Page 1 of His Smile
Chapter 1
“Please sit, Mr. Mashir,” the older man gestured to one ofthe plush leather chairs in front of his desk. “I will have some tea brought infor both of you while I get those updated numbers for you.”
With his hands casually resting inside both pockets, Romanlet his gaze travel placidly over the dark woods of the opulent officefurniture before settling back onto Amin Chopra. Roman was here to discuss apotential partnership of the man’s the data collection business he hadoperating under the guise of an information technology consulting firm, not todrink tea and relax. Chopra tried to keep his face impassive at Roman's cold gazeand oddly disarming smile, but Roman could see the man’s subtle flinch. Veryslowly, Roman let his smile grow wider, knowing the effect it would have overthe man. Nodding nervously, the man quickly turned and left the room.
Pulling away from the wall, where he had been standing,Dimitri gave a rueful chuckle as he began walking the perimeter of the office,occasionally picking up items.
“The man is in over his head. It was fine a few years agowhen his business was smaller, and he had far fewer clients, but now,” Dimitripaused, turning back to Roman, he gave him a knowing smirk. “Now the man isclose to thinking he wields some real power and has no idea how close he is todrowning.”
Nodding, Roman took the previously offered seat and let hislong legs stretch out before him. Staring down at his feet, Roman let his gazeget lost in the thick pile of the Turkish rug as he thought about his captain’swords. Amin Chopra was a small-time criminal, but over the past two years, theman had unknowingly started to cut into Roman’s market here in Boston. Anunderstandable mistake actually, a mistake Roman wanted people to make. To thecommon citizen, Roman Mashir was simply a Russian businessman who owned ahandful of restaurants, nightclubs, and car dealerships. To the criminal eye,he was king and gatekeeper of all that was corrupt in Boston. If you needed amercenary crew of hardened criminals for a job, then Roman was the man tocontact. Roman had the means to funnel in every and any thief, murderer, andpsycho from Eastern Europe as he saw fit. Those were the images he wantedpeople to see. Drugs, fencing cars, turf wars: all of that was for smalltimecriminals who wanted to get either killed or put away. Those days were behindhim.
The thrill of nearly getting killed every few weeks died inhis twenties and as for going to jail— Roman swore to himself when he got outthe last time he would never go back in, no matter what. Information was kingnow. Valuable information was worth more than gold—and Amin Chopra was startingto cut in on his territory. Today’s connection would be cementing the finaldetails of their partnership, and after some time and a false sense ofsecurity, Amin Chopra’s business will fully be acquired by Roman whether Aminwanted it or not.
Looking up and past the giant hand-carved wooden desk,towards the large bright windows, Roman studied the clouds. “And the son, AmitChopra?” He asked Dimitri, knowing his captain had all the informationmemorized.
Spinning a glass ball, he picked up from the bookshelfcarelessly in his hands, Dimitri’s smile shrunk a little. “He may be an issue.He is Amin’s oldest son from either by a previous marriage years ago or anaffair. Either way, the boy has some bold ideas about his father’s business. Asyou know, Amit runs his father’s luxury car dealership as a frontshell-company, similar to yours…”
Without turning his head, Roman let his eyes cut over toDimitri with glacial warning.
Setting the glass ball back down, Dimitri raised his handsin mock surrender as he grinned. “Okay, okay, not like yours, but he does run aluxury car dealership as a front.”
Ignoring him, Roman stared back out the window. There was nocomparison between Amit’s cheap dealership and Roman’s imports. Last year in astate of severe ennui, Roman poured his time and money into the business,taking it from a simple front to an exclusive referral-only dealer of exoticcars. He highly considered shooting Dimitri in the leg for that goad if itwasn’t for the glaring truth it reminded him of: that lately with each passingday the novelty of his hobby was wearing away. Boredom was quickly starting tocreep back in at the edges of his life, and his prize dealership was becomingjust that—a simple dealership.
“Just make sure Amit does not become my problem,” he orderedbrusquely.
Picking up the dangerous change in his mood, Dimitri noddedobediently. “Yes, sir.”
The sound of the office door opening behind him interruptedthem. Knowing Dimitri was facing the door, Roman glanced up to see hiscaptain’s eyes go wide with startling intrigue. Roman had never seen that lookon Dimitri’s face before in all the years the man had worked for him. It didn’ttake long, however, for the source of his mesmerization to come around to greethim.
“Hi there, sorry it took so long,” the girl’s voice was richand upbeat as she set the silver tray on the edge of the ornate desk.
Both men watched silently as she grabbed the silver teapotand poured the amber steaming liquid into the cups.
“This is milk,” one long, graceful finger pointed to a smallmatching silver pot. “And this is sugar,” she pointed to another small pot witha lid. “Do you want sugar? I recommend it.”
Her waist was practically at his eye level and unless thischair was lower than Roman thought it was, the girl was extremely tall. Slowly,Roman’s eyes followed up the length of the young woman until he reached hersmiling face.
“Yes, I’ll take sugar,” Dimitri answered, stepping a littlecloser to the desk, also intrigued by the visitor.
She stood nearly eye to eye with his captain. Glancing backdown, Roman noted she wasn’t wearing any shoes, just a pair of mix-matchedsocks. Roman was tempted to stand up, he knew he would still be taller than hersince he still had eight inches to Dimitri’s six feet; but it was still anunusual feeling to be towered over by an equally unusual female.
Wearing a pair of cutoff denim overalls and a yellowT-shirt, she stood at his right and leaned carefully over his outstretched legsto hand Dimitri, who was at his left, the porcelain cup. With her attentionmomentarily preoccupied, Roman was able to fully observe the girl. Long wavyjet-black hair trailed from a long ponytail down to the middle of her back,contrasting well with her deep bronze skin tone. When he first walked intoAmin’s house, Roman had quickly noted the long hall of photos he passed as theywere led to the back office. A mistake that could be very costly to Amin if hecontinued to work in this business. A man should never show his enemies theirmost valuable asset—family. From the photos, Roman took in the various featuresof Amin’s children and from the quick assessment, Roman knew that this was oneof Amin’s three daughters, the one in the ballet photos.
“And I’ll leave your tea here,” she looked directly at himwhile one of her short gold-painted nails tapped the side of his cup foremphasis. Looking back up at her, Roman expected to see her excuse herself outof the office, what he did not expect was for her to look directly at him witha growing grin as she casually pulled a velvet lined tray that was sitting atthe edge of the desk closer to her. The velvet tray held various rows of neatlyplaced car keys all lined from one end to the other.
“Okay, so before my father gets back, I have a request,” sheglanced up from the tray of keys and met his gaze with an air of composedexcitement.
“Request?” Dimitri gave her questioning smile, obviouslyenjoying this odd interruption.
Sitting back comfortably in the chair, Roman gave her a coolassessing smile as he waited to see where this was going.
Her thick black eyebrows furrowed a bit as she gave him andDimitri a curious smile and then nodded. “Yeah, request. You’re the car guys myfather is meeting with, right?”
That was the guise of their meeting but certainly not thetopic. Roman arched a brow, wordlessly signaling for her to continue.
“Okay, so right now,” she glanced up towards the office doorcautiously as she lowered her voice to an excited whisper all the while pickingup each car key and reading the handwritten tag, presumably looking for aparticular key. “I’m forced to drive an old red Volvo, which I hate. Can youtry to get either a pink or mint green Fiat or a sporty BMW in either of thosecolors?”
“Why would I do this for you?” Roman allowed, noting the waysome strands of her hair escaped her ponytail and hung down messily around herface.
