Page 14 of The Bratva’s Monster

“Who are you?”

“Nobody important. Not yet, anyway. Funny, we’re meeting out here on the street like this.” He glances over his shoulder at the diner. “You eat there a lot?”

I don’t answer him. I’m frozen in a half turn, wondering if I should bother to try to run to my car or not.

“Nah,” he says, answering his own question. “I’d have seen you before now. Shit, I couldn’t have missed you if I tried.”

I stiffen my back and stand up straight, pulling myself out of my fear. I’m not about to let him terrorize me so easily. “What do you want?”

“Want?” He chuckles and crosses his hands. “I’m just being friendly, Mrs. Pavlova. I’d have hoped that you would appreciate that, considering you just lost your husband and all.”

My jaw clenches and he takes a step toward me.

“I’m not gonna do anything to you,” he says. “Not out here in broad daylight, anyway. I’m bold, but I’m not stupid. I will give you the courtesy of letting you know that, even though you were only the wife of a Rostov, a lot of people would still consider you one of them. And that might be a problem for you in the near future.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Another step closer. Not in my space, yet, but close enough for me to smell his cologne. He lowers his voice and says, “I’m just saying that beautiful women have a bad habit of becoming targets and cannon fodder in wars if they don’t pick the right side to stand on.”

“Are you threatening me?”

He snickers. “Think of it more like a warning.” He steps back and looks up at the sky, shielding his eyes as he absorbs the sun. “Yeah, it’s about to be a hot one. Better make sure you’ve got some protection.”

With that, he continues on his way. I don’t bother to watch him go. I go straight to my car.

As I pull away, I notice my hands shaking.

7

RIKKI

I’m watching the man walk away from Liz with spiked adrenaline, my hands gripping the wheel. I don’t know that guy, and if I don’t know him, then that could only mean one thing. He’s Irkutsk.

I’ve been watching Liz’s house since early this morning, not really knowing what to expect. Logically, I’d already started thinking that I should just walk up to her door and make nice with her. Ask to come in and have tea or coffee or something. It’d be better than waiting around in a car for something to happen. After all, she was supposed to be a grieving widow. It would be easy for me to play the part of the comforting best friend.

But then, she left the house, got in her car and drove toward Central Park, and I followed. She parked on the next block from a diner and walked over, and I found a space right across the street.

For the last hour, I’ve watched as she met with an old man whom I don’t know at all. They sat in a booth by a window, giving me a silent glimpse into whatever the conversation was. It was intense. He was trying to convince her of something that she looked entirely uncertain of.

Makes me wonder if that guy was FBI or some other branch of law enforcement. Wouldn’t that be a twist no one’s expecting? Gedeon’s wife is a rat, but for the law. I took a few photos for Kostya to look into later. If he is, then this will be easy for me.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t solve our internal infestation. Despite everything that’s happened, the FBI hasn’t been knocking on our doors that I know of, and why would they? Everyone knows snitching to them is the biggest cardinal sin you could commit. Almost as big as snitching to the other side in a war.

But I watch them until they finished. He walks her to the door and they hold hands, and she hugs him. Makes me think the guy might be somebody else, like an uncle or a father. Still going to refer to Kostya about it later, though.

And then the Irkutsk punk started harassing her. Well, talking to her, anyway. She looked terrified at first, but then she turned and stood her ground, chin held high, meeting his gaze. There’s the Bratva wife that we all heard about over the years.

That exchange was just as intense as the conversation with the old man with more threatening vibes. The guy looks young. Like maybe he’s a Six or a Boevik. Whoever the fuck he is, he’s said his bit and now he’s walking away toward the diner.

Liz drives off, but I can’t take my eyes off the sonofabitch she ran into. He bypasses the diner and keeps going. I realize that he’s headed toward the bar at the end of the next block.

I should turn the car around and follow Liz. She’s my target, after all.

But I can’t stop watching the Irkutsk pig. I don’t know if he threatened her or what. What I do know is that he currently has information that I need. He knows Liz, so he knows where her loyalties lie.

I get out of the car and jog across the street as he reaches the bar and walks in. Piece of shit isn’t getting away from me that easily, and if he thinks he can just interrogate Liz in broad daylight like that, he’s sorely mistaken.

I get to the bar and open the door. The darkness inside surrounds me just as quickly as the stale, sweet smell of beer mixed with cologne and perfume. My eyes adjust as I step into the amber-lit bar. The tables are mostly empty, as is the row of booths along the wall.