Page 52 of Violent Possession
I rest my hands on the edge of the table, trying to decide whether to get up and leave or punch Alexei in the face for putting me through this.
I think long enough to realize it doesn’t matter. He’s three moves ahead of me. Always has been. I don’t even see the movement, but suddenly there’s a drink in front of me. The waiter brought it—vodka, double, no lemon, no ice. Is it my imagination or did Alexei order it with a look without anyone noticing?
I pick up the glass. The vodka is strong, burns my throat, and the shock is exactly what I need to clear my head.
I still have many questions.
“And why the hell does he call youLyosha?”
“It’s a Russian diminutive,” he says with a gentle tone, if that even exists coming from him. “For Alexei.”
“What the hell does Lyosha have to do with Alexei?”
“Shais an affectionate suffix. The ‘yo’ comes from the softening of ‘ks’, it’s a phonetic phenomenon.”
“What does Griffin become then? ...Just out of curiosity.”
“Grishka,” he says, instantly, his mouth pulling into a half-smile.
The way he says it makes something warm inside me twist. Not in a bad way.
His eyes dart beyond my shoulder, towards the glass balcony. The amusement vanishes from his face instantly.
“He’s coming,” he says, his voice low and final.
I glance back and see the Russian closet—Vania, the cousin—throwing his cigarette on the floor and crushing the filter with the toe of his shoe. He looks at the table, at me.
“Wait,” I whisper, “who does he think I am? I didn’t understand anything, you didn’t explain who I am in this fucking plan.”
Alexei doesn’t answer. He just gives me a look. A warning.Be quiet. Follow my lead.
Vania walks directly to the table, and he sits down so that the chair creaks again, but this time no one dares to look askance.
Alexei is the first to speak.
“We were talking about the Volkovs,” he begins, handing the conversation to his cousin on a silver platter. I should have asked about that first when I had the chance.
“Do you know how many men I lost because of those rats?” Vania says directly to me.
I think about answering, but I don’t know what kind of narrative Alexei invented for me.
I shake my head no.
“Thirty-four.”
I remain silent. What else does Vania want, asorry?
“Thirty-four good men,” he continues. “And now you’re here, in our city, eating our steak, drinking our wine, as if you were a guest of honor.”
“That’s exactly why he’s here, Vania,” Alexei says. “No one has forgotten what we lost. But Griffin is no longer the enemy.”
I look at him, trying to decipher the game. What is he doing?
Vania snorts, skeptical. “Good that you’ve come to the right side. But we operate differently from them, you stump. It’s good to learn the rules around here.”
“Well,” Alexei begins, with an irritating calm, “we certainly wouldn’t leave room for you to turn against us—not even you would want to. We value our men.”
Surely no one could betray the Malakovs, with Alexei’s cameras in everyone’s bathroom. He has reasons to be paranoid.
