Page 12 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

“Holy shit,” I gasp, taking another step back.

Kostin’s expression stays the same – calm, collected, almost bored – as he pulls the trigger. Jerry falls back, knife clattering to the floor as the thin pop of a suppressed weapon puts a hole in the center of his chest.

I turn to run from the room, but Kostin’s voice barks at me, “Don’t you fucking dare leave this room.”

I stop in my tracks, turning around slowly to find Kostin already kneeled over Jerry’s lifeless body. He looks up at me, tucking his gun back into his jacket. “He’s dead.”

“No fucking shit, you killed him!” I exclaim.

Kostin rolls his eyes. “Not my fault. He started it.”

“This isn’t a high school beef, Kostin. You shot him!”

“Calm your tits,” Kostin replies, holding up a hand as he comes back to a standing position. “I’ll have some of my guys come in and take care of the body. In the meantime, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“I’m calling the fucking police,” I reply, but I’m still frozen to the spot.

Kostin chuckles. “There’s no need for that.”

There is, but Kostin doesn’t seem to be moved by anything that has happened tonight. It can’t just be from the alcohol. He behaves like he’s completely sober, even though he took numerous shots and several beers before the gambling started.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to go to my office,” Kostin says, walking up to me briskly and taking me by the arm.

He pulls me along, out through the thick curtains, and back into the action. Outside of the champagne room, it’s as though nothing has happened. Crystal is still batting her eyelashes at men at the bar, and Amy is on the pole, twirling around to her favorite song.

The only person who has changed their attitude is me. Kostin is oddly calm, gliding through the club as he would on a normal Friday night, even though he just shot a man in the chest. I try not to panic as he whisks me through the front door and out into the night air.

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