Page 63 of Dark Seduction

Hours later, I find myself navigating through the streets with Vanya at the wheel.

We’ve got a lead on Plushenko’s location—a Russian restaurant named Tsar's Table in the West Loop area. It’s where Alexei holds biweekly meetings with his lieutenants, making it the perfect setting for an impromptu fact-finding operation.

Three other cars accompany us, all filled with men I trust. We pull up in front of the restaurant and confidently get out of the vehicle. Alongside me are Yuri, Vanya, Luk, Vladimir and Grigori, plus a half-dozen of our most reliable enforcers.

I glance around at the group, everyone alert and ready.

“Here’s the plan,” I begin. “We rush in, flash the guns, and force a meeting. No shooting unless I give the word. We’re here to get answers, not to shed blood without reason.”

The men nod, understanding the stakes and the need for precision.

We adjust our coats, check our weapons, and prepare to enter Tsar's Table. With a final nod from me, we move toward the entrance, ready to take control of the situation.

I slam the door open with a forceful kick, charging in with authority as my team swiftly files in behind me.

Instantly, the room transforms into a high-stakes standoff. Alexei, unmistakably in command, sits at a prominent table, a dozen of his men flanking him, their expressions stoic, hands reaching for their weapons.

As our presence disrupts the calm, guns are drawn in a heartbeat—Alexei's crew on one side, mine on the other.

The atmosphere crackles with the electricity of impending conflict, every man ready to spring into action.

Despite the sudden surge of adrenaline, Alexei remains seated, the picture of composure. He fixes me with a cool, assessing look, a wry smile forming on his lips.

"Lev Ivanov, to what do I owe the unexpected honor?" he asks calmly, sounding almost amused, as if we're merely old acquaintances meeting by chance instead of on the verge of a showdown.

I take in the scene. Alexei's youthful and cocky confidence along with his strategic poise mark him as a formidable adversary. It's clear why he commands such loyalty and respect in this cutthroat world. There is also a strange spark of familiarity about him though I’ve never met him before.

"Let’s get one thing clear. I'm not here to fight. I want to talk."

Alexei chuckles. "Have you ever heard of a phone call? Or maybe a text? Perhaps we should add each other on Snapchat to avoid such dramatic entrances in the future."

Laughter ripples through the room from his men, a momentary lightness in the situation.

I remain unfazed, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "I’ve never been much for social media," I reply coolly. "Face-to-face always gets more immediate results."

"Indeed it does.” He then nods slightly, a signal understood by all. "Why don't we start by putting our guns away?"

"That’s a good idea," I agree. The sound of firearms being holstered fills the room, and the atmosphere shifts slightly, moving from standoff to cautious negotiation.

With the immediate threat dialed down, Alexei gestures toward the empty seat at the other end of the table.

"Please, have a seat."

I walk over and take the offered seat directly across from him. The room settles, all eyes on us, waiting for the next move in this high-stakes chess game. Leaning forward, I lock eyes with him, ensuring I have his full attention before I speak.

"Nikolai Vetrov," I simply say. Those two words, loaded with implications, challenge Alexei to reveal his hand.

However, Alexei’s reaction to the name Nikolai Vetrov isn’t the shock or recognition I’d hoped for. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a puzzled expression crossing his features as if he’s genuinely trying to place the name.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

I narrow my eyes, skeptical of his reply. “Are you bullshitting me?”

Alexei holds my gaze. “I’m not playing games, Lev. I know about the attacks on your family, and frankly, they disgust me. That's not how I conduct business.”

I study his face, searching for any telltale sign of deception. His demeanor seems genuine, but I know better.

“Vetrov was a low-level associate for you,” I state flatly.

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