Page 5 of Demetri
"Yes, my apologies, Mr. Volkov."
Standing directly in front of Anya's desk, I make myself clear for the last time on the matter. "It is not me you need to apologize to. I believe you owe Anya an apology." I level him with a hardened stare.
Turning his attention from me to Anya, he looks down and offers his apology. "Forgive me for my unwanted advances. It will not happen again." Anya says nothing, but nods then she goes about her business.
Victor steps to the side, toward the boardroom to my right and opens the door. Inside, all the men I requested except for Vadim, the son of Yerik. Given the circumstances, I'm going to let it pass for the time being, but I will be making a trip to his home after this meeting is over. "Gentlemen, thank you for waiting, you'll find yourselves compensated for your time." I continue to stand at the head of the table. "So," I look around the table, "Yerik is dead. Shot in the head to be precise." The men in front of me give each other conspiring looks. "Initially, I called this meeting because it has come to my knowledge; one of you has gone behind my back." I don't out the deceiver just yet. "You see. I provide you with my services and my merchandise. However, recently, my goods have made their way into the hands of a known associate of the Petrov's." I start to prowl around the table. "I tag my merchandise. I keep records of all serial numbers. I contacted Yerik Petrov himself after I was informed of this, which he stated he had no knowledge of but quickly investigated the matter for me. To both our surprise, it was true." The man I do business with from South Russia stands. "Sit," I demand clutching his shoulder, slamming him back into his leather chair.
"Mr. Volkov, I—"
"Save your breath, Mr. Gulin. I give no second chances. It seems very suspicious that mere hours after the news and investigation Yerik himself ends up dead." Muffled sounds from the other men whispering amongst themselves fill the room.
"I — I. I didn't kill Mr. Petrov," Gulin stammers.
"Victor, please escort Mr. Gulin out of my building." Victor snatches him by the arm. "We no longer have business with each other Mr. Gulin, and furthermore, you have no protection under the Volkov name as well."
Struggling against Victor's hold, Gulin says, "word will spread. People will think I had something to do with Petrov's murder. I didn't — I would never —," sweat beads on his forehead and fear shines in his eyes. "The Petrov family will come after me, and I have done nothing."
"That is not my problem," I answer. With a jerk of my head, Victor walks him out of the boardroom. The meeting doesn't last much longer after that point. The day is starting to turn into night, and I still have one more visit on my schedule.
The Petrov estateis a thirty-minute drive from town. Already being made aware of my arrival, I'm greeted by Yerik's longtime bodyguard Andrei.
"Mr. Volkov. Vadim and Mrs. Petrov are waiting for you in the family room. Follow me."
With Victor at my side, we enter the Petrov family home and led into the room where Yerik's wife Elena is seated, and her son Vadim is sitting in a chair opposite of her with a bored look on his face as he smokes a cigar.
I take in her red-rimmed eyes as I stop in front of her.
"Mr. Volkov, thank you for coming," Mrs. Petrov extends her hand, which I grasp in mine. "Sorry for the loss of your husband, Elena."
"Thank you. Won't you sit?"
"Sorry, I won't be staying but a moment. I wanted to offer my condolences and extend my services in any way I can. Our families have had mutual respect for one another for a very long time. If there is anything you need—" I offer.
"We need nothing from you, Volkov. Your presence isn't wanted here," Vadim sneers.
"Vadim." His mother closes her tired eyes. "Please show some respect."
He lets out a huff. "I don't answer to you." His eyes glance in his mother's direction before standing, then directs his attention toward me. "Or to a Volkov. I'm the head of this family now. People answer to me."
I step into his personal space. Vadim stands a few inches shorter than me and is the exact image of his father. Looks is all he gets from Yerik. Vadim has not one ounce of respect or honor. "I answer to no one."
"I have just lost my husband, I do not wish to start a war or lose my son tonight," Mrs. Petrov pleads. Finally, Vadim retreats to the opposite side of the room and pours a dark whiskey into a glass tumbler.
"After tonight, you are no longer welcome in my home," Vadim says with his back turned. Elena peers up, giving me a somber look.
"There is one thing I may ask of you?"
"Certainly."
"You fly to the States often. Misha doesn't wish to return home, not even for her father's funeral. I worry about her. She loved her papa. Could you see that she gets something?" Standing from the sofa, she retrieves an envelope from a table drawer. "Yerik wrote it just this morning—" she peers across the room. Turning my head, I eye Vadim who is watching intently. She hands it to me, and I tuck it inside my jacket. Their daughter had her reasons for leaving years ago. This life wasn't for her, and Yerik knew it. She lives in the States now with a loving family and a happy life.
"You have my word. I will hand it to her myself," I promise.
Pulling in a shuddered breath, she excuses herself and walks out of the room. I don't bother to look back. I take my leave as well with Victor at my side, and we climb into the car.
As the driver takes off, Victor says, "he's going to be a problem, sir."
"Yes. He is," I agree.
