Page 57 of Bound By Them
My grandfather arrives, striding through an aisle formed by crowded tables to reach me. I stand to greet him, shaking his hand.
As we take our seats, he glances around the noisy restaurant, pausing at Troy and Danica across from us. “Why is Manchester here on a date? Isn’t he working?”
“This isn’t a date. I can explain that in a moment.”
My grandfather flags down the waiter and orders a whiskey neat before turning back to me, pointedly ignoring Troy and his date. “You wanted to speak, without Ed present?”
“I don’t trust Ed to listen.”
My grandfather narrows his dark blue eyes. “This is true. But if you’re here to discuss—wait. What is he doing here?”
I don’t have to turn around to know that Sergey Aseyev must have arrived. The anger and outrage on my grandfather’s face are clear.
“Grandfather, this is important. I wouldn’t have asked you both here otherwise.”
“You invited that snake?”
Fed up, I say, “Look. We can get to the bottom of our lost shipment, of Cece being followed, of everything else that’s fucking up our operations. Or we can hold onto an old grudge. Up to you.”
His mouth falls open in surprise, but he quickly shuts it and gives me a level look.
“Absolutely not, Danica.” Sergey’s voice rises over the noisy restaurant.
“Granddad.” She adds something in Russian, stumbling over the words.
Sergey’s eyes pop open in shock, but then his features soften into affection. “Very well, my granddaughter. But only because you’ve been practicing your Russian.”
The five of us sit down together. Our waiter returns with my grandfather’s whiskey. Sergey orders vodka, but at Danica’s harsh look, he quickly changes his order to an herbal tea.
“So.” Sergey surveys the entire table. “Who will tell me what this is about?”
“I’m just as in the dark as you,” Grandfather says.
I clear my throat. “Someone has been sabotaging our businesses, following my father’s close friend, and possibly more. Troy and I have been looking into the people behind it.”
“We know it’s the Aseyevs,” Grandfather says.
“No, no.” Sergey puts up his hand. “We’ve done nothing. Our family has kept away from your district, despite you coming into ours. My grandson”—his voice grows rough and shaky, like he’s trying to contain his emotions—“my grandson is gone. Because of you.”
Danica covers Sergey’s hand with hers. “Granddad, they didn’t do anything to Patrick.”
“We didn’t,” I add. “But we think we know who did. Danica?”
She lets go of Sergey to pull out her phone. “I was getting off work the other night and saw these guys at the building you’re renovating, Granddad.”
She hands her phone to Sergey. He studies the image, his forehead wrinkling. After he passes it back to Danica, she holds her phone out to my grandfather.
A moment’s hesitation, then he takes the device from her hand. Recognition washes over his features, his squint transforming into surprise.
“Vorsongs.” He zooms in on their tattoos. “What is the Vorsong Circle doing here in San Esteban?”
Sergey leans forward in his chair, making eye contact with Grandfather. “Francis, our families need to talk. Tomorrow evening?”
My grandfather nods. “Yes. Tomorrow evening will be good.”
19
Danica
