“He works for your husband?” Sharp asked. Rosales shot him a quelling look.
“Yes. Why?” She didn’t particularly like Stan, but overly unctuous manners and the occasional leering look weren’t crimes that would interest the police.
“The photo was taken last night at Troika,” Rosales said. “We need to ask him a few questions.”
Although she couldn’t see how the pieces fit together, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was somehow connected and kept circling back to Aleksei—his sister, his friend, his pharmacist, his nightclub. What did it all mean?
Rosales gently pulled the photo from her numb fingers and put it back into his folder. He pressed his card into her hand. “If you need anything, anything at all, please call.”
He was offering her help. She wasn’t sure what kind. The gesture made her nervous. What more was going on beneath the surface? What didn’t she know?
“Do you want me to tell Aleksei you were looking for him?”
Sharp said, “It might be better if you don’t mention we were here.”
NICK
NICK WAS IN a somber mood as he made his way to the Salvatore family compound in Old Brookville. He had waited until the last possible moment to leave his office in midtown Manhattan, hoping to catch a moment with Katya. She reliably surfaced for several hours every Saturday, as all of the young law associates did. Not today, however.
Nick wasn’t surprised, given the events of last night. He wondered how Katya was coping, what lies her husband was telling her to explain away last night’s rape and murder, whether Aleksei was hitting the bottle again, whether he had hit her again.
He thought about calling her again but wasn’t sure she would welcome his intrusion. She had been rather quick to defend her abuser, after all.
He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the shame and anger in her face.
Maybe Katya would see the light and leave her no-good husband. A good thing for her, but a disaster for Nick.
If Nick had needed any confirmation that he had found the right family, he’d received it the other night in spades. He had no doubt that Katya’s father-in-law, Artur Koslovsky, was the very same man he had been hunting all these years, Artur Gregorovich, the KGB agent who had seduced Nick’s mother and then, tiring of the affair, persecuted and murdered most of Nick’s family.
Katya was his best shot at getting close to Inna and getting inside the Koslovsky family. He could feel his plans unraveling, and the sensation made him uneasy, agitated. He had hoped to have made a little progress meeting Inna by now, an offering of hope on his mother’s birthday.
Waiting for Katya had made him late. He missed his train and had to take another to a different station out on Long Island and then call a taxi to take him out to the Gold Coast mansion owned by his step-father Paul.
Houses tended to be grandiose on this part of the North Shore of Long Island. Nonetheless, the cabby whistled low as they pulled onto the private lane and Nick directed him to the drive. The carriage house, at the end of the long, tree-lined driveway, was big enough to be a four-bedroom home for a bustling family. The mansion beside it was a masterpiece, Paul’s masterpiece.
Paul was a builder and a devoted family man, who subscribed to the theory that the cobbler’s family, far from having no shoes, should have the best shoes.
The long driveway was filled with cars, not all of them from the clan. Paul had disregarded Nick’s advice to keep the party small. The man imagined his wife longed for a large, elegant party, everyone there to celebrate her birthday.
After twenty-five years, the poor man didn’t know that today wasn’t her actual birthday.
The secret wasn’t Nick’s to tell. Lying didn’t come naturally to him. As a child, he had worried constantly that he would accidentally reveal the truth and be ejected from his new home. He used to toss in his bed at night as every word he’d uttered replayed itself, until he had determined that silence was the simplest course.
Nonna, Paul’s mother, threw open the door before Nick had finished climbing the stairs. Had she been watching for him? She welcomed him to the party, taking his face in her hands and kissing him on both cheeks. Her large gold rings were warm on his skin. She had always been warm and affectionate, even before Nick had become part of the Salvatore brood. Her pudgy hands, soft with wrinkles and pebbled with dark spots, shook slightly with age as she patted him on both cheeks. “I don’t see you enough,” she chided.
He expected Nonna’s customary scold about how he didn’t make time for the important things, when Frankie cut in and bussed him on the cheek. “I don’t see you enough either.”
“We just had lunch in the City this week,” Nick reminded her.
“After I stalked you for weeks,” Frankie said. Her caramel-colored eyes sparkled with mischief, and her wide mouth, though pouting, twitched at the corners with a smile ready to burst forth. She had pulled her black curls back into a ponytail, but several springy spirals had escaped her attempts at order. She seemed to have too much life to be contained, one of the things he had always liked about her.
Frankie had always been something of an antidote to all of the death he had left behind him in Russia.
“You work too much,” Nonna said.
“We all work too much,” Nick said.
If anything could be said for Nick and the Salvatore clan, they had a mighty work ethic. Paul, the patriarch, ran a construction business and seemed to be on jobs 24/7. Nick’s step-brothers, the twins, were computer programmers with their own start-up company, and they never seemed to leave their screens—even at the dinner table. Frankie, the baby of the family, ran a matchmaking service.
“Come say hello to Mimi.” Mimi, a name that sounded like Mama, but wasn’t. Frankie looped her arm through Nick’s and pulled him with her to pay his respects to the “birthday girl.”
Frankie didn’t lead him very far into the house before they were waylaid by the twins, Marco and Roman, for a round of effusive shoulder slaps and fist-bumps. The twins resembled Frankie, with the same broad mouth and dark hair, which Marco tamed with hair product and Roman covered with hats. The hats were Roman’s signature thing, the way he distinguished himself from his twin. Tonight he’d dressed up, trading his usual baseball cap for a hipster knit deal. In build, the twins favored Paul—broad shoulders, barrel chest, and a wide stance that made them seem grounded and confident, solid.
“So we heard you had a date,” Marco said.
“One of Frankie’s chicks?” Roman asked.
“I don’t have chicks. I have clients.” Frankie crossed her arms. “And she wasn’t one of mine.”
“No, but I asked your advice,” Nick said.
“True.” She was appeased. Frankie had wanted to fix Nick and her brothers up from the moment she’d opened her business. They all had yet to agree, claiming they were too busy for serious relationships. Nick could tell Frankie took the refusal personally. He hated to disappoint her. To soften the sting, Nick had invited Frankie to lunch and solicited her advice on dating in preparation for wooing Inna.
“You should have heard him.” Frankie brightened as she related the story to the twins. “He wanted to know what to wear. Fussed over his hair. His cologne. Everything. He asked me to pick out his tie.”
“How’d it go?” the twins asked in unison. The two were inseparable, finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences. Nick had always felt a little on the outside around the pair. Likely Frankie did too.
“Did she fall in love with…your tie?” Frankie knocked Nick with her shoulder and ribbed him, the way only a little sister could.
He was sorry to have to tell her the date was a non-starter.
“I didn’t get to meet her,” Nick said. “We were running late. Traffic. Flat tire.” He neglected to tell them how Inna’s brother had delayed the meeting, as if on purpose. “When we got to the restaurant…” he paused.
He realized he didn’t want to tell Frankie and the twins about the rape and murder. Such ugly things had no place here among the marble and fine things, among the people with good hearts, people he cared about even if they weren’t his real family. “It was pretty late, and she had to go to the hospital because she wasn’t feeling well.” He whitewashed the truth.
“That’s too bad. Is she all right?” Frankie asked with genuine concern.
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get hold of Katya to get the scoop, but she’s not returning my calls.”
“I could fix you up with someone else,” Frankie offered.
“Yeah, right.” The twins both coughed into their hands. Frankie cast them a dark look.
“I appreciate that. But I need to see this thing through with Inna,” Nick said.
“She must be special,” Frankie said. He could tell she was excited for him. She likely imagined he was about to embark on some hearts-and-flowers romance.
“Oh, she is,” Nick agreed.
He didn’t tell Frankie he’d never even met Inna or that he only wanted to date her so that he could get close to her father and destroy him.
Nick worried Inna would lose all interest in dating after what had happened to her the other night. Then how would he get close to her and, more importantly, Artur?
“Earth to Nicky.” Frankie snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Come back to us. You’re a million miles away.”
“Something on your mind?” Marco sniggered.
“I’ll tell you what’s on his mind.” Roman waggled his dark brows. They bumped their fists together and laughed. Frankie rolled her head back as if asking the heavens for strength to deal with her idiot brothers.
Nick threw his arm around Frankie’s shoulders. “Let’s go find Mimi.”
“She’s in the great room,” Roman said. “Careful. She’s in a sour mood.”
“Never knew anyone who hated birthdays so much,” Marco said. “Maybe seeing you will cheer her up. You always know how to handle her.”
He didn’t. He couldn’t claim to be her favorite either. Frankie was everyone’s favorite, and Mimi had always held him at arm’s length.
Mimi stood beside Paul in the house’s great room. Paul leaned against the white grand piano with a drink in one hand and his other draped over her shoulder. Mimi never moved far from Paul when he was around. She hovered, anticipated his needs, doted on him, whether from love or duty, Nick didn’t know. Paul had given them security in this new country—a safe home and family. Although he was their hero, they had never reciprocated his trust and openness with their own.
At only forty-five, Mimi looked old enough to assume the full fifty-five years on her passport. Frown lines creased her mouth and chin, and worry lines pinched her eyes—as if she were afraid she would be sent back to Russia and all the horror they had never quite managed to leave behind.
Mimi didn’t light up when she saw Nick, the way he imagined a mother would. Instead, her smile was tight and grim. She frowned at him, perhaps afraid that after all of these years of perfecting their lie, he would somehow give her away now.
The charade wore on them both, but Mimi had rejected every opportunity to come clean to Paul and the family. After all these years, she still didn’t feel safe.
Nick kissed her gently on the cheek. “Happy birthday.”
He slipped the gift-wrapped box from his pocket and handed it to Mimi.
“Go on. Open it,” Paul urged. To the guests in the room, he said, “Sofia’s not good at accepting presents.”
Mimi pressed her lips together, enunciating the deepening grooves in her forehead and around her chin. She hated to be the center of attention, and now everyone in the room watched as she unwrapped her gift.
“I saw it in the jeweler’s window. It reminded me of the one you used to have,” Nick said. He waited, holding his breath, as she tore aside the wrapper and then opened the velvet box within. He always found pleasing her so difficult. He hoped she would like this gift.
Her eyes teared. She snapped the box closed. She puckered her mouth before speaking, as if pausing to censor any sentiments that might expose them.
“Oh, Kolya,” she said, using his childhood nickname, “You shouldn’t have.”
Nick wasn’t sure whether her sigh was grateful or reproving.
“What happened to the old ring?” Frankie asked.
“I pawned it,” Mimi said, voice thick with emotion, “to pay bills.” She shook her head sadly, perhaps remembering. “That was so many years ago, and you were so young. I’m surprised you remember.”
“You did it to buy medicine for me,” Nick said, remembering his own terrible guilt. He had grown up feeling like such a burden. She had sacrificed so much for him, again and again. “You cried all night.”
“I didn’t know you heard me. You shouldn’t have heard me. You were so small.”
“I can’t get back everything we lost, but I want to make things as right as I can.”
She moved in close for an unexpected hug. Mimi had never been one for spontaneous shows of affection. She was bony and angular in his arms, and he held her lightly. She was the strongest person he had ever met. Yet he feared he might break her.
“I’ve found Gregorovich,” he murmured against her hair.
She gasped and then clutched him hard. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Nick, no!” She sounded so betrayed.
“I’m going to avenge our family,” he whispered.
She switched into Russian and pleaded with him. “They’re dead. All of them are dead. Leave this in the past. Please, Kolya,” she implored. “Pozhalsto.” The words flowed out of her in near hysteria. She started to cry.
“What’s this about?” Paul interjected. “What did you say to upset her like this?” He gave Nick an accusing look.
The ghost of all of the lies Mimi had told over the years rattled their chains and crowded the room. Weeping, she turned her back on Nick and huddled in the shelter of Paul’s arms. For his part, Nick reverted to the trusty silence of his childhood.
He wanted so badly to give her peace, to end the nightmare that had haunted them both and shaped the course of their lives. Now he was finally so close.
ALEKSEI
“WHERE THE HELL have you been? Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” Aleksei demanded when Mikhail finally appeared at the secret apartment they kept over the tarot reader’s shop.
“You sound like a needy girlfriend. Katya talk to you that way?” Mikhail asked. He smelled faintly of women’s perfume.
Aleksei could easily guess how his buddy had been spending the last few hours when Aleksei had been desperate to reach him. He had been calling Mikhail continuously. And getting no answer.
The anger that had been building in Aleksei all night exploded out of him. He punched Mikhail in the jaw.
Mikhail’s head whipped back. “What the hell?”
“That’s for my sister, you miserable fuck.” Aleksei threw another punch, but Mikhail blocked his arm.
He hit harder. Again and again. The better fighter by a mile, Mikhail caught his blows easily—until Aleksei got lucky and landed another punch on Mikhail’s cheek.
“Hey, watch the face,” Mikhail complained as if they were merely sparring. Aleksei’s temper ignited. His friend wasn’t taking him seriously. He punched him again, harder this time, and sent him stumbling back.
Aleksei stuck out his foot and tripped Mikhail. His would-be friend hit the floor with a hard thud.
“Hey!” Mikhail shouted.
“You lied to me!” Aleksei followed him down and straddled him. “You set her up!” He pounded Mikhail with each accusation. “You let that thug rape her.”
Mikhail kicked and twisted. Suddenly, Aleksei was on his back, Mikhail astride him. Mikhail pinned him down with his body, and their chests heaved almost in sync. The anger in his blue eyes was riveting.
Struggling under Mikhail, Aleksei felt alive in a way he hadn’t in a
long time. He despised himself for the arousal that the violence and nearness to Mikhail incited.
“Cut the bullshit,” Mikhail panted. “You knew exactly what was going to happen. Be a man and own it.”
“She’s my sister!”
“What choice did we have?”
“What choice? You let him rape her!”
“What else would be enough to force your father to make war on the Georgians?”
Aleksei had been desperate to get the Georgians off his back. They were a nasty bunch. They owned the drug trade on Brighton Beach and the prostitutes. When they had caught wind of the success at Troika and started to poke around asking questions, Aleksei had known he’d gotten in over his head. Dato, the leader of the Georgian crew, was famous for carving up his enemies with a long knife. Sick, bloodthirsty bastard.
Aleksei didn’t have the muscle or the stomach to fight the Georgians. Instead, he’d opted to force his father’s hand. Start a feud between his father and the Georgians. Make his big shot father step in and finish what the Georgians had started. Getting Artur involved had seemed the only sensible plan.
A coward’s plan.
Mikhail worked closely with Artur. He had assured Aleksei he knew exactly how to motivate Artur to take care of Dato and his crew. He had arranged the meeting at Troika between Artur and the Georgians.
Mikhail had neglected to mention that his “fail-proof” plan involved Inna. Yet Aleksei could think of little else that would stir his father to violent action. Certainly he wouldn’t entertain a war merely to help Aleksei.
As the truth penetrated, Aleksei hated himself all the more. He had known. Deep down. Of course, he had known. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
“You done trying to pound me?” Mikhail asked, releasing him. He jumped lightly to his feet, but Aleksei remained prone on the floor. He covered his face with his hands.
Kings of Brighton Beach Bundle Page 12