“It’s fine, Vlad. You can say it. You won’t hurt my feelings. I’m not your biggest fan either.” I flash him a wink.
“Do not call me Vlad,” he growls.
“Sure thing, Vlad,” I say with an exaggerated sigh, earning myself another glare.
We sit in silence after that. He’s clearly not interested in making conversation, but I’m not ready to let it go. Nik’s focus on McGuire feels too narrow to me. If we’re going to figure out what really happened to Maxim, we need more information—and Vladmir was there that night.
Besides, I’m curious to hear someone else’s take on Maxim. Nik’s opinion of the man is anything but unbiased.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, I come to terms with the obvious—Vladmir is far too stoic and no-nonsense to fall for my usual bullshit. With someone like him, a direct approach is the only way to get anywhere.
“Okay, fine. I’ll cut the crap,” I say, leaning in slightly. “Whether you admit it or not, we’re on the same team here.”
Vladmir shoots me a look like I’ve completely lost it, but I don’t let it get to me.
“No, really,” I insist. “You know why I’m here. Nik wants my help catching McGuire. He’s completely convinced McGuire is behind Maxim’s murder. Surely you have some thoughts on that.”
He shrugs and takes another slow sip of his drink. “It’s not my place to question Nikolai’s decisions.”
“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re just here to follow orders. I get it. But there’s no way you don’t have an opinion on this. Do you think McGuire did it?”
His jaw tightens, his teeth grinding audibly. “Even you have to realize this is neither the time nor the place for this conversation.”
“Oh, come on,” I scoff, gesturing to the boisterous crowd around us. “No one’s paying attention to us in this chaos. You can speak freely.”
He exhales sharply, clearly weighing his options. He knows I won’t let it go, and he can’t walk away without defying Nik’s orders to keep an eye on me. Finally, he mutters, “It’s good enough for me that Nikolai thinks McGuire did it.”
“Well, you’re loyal. I’ll give you that,” I sigh, sipping my martini.
It’s clear that’s all I’m going to get out of him on this subject. But just because he won’t openly disagree with Nik’s judgment doesn’t mean I can’t steer the conversation elsewhere.
“What about Maxim?” I ask, dropping any pretense of subtlety.
His irritation is palpable, practically rolling off him in waves. “What about him?” he grunts, his tone clipped.
“You knew him, right? I didn’t. I just want to hear what he was really like. Nik, understandably, talks about Maxim like he was a saint. But I’m sure there’s more to the story, and I’d like to hear your perspective.”
He stays quiet for way too long, staring at his drink like it holds all the answers. The guy has mastered the art of brooding. Finally, he mutters, “I want to make something clear. I don’t speak ill of the dead.”
Interesting. “Of course not,” I reply casually.
He doesn’t look at me. “I’ll just say this—Maxim was a lot of things, but a saint wasn’t one of them.”
“Are we talking about McGuire’s daughter?” I ask, lowering my voice as I glance over my shoulder, making sure no one’s within earshot.
His head snaps toward me, eyes blazing. “Watch your mouth,” he growls. “Just let the son of a bitch rest in peace, will you? And leave me the fuck alone while you’re at it.”
“Son of a bitch, huh?” I press, undeterred. “Doesn’t sound like you were his biggest fan. Come on, Vlad, what’s the story? Bet it’s a good one.”
“Mind your fucking business,” he snaps, his tone sharper now. “And stop calling me Vlad.”
“What’s the matter, Vlad?” I say, leaning closer. “Did I hit a nerve? Must be rough, being loyal to a guy who’d risk your neck avenging someone you couldn’t stand.”
I know I’m pushing it, but if I’m lucky, he’ll slip up and give me something—anything—about whatever bad blood was between him and Maxim.
What I don’t expect is the extent of his anger.
Before I can process what’s happening, Vladmir grabs me by the shoulders and yanks me off the stool like I’m a rag doll. My feet dangle in the air, and my stomach drops.