Page 119 of Violent Possession
Karpov hesitates. He fears giving the wrong answer.
“Couldn’t be better,” he replies. “The doctors are attentive... uh, Mr. Malakov?—”
“You are safe,” I cut him off. “No one is going to kill you in here. And no one is going to touch your family.”
I look at that man on the bed, at the casing of pale flesh and bandages.
“My cousin,” I continue, “has been corrected.”
The line between a threat and a promise is a fine one. Karpov smells the danger and savors the relief at the same time. “Thank you.”
“I’m not here for thanks, Karpov.” I lean in, lacing my fingers together. “My cousin is an animal, you knew that already. But he made a point of attacking you in public. And when he does that, it’s not just you who bleeds.Ibleed. Thefamilybleeds. This is, at the very least,unacceptable.”
I wait just long enough for him to realize there is no script. If he lies, I’ll know. If he omits, I’ll know too.
“I didn’t say anything, Alexei. I swear. They asked, the police...” he breathes loudly, “but I didn’t give anyone up. Not even you.”
“I know you didn’t say anything to the police. I care little about them. What I care about is the narrative. What people tell and what they remember later. I want to know whatreallyhappened.”
He hesitates, and his face trembles, caught between shame and humiliation.
“It was... it was at the club’s exit,” he begins. “In front of my own men. He stopped his car at the curb. He and five others, for anyone to see. He came up to me,” Karpov continues, and now he no longer feigns pride. His dead-fish eyes only stare at the ceiling, wanting to escape his own body. “He said I let a Volkov rat in. But I swear I don’t know anything about that, Mr. Malakov.”
Ivan uses my own lie to ruin my plans without even knowing it’s a lie. No matter how much the world evolves, Ivan remains the same, and every misunderstanding in this world goes back to two hundred years of family paranoia.
“I told him that. He talked about the cripple. Said I was the one who let him get close to you. He was out of his mind. Whatever the cripple did, I have nothing to do with it…”
So Griffin, now, has become “the cripple” again to Karpov.
“What else?” I insist.
“Oh…” he holds his breath. “He kept saying that’s how you deal with a traitor. That there will be a next one.”
Everything I need to know is right there. Griffin has become a war trophy, a currency of power. Karpov doesn’t even realize it.
I lean back in the armchair, breathing in the acrid smell of the hospital, and let the weight of the silence settle.
“Good.”
He looks confused. “Good?”
“You will recover,” I say. “And, when you return, you will be stronger.” I pause, just to make sure he’s listening. “I will double your percentage in the fights for the next six months. I’ll give you two of my best men—mine, not Ivan’s—for your personal security.”
He looks at me, not knowing whether to cry or laugh. He doesn’t understand.
I stand up. “It’s not a consolation prize,” I clarify, adjusting my shirt cuff. “I’m going to rebuild you to prove a point.”
Finally, I look at the heart monitor. The beats go up a little more. Perfect.
“Rest, Karpov. When you’re back on your feet, we’ll have a lot of work to do.”
I leave the room before he can try to thank me.
In the corridor, the two security guards fall in behind me. There are no smiles or conversations; the only sound is the echo of our footsteps on the marble and the distant life-and-death machines.
Inside the elevator, I mentally go over everything I heard. Ivan’s stupidity is monumental, but familiar. He never understood that, in a system of debts and favors, there is only one true currency: the fear of losing everything that has not yet been bought. The attack on Karpov was a coded message to me, and, by extension, to anyone who thinks of getting close. It remains to be seen who was really behind the order, and whether Vasily had a hand in it beyond the initial kick-off.
The elevator opens to the private back garage, where the Maybach has been brought and now waits patiently. I sit in the back seat, the leather still smelling like the factory, and look out at the storm-lashed city. The order of things will be re-established.
