Page 41 of King

“Sure,” I say and pick up my glass of Sprite.

He leads the way to an empty booth at the corner of the bar, and we take a seat across from each other.

“How do you know who I am?”

He gets settled in and glances around, then shakes his head.“Let’s just say that my boss is really interested in you and tasked me with trying to get an interview.I did a bit of research and found your address.Then, I was planning to ask for an interview when I saw you walking out of the building and into an Uber.I, uh,” he says and leans closer, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear his admission.“I decided to follow you.For research purposes, you understand.I’m not stalking you or anything.At least, not that way, if you understand me.For business purposes.”

“That’s nice to know,” I say and take a sip.“So, what can I do for you, Mr.Leonard?Why are you interested in me, of all people?I’m just a medical resident studying forensic psychiatry.”

“Hardly,” he says with a laugh, his eyes widening.He leans forward again.“You’re the daughter of Stepan Mikhailov and the wife of Harrison O’Connor of the O’Connor Family.You’re part of two crime families.And according to my sources, which shall remain nameless, your mother and stepfather were murdered by one of the other crime families.”

I narrow my eyes, amused at his description, which is correct but sounds ridiculous when said out loud.“Don’t you think even saying that could get you, you know,unalived, as they say in the online world?”

He laughs at that.“I don’t plan on writing anything until this is all over,” he says and takes a sip of his own drink.“But I thought I could propose something to you.Let me ghostwrite your memoir or tell-all when you’re ready.I think you have the most interesting life, and it demands to be written down.I get rights to several stories in theChroniclein return.”

“Don’t you think my tell-all might getmeunalived?”I say, wagging my eyebrows.

It’s almost laughable, this bright-eyed new journalist hoping to convince me to write my memoir.

“Once they’re all in jail, I mean.I have someone on the inside who is telling me a few juicy details, and so I thought I’d approach you.Maybe get an agreement for when it’s all over.”

“What do you mean, on the inside?The inside of what?The Mafia?”

“No, no,” he says and shakes his head.“Not the Mafia.God no.The FBI,” he says and leans forward.“Someone who knows what’s going on.”He nods.

“Who?”

He shakes his head.“Nuh uh.Not gonna say.Suffice to say that it’s someone who knows, period.”

I take in a deep and frustrated breath.Of course, I fully believe in journalism, and support the kind of fact-based expose that this Vincent wants to write.It’s the only way for the truth to come out.

But at the same time, it could be very dangerous for both of us.Great for theChronicle, but not so great for the writer and subject.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I say and take another sip.

It’s then that I get a phone call from an unidentified number.Usually, I let them go to voicemail, since so many are spam, but the number calls again, and then again and finally, fearing that something bad has happened, I answer, holding my finger up to Leonard.

“Yes?”

I listen and hear my Gramp’s very shaky voice.“Natalia, I’m so sorry.I’m okay, but you gotta get here as soon as possible.My, uh, benefactor says he needs to talk to you.”

I get up and motion to Leonard that I have to take the call.I go to the ladies' washroom and stand in a stall.“Gramps!Oh, my God, what happened?”

“Let’s just say I had an unscheduled trip to a warehouse in Brooklyn and leave it at that.Can you please come as soon as possible?My bladder can’t take this.”

“Give me the address, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“And call Harrison,” Gramps says.“They want Harrison as well.It’s a sit-down meeting to talk about mutual business interests between Mr.Andropov and you, to end any animosity between our families.But they figured you needed some convincing to attend.Both of you.”

“Where are you?”

He gives me an address in Brooklyn.“Okay, we’ll be there.Give us at least half an hour.”

I end the call and then immediately call Harrison, and as luck would have it, my call goes right to his cell.

“They have Gramps,” I say, tears already making my vision blurry.

“Who?”