Page 2 of Nikolai

"Sergei, I do not need you here," my father tells him. Sergei goes to speak, but my father is quick to shut him up. "I'll be gone from the office most of the day. Reschedule all of my meetings until next week." Unmoving, Sergei's face flushes with anger from being dismissed, before walking away.

Two investigators walk in our direction; both we know well from several encounters over the years. Officer Natalya lets her eyes travel over my body before eye fucking my father as well. I keep my expression neutral, and my cold stare hidden behind dark sunglasses. "Demetri," she addresses my father. "Who the hell did the two of you piss off?" she asks as she takes in my bruised jaw and my father's busted chin.

"We are not on a first-name basis, Officer Mikhailov." My father's tone is a warning to her overstepping with her pleasantries.

The other officer, her partner, Pavlov, takes a step forward and clears his throat. He pulls a small notepad from his pocket, along with a pen. "Recognize the vehicle?" Pavlov keeps his eyes down, his pen to paper ready to take notes.

"Yes," my father answers.

"And the name of the owner?"

"Abram Popov." My father gives him another short answer, and Pavlov raises his head.

"Does he work here?" the officer asks, dragging the questioning out like he's talking to a child. The two have a strong dislike for one another. Not because they are from opposites sides—criminal and cop, but because Pavlov here has a hardon for his partner, but his partner wants to sink her nails into my father.

Before he can fire off another question, officer Mikhailov interrupts. "Ivan, would you please take one of Mr. Volkov's men to identify the body in the car?" Tearing his eyes from my father's stare, Pavlov reluctantly turns on his heels and walks away.

Even though I won't like what we find, I take it upon myself, and head for the car, water still dripping from the bottom of the closed doors, leaving my father to deal with the authorities. A second later, Sasha is at my side. Victor and Sasha have been with us for years. They've become a permanent part of my life—part of the family.

"You okay?" Sasha asks in a low tone.

I'm a little edgy. Been this way since arriving here an hour ago, and it doesn't surprise me Sasha has picked up on it. "It's not like I haven't seen a corpse before." My words are sharp, laced with irritation that isn't directed toward him, but the situation.

"Not what I meant," Sasha responds, unaffected by my rudeness. Saying nothing in return, we continue to make our way toward the car. We stop about a foot from the back end, the trunk is slightly cracked open, and the smell of death pollutes the air we breathe. An older man, wearing a hazard suit lifts the trunk, the metal hinges squeaking along the way. Inside lies Abram, our trusted employee, with his wrists and ankles bound with rope, and a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. His face is bloated, like the rest of his body, but it's his eyes, void of life that I fixate on. He was a good man—a family man.

"Shit. Bossman won't like this." Sasha motions for the guy to lower the trunk, and officer Poplov catches his partner's attention, waving her over.

"We have a positive ID?" Mikhailov stops in front of me.

"Abram Popov," I confirm.

"Any idea who would have killed him or wanted him dead in the first place?"

"No," I lie, and both officers know it. The truth is, it's a risk anyone takes working for us.

Knowing they won't get details and the information they are searching for, she sighs. "Tell your father I'll be in touch." Not waiting for more questions, Sasha and I walk away. "We'll need security feed from the past 48 hours," Mikhailov yells, but I don't respond. She knows she'll only get what we want her to have, and nothing more.

"Novikoff," Sasha says as we head back toward my father.

"Looks like it. It fits his MO," I agree with him.

Both Victor and my father's eyes lock on mine, and my nod confirms what they already suspected.

As we walk away from the scene, toward the car, my father asks, "How?"

"Hands and ankles bound with rope. Single-shot between the eyes." I don't have to say who, my father says it for me.

"Novikoff." I hear the anger in his voice.

Once inside, I grab a glass tumbler and the bottle of vodka sitting next to my father's whiskey. Pouring one shot worth, I down the clear liquid, welcoming the slight warmth it gives as it slides down my throat, then quickly pour the same amount into the glass again before putting the bottle back in its place. I can put a bullet in a man, ending his life without any regrets, but seeing Abram like that is like a punch to the gut. I've known the man my whole life, and he didn't deserve to die in such a manner. My anger grows. My father slides in, sitting on the other end of the seat, and pours his amber-colored whiskey in a glass before leaning back. Victor and Sasha climb into the front, with Victor behind the wheel. The partition between them and us rises, giving us privacy.

"Novikoff's dealers are getting brazen and craftier than they used to be and increasing their numbers like cockroaches in a crack house." His eyes drop to the liquor he's swirling in his glass as he thinks.

I run my palm down my beard. "How often are incidents like this happening?"

My father lets out a heavy sigh as the car starts moving. "Alek Belinsky was hit roughly four weeks ago. His warehouse took a major hit, and so did his pockets. The theft cost him a few million." He downs half his whiskey.

Staring out the tinted window, watching the industrial side of town disappear into sparse open land, I ask, "Perhaps we meet with Belinsky. With Novikoff being a nuisance to both our operations, he will be willing to give us any intel they have acquired."

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