Page 5 of Emerald

His bodyguards are shouting for an ambulance. The floor manager will be debating whether to risk calling paramedics into the club, or whether to hustle the minister into a private car so he can be driven to the hospital.

It won’t matter which option he chooses—Yozhin will be dead before he arrives.

When I finish this dance, I’ll retrieve my cellphone and send an encrypted text to my broker.

It’s done.

* * *

2

Ivan Petrov

St. Petersburg

No gangster is ever happy when he’s at peace.

Lorenzo Carcaterra

My phone rings from the nightstand of the expensive hotel room I’ve booked for the afternoon. I see the name Dominik on the screen—my brother and top lieutenant. I know if he’s calling me instead of texting, it must be important.

I climb off the girl I’ve been riding like a filly at the racetrack.

“Let them leave a message!” Nina protests, but I ignore her.

“What is it?” I say into the phone.

I hear Dominik’s voice, as low and calm as ever to the average observer—only I know him well enough to detect the undercurrent of strain.

“We’ve got a problem with the shipment.”

“What kind of problem?”

I can feel Nina’s fingertips trying to caress my shoulder, the side of my neck, to distract me and lure me back to bed. I smack her hand away impatiently.

“Babanin got the merchandise in, but then he gave it to someone else.”

“Who?”

“He won’t say, but I’m guessing it went to Remizov.”

“That slimy fuck,” I say, furiously.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

I know whatever I tell Dominik, he’ll execute it to the letter. But this was a massive shipment, and a massive betrayal by Babanin. Big enough to deserve a personal response.

“Don’t do anything,” I tell him. “I’m coming down myself.”

“Alright,” Dominik says.

“See you in ten minutes.”

I hang up the phone.

“Ten minutes!” Nina says, playfully pouting at me. “That’s not enough time.”

But I’m already buttoning my slacks and pulling on my dress shirt.

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