Page 11 of Sinful Promise

The décor is mid-century Soviet gray. I’m tired of seeing it everywhere. The aroma of roasting potatoes and onions confirms there’s a kitchen in the back. My stomach growls, reminding me it’s been a while since we ate.

A few couples sit at tables near the windows. Seeing the women in pretty dresses, I figure it must be date night. It’s relatively inexpensive to eat out here. And as in every country I visit, the single crowd will be bar hopping further into town.

It’s standing room only, but we get the bartender’s attention and order two beers. We make light conversation as we thread our way to the back of the establishment, where we hope to overhear conversations. There’s a bunch of rough-looking men gathered around the pool table. Some have removed their leather jackets to shoot pool, and I can see they’re covered in gang tattoos.

Standing in a corner and using others as a cover, I can hear bits and pieces of conversation. Most of them are complaining about their women. I don’t see Ratmim, so I’m not sure if these are his men.

Alex makes a face, and I can tell he’s worried we might be on a fool’s mission. We could return home with nothing, but I refuse to accept defeat. Patience is my virtue. We can wait this out.

“I doubt he’s been here tonight,” I say.

Alex shrugs. “It’s early by their standards. We’ll grab a table if one opens.”

“Sure. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. It’s a Saturday night, nothing much is happening. They don’t take kindly to men who cause a ruckus. They’re all locals.”

“True, they always think they are better than us. It’s because they can hide here,” he mutters. There is a long-standing feud between Russians and members of other countries. The fact that the bartender was civil to us doesn’t go unnoticed.

“We’ll show them they can’t do that anymore,” I murmur, and Alex nods.

To pass the time, I fill him in on the details of Dmitry’s wedding. Not too many weddings involve explosions.

“Shit, man, I had no idea. How is Izzy’s father?”

“He’ll make a full recovery, but Dmitry is living in New York now.”

“So you’re in Russia indefinitely?”

“It appears that way. That’s why I was looking forward to getting away on the yacht. Now I can’t go until this situation is resolved.” I have earned my vacation; the sooner this is over, the better. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but the yacht staff knows I’m coming.

We keep our voices low so we don’t set off alarm bells and draw unwanted attention. We’re not locals. How long can we hang out without becoming conspicuous?

I finish my beer and head to the bathroom, passing a group of men loudly celebrating on the way. One of them mentions a wedding. What wedding?

When I get back to Alex, he’s been eavesdropping as he pretends to wait for a pool table. The men finish their game and return to their pitchers of beer. Toasts are made, and they clap one another on the back, one man in particular. He’s vaguely familiar, but I looked at many pictures at my father’s desk. I might have him confused with someone else. It’s late, and we decide to return to the hotel. We don’t know the players here. Maybe this was a wasted trip.

Alex’s phone rings, and he answers it as soon as we get to our room.

5

ROMAN

“Yes.” Alex lifts his burner phone and begins to pace. “Great. Thank you so much.”

He hangs up. I wait anxiously for intel on Ratmim. “So?”

“I’m told he’ll be at a small wedding tomorrow.” The right side of his mouth curls up mischievously.

My heart soars, and so does my adrenaline. Ratmim is within reach. There is no honor among thieves, but he must realize there will be a price to pay for stealing from us.

I’m not one to act on emotions. Smart men are patient and methodical. I prefer to sit back and watch situations evolve. The last thing I want to do is cause tensions to escalate between organized criminal factions. But today feels different. Today, I’m itching to start trouble as an outlet for my anger and frustration.

After my father’s murder, it didn’t matter that we consoled ourselves with the knowledge that he made a terrible business deal. His bad judgment put him and Igor on the list to be terminated. This is what happens when men like us refuse political requests. They are never requests. They are orders. It’s the price we pay to exist in a system full of corruption.

Sometimes I wonder if Dad refused to sell his stock short because it was a detriment to the oil company or because he was taking a stand against a broken system. Whatever the reason, his untimely death threw my need to be perfect into overdrive. It’s part of the reason I’m tracking Ratmim. He’s a loose end. There’s no way of knowing whether he will target us again, and I don’t want to leave it to chance.

“I suppose you have the name of the church. There are too many to search.”

“Yes, of course.” His tone indicates it’s an absurd question.

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