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