by Geneva Lee
I let the conversation lapse a moment when I hear voices in my earpiece.
“I’m in the safe,” says Luca. “It’s pretty standard. Liquid cooled so if someone tries to drill the safe it will ruin everything. The drives are all set in with screws and not prongs, though.”
“What happened to the multitool I gave you last Christmas?” Jack says peevishly.
“I don’t have it,” Luca says evenly.
“Check the desk,” Jack says, “Otherwise, I’ll brush you one in the lobby.”
I realize Cyrus is looking at me expectantly, and do my best to tune out Jack and Luca. “Women, huh? I guess I’m going to have to really work on getting Poppy to like me.”
“Might be a lost cause,” Cyrus says. “Poppy doesn’t hate many people, but…”
“I wonder why she hates me,” I say. “I bet you know.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, shifting his weight to the edge of his chair like he’s considering storming out.
“You know a lot of things you shouldn't, don’t you? I bet you know about the sex tape and the blackmail.” I lean forward, directly across from him, until I can smell the liquor on his breath. He can try to bolt for the door, but he won’t be able to before I grab him.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He puts his glass on the coffee table and stands up. “It was good to catch up. I hope you and Adair figure all this out, but—”
“No, you don’t. You wouldn’t want us to figure this out,” I cut him off.
Cyrus glances at the desk, his eyes landing on the screwdriver Adair left there after jimmying open the locked drawer.
“Don’t get any stupid fucking ideas,” I say. He doesn’t know it, but I could let him reach for it without forming a single bead of sweat. There’s a Glock in the box nearest me. The kiddie pool has closed. Cyrus might think he’s ready for the deep end, but I’m the deepest, darkest ocean. He has no idea.
“You haven’t changed, Sterling,” he says, suddenly relaxing. “You can take the kid out of the ghetto, but you can’t—well, I shouldn’t have to say the rest.”
He pauses for a moment, regarding me with an amused smile, before unbuttoning his jacket and sitting back down. “Of course I set you up. Actually, I ought to thank you for that. I don’t know why I thought Adair would screw over Poppy. Stupid kid myself, I guess. It would have been a good match. Her family’s empire and mine. But Adair was never a team player,” he continues wistfully. “Poppy is, though. Not my first choice, but her family’s net worth has doubled. Imagine what I can do with that money. And you? You taught me how easy it is to manipulate people. Honestly, I think I learned more from you than all four years at Valmont.”
“I’m glad to be of service,” I say flatly. “I’m not so easy to manipulate anymore.”
Cyrus Eaton actually laughs. Tilts his head back, opens his throat nice and wide, and roars with laughter. “You don’t get it,” he says. “I own your secrets. You think you have power over me now? It’s exactly the opposite. I could bury you with what I have on you. You think I’m talking about five years ago? I’m not. And you don’t even know!”
I rise to my feet, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“Sterling, don’t,” Luca’s voice says quietly over the comms, startling me. It’s incredible how easily a human being forgets the illusion of privacy. Even me. Even here. But Luca is my friend, and that means he knows I’m about five seconds from snapping Cyrus’s neck. He knows it’ll take everything I’ve got to fight it.
“It’s not worth it,” Jack says.
What the fuck are they talking about? This is exactly what they signed up for. We’ve never been afraid to get our hands dirty.
“If you want him dead, I’ll do it,” Luca says in an even tone. “You’ve got people to lose now, remember?”
When I woke up today, I knew everything I wanted from life. Maybe for the very first time. I came in here with a plan and all it took was Cyrus Eaton laughing at me, and I was ready to throw it all away.
And for what?
I think of Jay Gatsby floating dead in his pool, never learning his lesson. I see that scrap of paper Adair left me on the pillow. Those words. I’ve been fighting the past’s current for so long, desperate to prove I’m stronger than the ocean of mistakes behind me.
But all I need to do is get out of the water.
“Cyrus,” I say calmly, waiting for his laughing to fully stop.
“Yeah? What do you need, Sterling? Need to borrow my car? I’ve got five now. I’ll give you one,” he chuckles, admonishing me by waving his index finger. “But you have to ask nicely.”
“Sterling, we have all the drives,” Jack says quickly. “Luca’s out. I’m plugging one in now. Standby.”
His laughter rushes toward me, stopping short like the tide shifting. It can’t reach me anymore. I’m too far on land for it to touch me.
“You offered me to the FBI, didn’t you?” I say, giving Cyrus something to chew on, biding my time until I know I’ve won once and for all.
“You are smart, I’ll give you that. But the company you keep... Organized crime, Sterling? What would Frankie say?”
“It’s Francie, actually.”
“Like I care.”
“Sterling,” Jack’s voice sounds on the comms. “We’ve got everything. Looks like three years or more. It’s even labeled neatly in the file tree.”
“Do you not understand what you’ve done?” I ask Cyrus.
“The sex tape? Relax. Only 3 people ever saw it, and one of them is dead now.”
“You violated Adair,” I say. “You set me up.”
“And you got a million bucks for it,” Cyrus says, “Too bad you didn’t find out until you were in the military.”
“I never got that money.”
“Seriously?” Cyrus looks like I just handed him a Christmas present. “Angus really was a tightwad. I kinda thought that’s where you got all this.” He points to my watch and my shoes, evidence that I’d come into money somehow.
If he only knew, he probably wouldn’t be laughing now.
Jack’s voice comes over the comm again. “Sterling, everything’s in position.”
I drop my voice so much he has to strain to hear me. “Your whole world is about to come crashing down. If you ever come near me, my friends, my family again, if you so much as think of doing something, you’re a dead man. The Bratva don’t take kindly to people spying on them.”
Cyrus’s confident mask slips. His Adam's apple bob once, twice, and finally, when he gathers enough saliva, he replies, “Leave town now. Or I share everything with the FBI.”
I allow myself a smile. “But, Cyrus, you don’t have anything to share with the FBI.”
The pleasure of watching him figure this out is almost orgasmic. His eyes flit back and forth, accessing the bits of information he needs. When he does, he explodes upward and runs to the door, furiously dialing on his phone at the same time. He throws open the door and crashes into someone.
“Poppy,” he says, “What the f...I was just having a drink with Sterling.” He leans and kisses her on the cheek.
She doesn’t move. Adair is right behind her, looking furious. Neither smile. In fact, Poppy’s cheeks are flushed so red they’re almost purple. Cyrus can only watch in horror as she reaches her hand to her ear and pulls out a wireless earpiece.
“P-p-p-poppy,” he splutters, backing away from her with his palms held up and out, like he needs them ready to deflect the blows that are coming.
Adair meets my eyes, and the momentary sweetness of victory sours. I knew it would be short-lived. Adair never wanted to break her best friend’s heart, but Poppy deserves to know. I grew up watching a toxic relationship. I saw this for what it was, and she doesn’t deserve that. The only way to be sure he couldn’t twist things around and keep her in his pocket was for her to hear it from his own mouth. No matter how much it hurts. She’ll probably hate me for it—hell, I hate me
for it—but she’s never liked me much anyway.
“You unbelievable wanker.” Poppy starts hitting, first with her open hand, just slapping Cyrus over and over again as he sinks to his knees and covers his face with his arm. Eventually she closes her fist, and then she starts swinging from the hip. I think I can hear one of the bones in her hand break, which is what happens when you punch a human skull, but she doesn’t stop. “I can’t believe I wasted all of this on your tiny dick. Seriously, you know you’re practically dickless, right? Oh, and you’re wrong, by the way. About my family’s net worth. It’s quadrupled. We’re looking to invest. Maybe I’ll buy some fucking hotels!”
Cyrus spins away from her, and, brushing Adair aside, strides toward the elevator, pretending not to hear her as she continues to scream.
When he reaches it, the doors slide open to reveal Jack and Luca wearing smug grins.
“Hey, it’s dickless,” Jack says.
“I’ve heard that about him,” chimes in Luca, pushing a stunned Cyrus out of his path.
Cyrus darts into the elevator, tapping the button for the ground floor like it will somehow make the doors close faster. When we lose sight of him at last, he’s raking his hand through his hair, queuing up to yell into his phone. But it’s not like he’s going to find someone who can help. There’s no way to buy himself out of this mess.
Luca and Jack argue as they walk down the hallway, debating Luca’s improvisations. But I’m hardly paying attention. Poppy’s anger is draining into sadness. Adair grabs her and holds her tightly.
I hesitate, wondering if I should apologize. Adair shoots me a warning look that tells me now’s not the time.
“We should leave,” Adair murmurs, wrapping an arm around Poppy’s shoulder.
“Find somewhere private.”
“I can't go back to our place,” Poppy sobs.
“Go back to mine,” I tell Adair. “I have some unfinished business, still.”
It’s time to settle this once and for all.
21
Sterling
The Cafe de Flore is a lot like its namesake in Paris. Located at the corner of a bustling intersection, the main attraction is a 50-foot swath of sidewalk cafe seating. The people watching is excellent, and the espresso goes great with a newspaper or book. The blue-collar French fare is serviceable.
That’s what the reviews on my phone said, anyway.
I’m attracted to this location for an entirely different set of reasons. Whenever I’m hoping to avoid being murdered by a business partner, like the Semsynovey Bratva, I know meeting in a very public place might not guarantee I’ll live, but it sure does make killing me inconvenient. I also need a place that’s guaranteed to be busy enough to prevent surveillance. Nikolai knows the FBI is watching me. He’ll appreciate the location. But the Cafe de Flore’s real clincher is the hospital around the corner. I learned the hard way that when someone might consider killing you, it’s best to have medical care accounted for in advance.
Our meeting is set for 7 o’clock, and it’s almost time.
The Bratva is—first, last, and always—a business. And Russian business etiquette frowns on being late to meetings, especially ones with foreigners. Part of the reason I was so unsettled by Nikolai’s last visit was that it was unannounced. Spontaneity is generally reserved for assassinations.
Typically, if the Semsynovey Bratva wants to meet with someone, it doesn’t really occur to them that the person will decline. And—if for some stupid reason that person did—the Bratva would just throw their hands up and sigh. It just means more work for them. Now they have to eliminate someone. It’s incredibly unnerving, knowing how banal killing is for them.
And that’s why I need to be careful. I was asked to leave Nashville. But I didn’t go. I was told to deliver the informant. But I let Cyrus go free. So really, the question is, would Nikolai Koltsov kill me in front of fifty witnesses on a busy street in Nashville, knowing he would likely spend twenty years in prison?
The answer is: definitely. That’s why people are scared of him.
Nikolai is on time. He spots me immediately, ignoring the seating host, and heading directly to my table. I stand, knowing a polite gesture won’t go unnoticed.
“Hello,” he says brusquely, glancing to the tables on either side of us, one with a girl reading a book while sipping a cafe au lait, the other with a couple of women giddily gossiping over a bottle of rosé. His eyes snap to me. “Sitting between ladies? That’s not very gallant of you.”
“Neither is taking a man’s sister,” I point out.
“I would not call your sister a lady.”
He makes a fair point.
“Still, you’ll find she has no cause to complain,” he says. “We just had a little chat this afternoon. Got to know one another. She’s very fiery.”
“Yes, she is,” I agree. “But where is she?”
“Close. Where is my little bird that sings too much?” he asks carefully as a waitress appears.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.
“I have discovered something,” Nikolai says. “Your whiskey is delicious.”
He expects me to order it for him. Of course. “One West Reserve, please.”
“Coming up,” the waitress says brightly, already heading toward the cafe interior. I gave her a $50 bill as soon as I sat down a half hour ago. She’s supposed to keep an eye out and come by right away if I raise my hand. Shit like that impresses Nikolai.
“This is a nice place for a chat,” I say. What I’m really saying is: I vouch for the security of our location.
“Should we wait for our friend from Washington?” He means the FBI, and specifically Noah.
“He’s got other plans.”
“Good. What is it you have to say?”
“Your brothers wish to avoid any risk I might pose to them. I appreciate this. I also want to see this risk removed.”
Nikolai nods his head, almost imperceptibly.
We pause for a moment to let the waitress drop off the whiskey. Nikolai slips her a hundred dollar bill, and kisses her hand as he passes it to her. Her eyes rake up his arm, over his extensive tattoos, expensive designer suit, and flashy Breitling, and she actually bites her lip. He could have her across the table in five seconds. He knows it. He wants me to know it, too.
After the waitress leaves, he finally answers. “Yes, the same way we know of your name being mentioned in a sealed indictment. It...worries...some of my brothers. Some think, maybe this might be used as leverage over you.”
“I’ve recovered the sole copy of the materials in question, along with other videos that might interest you.” I point my index finger to the breast pocket of my jacket to signal I’m reaching for that and not a gun. I slowly remove a burner cell phone. This morning, Jack loaded it with all the surveillance Cyrus had on the Koltsovs, then queued up a video with helpful subtitles about the meetings that were compromised. I hand it to Nikolai, and he taps play.
He watches for about a minute, then mashes pause, lets out a deep growl, and drops the phone into his pocket. “And the source?”
Luca and Jack were split on what to tell Nikolai about the data. Luca said we should just tell the truth by naming Cyrus. Jack pointed out that this was the same as killing Cyrus. In the end, I decided to use a detail that seemed unappealing to investigate further, and that was vaguely close to what really happened, just in case. “He’s in a cage.”
“Your cage or my cage?” Nikolai asks.
“Consider it our cage.”
“And these were all the videos?”
“There were more, all stolen from hotel feeds. We destroyed everything, except what I just gave you,” I lie. “Too many enemies. Too many problems.”
He goes still and closes his eyes. Whatever’s happening inside his head, I know he’s trying to figure out if he believes me. What if I kept more videos than I gave him, just as insurance or leverage in a future disagreement? What if I made copies of the data
? He has to believe everything I tell him, or nothing I tell him. Anything else doesn’t really help clarify his decisions.
“You should have given the rest of the files to us,” he says.
“Nikolai, last time we spoke, you said your brothers owed me one—”
“Yes, and some would say letting you live after we asked you to leave would more than repay any debt.” He senses value. Like any businessman, he doesn’t want to let go of it.
“I’ve done you another favor.” His eyebrows arch, probably at my presumption. “I took care of your bird and made sure no one hears any of his songs.”
He purses his lips, and by the time I’ve finished, they’ve vanished to a thin line. I have no idea what it means.
“I suppose you could see it that way, but what do you want from me?”
At last, I understand what he’s getting at. The way he looks at the world, resources aren’t wasted. People don’t destroy things of value to make their lives easier. For him, there has to be something else. Or I just don’t make sense. And not making sense to a man like him is dangerous—to say the least.
“It’s better that a friend should find your secrets than an enemy keep them, don’t you think? Better that Washington loses leverage over that friend. I don’t want to deal or bargain. I want to settle in Nashville. That’s it.”
Nikolai Koltsov weighs up everything I’ve told him. He doesn’t need to consider whether the information I gave him is legitimate. If it’s not, it’s just more work for him. He can just find me again. He doesn’t have to do anything at the moment. “I watched you. It’s been a couple weeks now. You love that girl. You want to stay,” he says, an almost romantic glint in his eye. “But—can I be honest with you for a moment? Man to man?”
“Of course,” I say slowly. This is taking an unexpected turn.
“You fight in public. Always screaming. Angry. This is not how a gentleman treats a lady, Sterling.”
Did I just get fucking relationship advice from the Bratva?