringing up a topic and then letting it hang in the air while he moved on to something else. It was in this way that he played with his victims much the same way a cat plays with an injured mouse; except, I wasn't injured and I definitely wasn't a mouse.
"Why would my father want my brother dead?" I asked.
"You really don't know anything, do you?" The look of surprise on his face struck me as the first genuine expression he'd had since we sat down.
"What should I know, Dementyev?" I said, trying to sound bored. "Really, what don't I know?"
"Your brother was dealing drugs. He got in over his head and he owed money — not just a little money, but a lot of money," he said as he sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together. "Your father is a businessman, a hardcore businessman who doesn't take shit from anybody, not even his own son."
"Okay, so Kristov owed money. Lots of people owe money, and my father doesn't kill them," I shrugged. Dementyev dropped his hands and leaned forward across his desk as he looked at me as if he were trying to decide what to say to me next.
"Yes, but most people don't go around pulling the whores from your father's whore houses and transporting them off to some place safe," he countered without taking his eyes off of my face.
"You lie." I felt my stomach turn over and threaten to upend its contents onto Dementyev's desk. "You fucking lie, you sookin syn! My father never ran whorehouses. Drugs, weapons, theft, yes, he did then all, but he never ran whorehouses."
The room was suddenly filled with Dementyev's loud laughter. He laughed until he had tears running down his face and his guards peeked into the room to see if everything was okay. He waved them off and wiped his eyes as he held back the new waves that threatened to tow him back under. When he'd calmed himself, he looked at me and said, "You poor fool; you have no idea what your father does, do you?"
"I don't find any of this particularly funny," I replied. "In case you've forgotten, my brother is dead."
"I'm laughing about the fact that your father has fooled you for so long," he told me as he poured two more shots and handed me one. I tossed it back quickly and waited for him to continue.
"Your father is a cold bastard. He was considered brutal even by KGB standards, but he operated by the thieves’ code. Or at least, he did until he came to the States. They say that once he got here, his heart turned to ice. He's been the most dangerous man in Chicago for the past two decades, and now, he's losing his grip on power to the younger generation who have even less honor than he has, and he's panicking."
"Why should I believe a word you say?" I asked. I felt my pulse race as I listened to Dementyev tell me about my father. The fact that he was brutal wasn't a secret, but the brothels were. My mother had always accused my father of transporting girls into the U.S., but he had denied it until the day she died. He swore it was the one thing he wouldn't do. Now, Dementyev was telling me he'd lied about that, and it made me wonder what else he'd lied about, but I wasn't ready to buy the story just yet. "Show me some proof."
"I have none, just my word," he said as he looked at me. "But I'm telling you that I think your brother pissed off your father and your father ordered a hit."
"You have no proof, yet you want me to turn on my own father?" I scoffed as I stood up and prepared to leave. "What a fool you must think I am."
"I do not think you are a fool, Maksim Malinchenko," he said soberly. "I think you are a boy who wants his father to love him and is doing everything he can to make that happen. I also think that your father is a cold, cruel bastard who doesn't deserve to have a son like you or one like Kristov, for that matter. I think he's a terrible man whose death would improve the world."
I just hoped Dementyev would tell his men to back off and let me go in peace. Unlike my father had done.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Lexi
Two hours into my shopping trip with Viv, Peter called and told me to stop by the office because he had some news. I begged him to tell me what it was, but he said it was something that needed to be delivered in person, so I'd have to drop by to find out. I muttered a few choice curse words under my breath and told Viv that the trip needed to be cut short.
"What's up, Wally?" she asked.
"Peter has some kind of news for me, but he won't tell me over the phone," I replied as I shed the last dress Viv had brought into the fitting room. It was another of the big ugly dresses, and I had rolled my eyes and refused until she'd promised it would be the last one. It was truly hideous, and I was grateful to have a reason to take it off.
"Alright, well, I've got a makeover appointment scheduled for four, so this is perfect timing," she said as she changed out of the dove gray number I'd chosen as one of the possible bridesmaid dresses. I hadn't made her try on any ugly dresses and now I had a good idea of what I wanted her to wear. She held it up and said, "I kind of like this one, Lex."
"Yeah, me, too," I agreed as I pulled on my clothes and checked my hair. We put the bridesmaid dress and the one wedding dress that we'd loved on hold and said we'd be back over the weekend to make a final choice. The sales associate smiled, wrote the style numbers on my bridal card, and told me to let her know if I had any questions in the meantime.
Viv and I split on the sidewalk in front of the store. She'd refused a ride, saying she preferred to walk after being inside all day. I wanted to walk, too, but I was too impatient, so I hopped into a cab and directed the driver to Upper Wacker Drive and Peter's office. Once I arrived, I took the elevator up and told Peter's receptionist that I was there to see him.
"Oh, he's been waiting for you, Ms. Wallace!" she exclaimed as she led me back and announced, "Mr. Baxter, Ms. Wallace is here to see you!"
"Hey, kiddo!" he called from behind his desk. "Come on in and have a seat!"
"Hey, Peter," I said. I walked over and settled on one of the chairs across from his desk. "Tell me the news, would you, please?"
"Kid, the director of Hedda Gabler wants you in the role of Hedda," he blurted out. "You're going to be the lead role!"
"Who? Me?" I said stunned by the news. I had been hoping I'd get the part, but I hadn't allowed myself to completely believe it was possible because I didn't want to be disappointed.
"Yes, you," he said with a big smile. "You are the lead in the Ibsen play!"
"This is unbelievable!" I cried as I shot up out of the chair and danced in front of Peter's desk. "I did it!"
"Yep, and they want you to start next week," he said. "They're sending the script to your place and rehearsals begin on Monday and run through the next two months. And, they're paying you fifteen hundred a week plus benefits!"
"Wait, next week?" I said as a sick feeling swelled in the pit of my stomach. "What about my job with Max? I've still got a month to go."
"Aw, don't worry, kid. I'll find a replacement and have her in there on Monday morning," he waved me off trying to allay my worries.
"But, Peter, I've got responsibilities over there," I said, suddenly realizing that Peter had no idea how far I'd gone in helping Max out. He had no idea I was living at Max's apartment, nor did he know about the faux wedding we were planning.
"Look, kid, this is your chance to break into the Chicago acting scene," he scolded. He was frustrated with me – and rightfully so. "Why do you care what that Russian mafia prince does with a jewelry store?"
"Wait, what?" I said. I was confused. "What did you just call him?"
"Russian mafia prince? He's the son of Vladimir Malinchenko, the Wicker Park mafia boss. Didn't you know that?"
"No, how would I know that, Peter?" I shouted. "What the hell are you telling me? That I've been working for the Russian mafia? Jesus, Peter!"
"Calm down, Lexi," he said with a worried look on his face. "It's not a crisis. Nothing bad happened, did it? I'll get another girl to fill in and it'll all be over. Don't get your panties in a twist, kid."
"You are such an asshole," I said. I was beyond mad at him for putting me in such a situation and even angrier with myself for having dug in deeper. How in the world was I going to get out of this mess?
"Hey, hey, hey, let's not get personal here," he said as he looked at me with genuine concern. "What's going on, Lexi?"
"Nothing!" I yelled as I marched toward the door. "Absolutely nothing!"
I stormed out of Peter's office and headed to the lobby. As I crossed the marble floor toward the door, I caught a glimpse of a man following me at just enough of a distance that it became obvious he was my security detail. I marched over to him and hissed, "Stop following me! You are fired!"
"You can't fire me, ma'am," he said not even pretending that he wasn't what I was accusing him of. "Mr. Malin hired me and he's the only one who can fire me."
"Don't you mean, Mr. Malinchenko?" I spit out in a venomous tone. "I don't care if he's the Leader of the Free World, you're fired! Do not follow me anymore or I'll call the police and have you arrested for stalking!"
He considered me for a moment before nodding, turning, and walking away. I turned and marched out the front door and headed back to Max's penthouse where I threw a few things in a bag for me and Anna before calling a cab and heading over to Viv's for the night.
If Max Malinchenko wasn't going to tell me the truth about who he was and what he was doing, then I sure as hell wasn't going to stick around to hear what new lies he'd come up with to make me help him rule his West side gang of thugs.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Max
On my way back from my meeting with Dementyev, I stopped at the store to pick up the special piece of jewelry I'd ordered for Lexi to wear. It was a three-carat platinum art deco ring that retailed for well over twenty thousand dollars, but I'd gotten a deal on it through Mr. Petrov's people. I wanted Lexi to start wearing it so that Petrov's people would see that we were serious about the wedding plans and would continue to funnel money into my business. I'd used up a good portion of the initial investment and I was hoping that Petrov's second infusion of cash would come soon so that I could buy more of the rare pieces that were out on the market. I knew the Chicago crowd would love them because they were vintage pieces that would remind them of the good old days back in Moscow.
I pulled the ring out of the safe and looked at it from all sides. It was exquisite, much like Lexi, and I knew she would love wearing it. I polished it and set it in one of our black boxes where it sparkled in the light. Satisfied that I'd done well, I called and ordered dinner to be delivered and then went out to the car.
When I stepped out of the elevator I was surprised to find the penthouse completely dark. "Lexi?" I called as I turned on lights and walked through the empty place. "Are you home? Anna?"
There was no response and I wondered if I'd missed a message from Lexi telling me that she'd gone out with Viv or something. I checked my phone and saw nothing and then began to worry. I quickly dialed Lexi's phone, but it went to voicemail, so I left a message asking her to call me and then called Viv. Her phone went to voicemail, as well.
I called the guard I'd put on Lexi to find out where she was. When he answered, he told me she'd fired him that afternoon after he'd tailed her to her agent's office on Upper Wacker.
"She what?" I yelled.
"She fired me."
"She didn't have the authority to do that!" I was pissed off and not holding back. "Your one job was to f
ollow her and ensure her safety!"
"She threatened to call the police and report me for stalking her," he said simply. "And that's not in my contract."
"You idiot!" I shouted before disconnecting.
Lexi was out there on her own and when I tried calling her again, I got no response.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Lexi
I showed up at Viv's towing a suitcase and Anna's carrier. She didn't ask me a single question; she simply sat me down, mixed me a martini, and told me to drink. I finished one martini and she had a second in my hand before I could even ask for it.
"Talk, Wally," she said as she set a tray full of snacks down on the coffee table. "And, eat, otherwise you're going to spend the night on the floor in the bathroom."
"He lied to me, Viv," I said as I picked up a stuffed grape leaf and popped it in my mouth. After I'd swallowed, I continued, "He lied about who he was by omitting the fact that he is the son of Russian mafia boss Vladimir Malinchenko!"
"Holy shit! Are you kidding me?" she gasped, spilling her drink on the sofa. She quickly ran into the kitchen and grabbed a towel to wipe it up with before sitting down again. "You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not kidding, Viv!" I said. "Why do you think I'm here and not at the penthouse tonight?"
"How did you find out?"
I spent the next hour telling her all about what Peter had told me, and then I told her how I'd fired the security guard who'd been following me all day. While I was telling her about Max's secret, I remembered that I hadn't told her about my own secret.
"Viv, I got the part," I said quietly.
"You what?" she replied, looking up from playing with Anna, who was curled up in her lap on her back and batting at Viv's fingers.