Page 53 of Dangerous Secrets

Worontzoff raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the concert begins in five minutes. Take your seats, please.”

With one last, murderous glance at Nick, he waited until she lay her pretty hand on his arm, and escorted Charity into the music room.

Teeth grinding, sweaty hands shaking, Nick followed.

The concert had been exquisite.Cha had outdone himself, his bow weaving magic in the room. As always with great art, the world had fallen away. He felt as if there were just the two of them, Vassily and Katya, listening to great music, just like in the old days.

He was in his sitting room. Though the big hearth was ablaze, the fire was barely able to leaven his perennial chill. Vassily lifted his glass of vodka and sipped, letting the memory of the music go through him, tapping out the rhythm on the heavy silk brocade of the arm of the sofa.

Ah, money and power. There was nothing like it. It could buy everything, including bringing Katya back from the grave.

Vassily took his stylus and lightly pressed a button on the table next to him. As always, it only took a moment.

There was a soft knock on the door and at Vassily’s command, Ilya walked in.

“Come in, my friend,” Vassily urged. “Pour yourself a drink.”

Ilya did, refreshed his own, then sat down on the armchair next to the sofa.

He had changed out of his livery and was dressed casually. He gulped the vodka down in one swallow and poured another large measure. Vassily knew what a solace alcohol was for his friend and employee and never begrudged him his release. Ilya had a lot to forget. They both did.

Vassily knew Ilya understood him, through and through.

“What did you find out tonight?”

Ilya answered promptly. “Nicholas Ames. Thirty six years old. Retired from an American corporation, Orion Investments. Drives a Lexus with a New York state license plate. Property in Manhattan, a condo on Lexington Avenue. Value a little over two million dollars. No criminal record. That’s all I have for now.”

It was enough. Bravo Ilya.

“I need wetwork done,” Vassily said. Wetwork.Mokrie dela. Murder. The KGB’s specialty. “But not by one of ours.”

Ilya nodded.

“Someone untraceable to us. Someone efficient, who can make it look like an accident. And I want it done tomorrow.”

Ilya looked at him. “I know someone in Brooklyn who can help us, Vor.”

“Use a cut-out,” Vassily said sharply. “Nothing must ever be traced back to here. Is that understood?”

Ilya nodded. “I understand, Vor. This man I am thinking of is not one of ours. He is a free agent. Nothing will ever be traced back to us.”

“Make sure you get the best. Take what you need from the vault. Give the cut-out 10% of the final amount. Keep everything clean.” Behind a false wall in the basement of the mansion was a bank vault with 20 million US dollars in cash, another several million dollars’ worth of foreign currencies and the otherintangibles of the trade, useful for barter—drugs, diamonds, ingots.

Vassily imagined that a job like this, using a top pro who had to make it look like an accident, would cost at least two hundred thousand dollars, plus $20,000 for the cut-out. Over and above that, he would make sure Ilya was sufficiently recompensed with a bonus, that went without saying.

Nothing. It was nothing. It was what his enterprises in the Caribbean earned in a morning. More than worth it for Katya.

Katya.

Vassily stared into the fire, his heart beating hard and fast. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. This time he’d marry her. He hadn’t done it before, more fool him. He’d thought they had all the time in the world. He and Katya had been golden. Their future held only glory and fame in the new Russia.

Instead, the past had clawed them back, drawing them down into a pit full of vipers and monsters. He hadn’t had time to marry Katya, but this time he would.

This time he’d get it right.

This time, he wouldn’t lose her.

This time, Katya would be his. Forever.

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