Page 15 of A Life Betrayed

Frances smirked and took another swig of beer. “He will be.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dave cautioned her.

“All right—thanks for coordinating. Keep me posted about the particulars.” Frances hung up and gave a short laugh when she realized that, in the space of one evening, she’d managed to be set up twice.

Chapter Seven

Belkov had cleared out Château Suzdal for the evening, and he and Mathias sat together at a table in the corner of the empty restaurant. Periodically, a woman in a white uniform would come out of the kitchen, ferrying various dishes to their table. Mathias didn’t often meet the Bratva boss out front. They typically conducted their business in the office behind the restaurant. But when Mathias called to set up the meeting, Belkov insisted he join him for a meal.

After the Russians had assisted in ousting Piero Russo and solidifying Giovanni’s bid for succession, Mathias had found himself on better terms with Viktor Belkov. In the subsequent years, the two of them established somewhat of a working friendship, which consisted mainly of mutual back-scratching and the odd late-night bender. Mathias would not quickly forget that the Russian had come to his aid when he was adrift and desperate, following his transfer to Hamilton. At the time, he’d felt almost abandoned by the family and had leaned heavily on his alliance with the Bratva.

Mathias poked at a piece of questionable-looking meat on his plate and wondered how much he’d be expected to eat without offending the man. Belkov had heaped his plate full, pushing meat and boiled vegetables into piles on his fork.

“There’s plenty here,” the Russian remarked. “Why not bring him in?”

They both turned to the window overlooking the parking lot, which was empty except for Mathias’s Bentley, where Jacqueswaited behind the wheel. Mathias had brought his second to drive him home in the rare event that he found himself incapacitated. With Belkov, that was difficult to predict. Mathias refused to let the man one-up him when it came to holding his liquor, and Belkov seemed to appreciate that he was up for the challenge.

“He’s fine where he is.”

Belkov gave him a knowing look. “You don’t trust him.”

“I’d be an idiot not to trust my own second,” Mathias retorted.

“Then why does he always wait outside?”

Mathias didn’t reply. He brought a forkful of potatoes to his mouth and chewed the claggy mess quickly in an effort not to gag.

“I liked the other one better,” Belkov said.

So did I.

“You never said what happened to him,” the Russian complained. “All of a sudden—” He splayed the fingers of his left hand. “Poof! He’s gone.”

“He stopped being useful,” Mathias replied shortly. Abandoning the pretense of eating, he placed his fork down and picked up his glass.

“How cold-blooded.” Belkov tutted. “To get rid of such a loyal dog.”

“I don’t run a fucking charity.”

Belkov nodded. “I understand, though. Once you’ve been shot, you’re never the same.” He raised the bottom of his shirt to reveal three circular scars below his ribs.

“Now it makes sense why you’re such a crazy bastard.” Mathias downed his vodka.

Belkov grinned and poured them each an ample refill. “I suppose you came by so we could regale each other with tales of success.”

“There’s something you can assist me with,” Mathias said, pushing away his plate and getting to the matter at hand.

The Bratva boss chuckled. “Why is it I only see you when you’re in trouble?”

“I seem to remember receiving a rather panicked call from you last month, after the FBI detained four of your men across the border,” Mathias said. After the call, Mathias had reached out to one of his contacts stateside to facilitate an amicable resolution.

“And your assistance was appreciated,” Belkov said, raising his glass in salute.

“Time to return the favor.”

“Does this have anything to do with the reshuffle at the Quebec divisional office?” Belkov asked coyly.

Mathias narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about that?”

---