paused. "Did you work here when Constantine Dimitrov owned the club?"
"Yes. I started waiting tables here when I was sixteen. I later became the bar manager. When Alexander decided to reopen, he asked me to come back."
"So you know Constantine well."
"I do."
"I think he and my grandmother were romantically involved."
"I believe they were, but why does that matter now? It was more than thirty years ago."
"I'm trying to learn more about my grandmother, because I'm making a movie about her life."
"A movie about her life?" Sylvia echoed in surprise. "And your father supports this?"
There was something in Sylvia's gaze that gave her pause. "Why would you think he wouldn't?"
"Because he hated her."
"How do you know that?"
"We met years ago, when we were teenagers. He couldn't stand his mother. He said she abandoned him. After she died, I didn't see him for years, but then one night he came by the club after closing. He was about twenty then, I think. I caught him spray-painting the front doors of the club. He thought everyone had gone home."
"What?" she asked in confusion. "I can't believe my father would do graffiti. He's not impulsive at all."
"It was the anniversary of her death. He was drunk and angry."
"I still can't believe he let his emotions go like that."
"I felt sorry for him. I told him I wouldn't turn him in if he promised never to come back. He gave me that promise, and I kept his secret—until now." She shook her head, her gaze softening. "You don't really look like Rex, but you do look like your grandmother. You have her very dramatic green eyes."
"So I've been told."
"You should go upstairs," Sylvia said, straightening her shoulders, as if she'd just realized she'd revealed more than she wanted to.
"I will. Is Constantine Dimitrov here tonight?"
"I'm afraid I can't give that information out."
"What about Alexander? I'd love to talk to either or both of them about my grandmother."
"I can pass on your information, but I don't know that they'll want to talk to you."
"It would be great if you could do that. Can I give you my number?"
Sylvia took out her phone. "Go ahead."
She recited her digits, then added, "I'd really appreciate any time they could give me."
"I'll make sure they're aware of your interest. By the way, if you tell your father I broke my promise, tell him you're the only one I told."
"I'm sure he won't care."
"I'm rather sure that he will. Shall I see you out?"
"I know the way," she said, very aware of Sylvia's gaze following her all the way to the stairwell.
As she walked up the stairs, her mind was racing. She'd come here hoping to find out something new about Natasha, but instead she'd learned something about her father. But that something didn't make sense.
He'd made it clear to her that Natasha was a lousy mother. But destroying public property, being drunk in public? That didn't sound like the man she'd grown up with, the man who always had control over his every emotion.
She needed to talk to him about what she was doing. Sylvia had guessed correctly when she said she doubted Rex knew what she was up to. He didn't. She'd kept everything between her grandfather and herself. Maybe she needed to tell him. She just didn't want him to try to talk her out of it. But she'd told Wallace she'd be able to get the answers no one else had, because she was the one willing to ask the questions that needed to be asked, to talk to all the people who knew her grandmother, and she'd been avoiding one very important person. That was her dad.
At least she had a conversation starter now, something that might put him back on his heels for a change. He would not like the fact that she knew about the graffiti. For once in her life, he was going to be in the hot seat and not her.
Chapter Four
Maya had stirred up a lot of tension in the room, Jax thought. He was not only curious as to what was in the envelope she'd given to Wallace, but also what Ryland and Wallace had spoken about in their intense, hushed conversation afterward. That discussion had been broken up by the arrival of Wallace's chess opponent, Dustin Paul, a renowned actor in his late sixties.
While Wallace had settled into chess, Ryland Jagger had been making the rounds. He was currently talking to the owner of the club, Alexander Dimitrov.