Page 91 of For a Price

Maybe fresh air really will help.

“When will Roman return?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I was given no time. I am left in the dark many times. Chefs do not need much detail besides the food we cook.”

We descend the metal staircases to the ground floor where we exit through the side doors. The factory is fenced in from front to back. At the rear of the building is an old loading dock area where I’m permitted to walk.

I inhale the chilly air and make a mental note to tell Roman as soon as he gets home about what Rosita said. If need be, she can come stay with us for a while. Anything so she won’t be put in danger.

“You seem upset,” Edik observes, walking by my side. “But I am sure Zver will help fix it. I do not know what it is but I am sure.”

Edik’s words should be comforting, yet anxiety rules me every step of the way. I can’t even bring myself to answer him.

We circle the area twice with Edik telling me about what will be on the menu for tonight’s dinner.

“It will be a Russian lamb and rice pilaf soup. You will enjoy,” he says warmly. “And dumplings. Dumplings will be?—”

There’s a subduedpopthat I recognize immediately as the silencer of a gun.

And then Edik drops at my side.

I scream, my pulse exploding, as I look up to find myself the next target. I’m on the receiving end of a 9 millimeter Beretta.

“JC?” I croak.

“See that break in the fence? Head toward it,” he says coldly, no life in his eyes. “You’re coming with me.”

CHAPTER 26

Roman

Many peoplewho live in the city avoid Old Northam like the plague. It’s considered to be destitute and dangerous for various reasons. The part of the city that’s decomposed over the years into nothing more than an eyesore with its out-of-code buildings and cracked sidewalks. Even people who live in Old Northam avoid certain segments of the neighborhood.

Derevnya?*, the Russian word for village, is one of those areas in the city most refrain from visiting. Aside from the handful of charming Russian small businesses like the Café Voronezh and the seamstress shop run by the excellent Ms. Yeva, citizens tend to stay out of our neighborhood.

The day I captured Katerina was the day she appeared in Derevnya. By accident, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she’d been going and wound up stumbling upon our territory.

It seems like so long ago as me and my men pull up to the main street and get out of our cars. The children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk are Romanian immigrants whose parents work at the local grocery store. They stop in the middleof a jump to the next square, their little faces lit up in curiosity as we stride by.

They’re not afraid of us. More so deferential and obedient.

Their parents have made it clear what the bratva is and who runs things around here.

We’re fair to our people. We treat those who live in our territory with respect and decency. We don’t seek to cheat them like many crime families would those under their thumb. The pakhanandsovietnik can be more careless about those they deem poor and working class, but I’ve served as a buffer. As captain over the area, I’ve run a tight but fair ship.

Anyone who meets my wrath more than deserves to suffer.

Anyone who meets my wrath knows why.

We stop outside the barbershop, which is full of men of all ages. Even one or two boys who have come to have their hair cut with their older male relatives. The shop window’s frosted over with painted letters advertising current specials.

Dve strizhki za odnu tsenu.?*

Two haircuts for the price of one.

Kazan grunts from my side. “That’s pretty good. Should we go in?”

His question is asked with a dark grin that flits onto his scarred face.

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