Page 6 of Nikolai

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Nikolai

It took some doing, but we finally got Alek Belinsky to agree to a meeting, and the only way he would do it was on his turf, which is why the car is rolling to a stop outside one of the few casinos in the territory he runs, The Gold Star. My father and I both exit the SUV on opposite sides. It's late, just around dinner time, and night has fallen. "Wait here," my father tells Victor, who nods then climbs back inside the vehicle

Belinsky's men greet us before entering the building and give us a thorough pat-down before leading us past red velvet ropes separating the regular club from the VIP lounge.

The room is dimly lit with blue lighting, and the private booths are draped in lush blue crushed velvet, giving the room a relaxing ambiance. We're led to the farthest corner of the room. The booth Belinsky is seated in is twice the size as all the others, with a small private bar to the left.

"Demetri." Belinsky stands and shakes my father's hand. "Welcome. I do not believe you have ever been to my fine establishment."

"Alek. I appreciate you agreeing to this meeting," my father says, eager to get down to business.

"Yes, well, we will see if this meeting is beneficial to us both, but first," Belinsky motions for us to take a seat, "let's drink. Sit." As I lower myself to the plush couch, Belinsky continues with small talk. "Nikolai." He eyes me as he drops his large frame back in his spot on the couch across from me, only a glass table separating us. "There's talk going around that you wish to no longer take over for your father one day." His bold statement causes my father to tense, and his mood changes, though I'm the only one to notice. To Alek Belinsky, my father is unfazed by his attempt to pry.

Cocking my head, I study Belinsky for a moment, watching the beads of sweat roll down his temples. All of this—him meeting us here, flashing his wealth around, and feeling as if he's got the upper hand in this situation is nothing more than a facade. What he doesn't know is we are aware of his financial situation. The bastard spends more than he brings in. Alek Belinsky makes most of his money nowadays running strip clubs, casinos, and smuggling drugs across borders for various associates. "I'm afraid you were misinformed, and it would be in your best interest to not encourage such rumors." My eyes lock with his, and fear dances across his face.

He clears his throat, ridding himself of his nervousness before he throws his hand in the air, waving a young woman over. As she bends forward to sit a tray filled with three glasses and a bottle of top-shelf liquor on the table in front of us, Belinsky gropes her, running his meaty palm between her thighs. The waitress's eyes fall on mine. Her blank stare is a mask but does nothing to hide her feelings of disgust, shame, and anger. I break eye contact with her. When I look back at Belinsky, he's staring at me once more. "You like her? She's one of my best girls," his thick brow raises as he shifts his eyes to her lean body. Not that she isn't a beautiful woman. My eyes travel the length of her frail body as she holds her shoulders back. She's too thin for my taste. I like more to my women, a flare to their hips and heaviness in their breasts. I want something to grab onto when a woman is riding me.

My father lifts the bottle of vodka from the table and pours the clear liquid into the already chilled glasses. Leaning forward, I raise a half-filled tumbler from the table, then press myself into the cushioned sofa and rest my ankle on my knee. "I am not here to get my dick wet. You agreed to this meeting because we share a mutual problem—Miran Novikoff." Belinsky's nostrils flare as he holds his tongue. I look to my father, waiting to see if he wishes to take control of this exchange of words. Lifting his glass, he gives me a tight nod, which is my signal to take the reins. I lift my gaze to the waitress still poised next to Belinsky. "Leave us," I dismiss the woman knowing my slight overstep in his establishment has angered him, but I don't care.

He clears his throat. "What exactly is it you wish to gain from this meeting, Volkov? I'm busy, and you are the ones requesting my time and my help."

"Don't be presumptuous. Let's be clear that you do not hold all the cards. You have obliged us with this meeting, but don't take our hospitality in requesting your time as an attempt to disrespect our positions in the game." Belinsky's face reddens for being put in his place. "Novikoff has been a thorn in our sides long enough. He has hit your business multiple times in the past year, am I correct?" In the center of the table sits a small humidor case. Reaching out, I lift the mahogany lid, retrieving a cigar. I punch a hole in one end, then cut the tip of the other, before striking the tip of a matchstick. The flame flickers as I stoke the cigar.

"That is true." He watches me closely.

"And our resources tell us one of your men has embedded himself within their organization."

"That is also true." Belinsky eyes me over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip of his drink.

"And yet you have done nothing to end or at least cripple his operations." My father and I know why he hasn't made a move, but I want to hear it for myself. We know he can't risk making a solo attempt.

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Don't patronize me. You know I am in no position and do not have the manpower to do much of anything. My guy filtering information has allowed me to stay ahead of who and when they will strike next. However, I'm smart enough to know information is desirable and comes with a price as well."

I grin at him, but it is my father who responds to his snarky attempt at bribery. "What you will get out of this exchange is your life," my father warns him. "You would do well to remember your place."

"You came here asking for my help, and you threaten me?" Belinsky stands, puffing his chest.

"Who would you rather your enemy be? Me or Novikoff?" Belinsky opens his mouth to speak, but my father cuts him off, "Think before words are spoken that you can't take back. You give us all your intel, and we use our manpower to send a message to Novikoff. This benefits us both." My father tips his glass back, downing the remainder of his drink. "Better to have me as an ally."

Silence hangs between the three of us. Finally, Belinsky speaks. "A large cell of Novikoff's operation is operating about an hour north of us, out of a warehouse."

"What about security?" I ask.

Belinsky shakes his head. "My man says the place is a fortress. One way in. One way out through a ten foot steel gate."

"How many men?"

"Last reported? Nearly sixty soldiers, armed with a massive supply of weaponry and ammunition," Belinsky states. The numbers are high but don't surprise me. We may not be able to take out Novikoff's entire operation, but we will damn sure blow a massive hole in it. My father sits his glass on the table, then stands, and I follow suit—Belinsky moves to rise as well.

"Stay seated." My father adjusts his suit. "Thank you for your time." He offers his hand to Belinsky, who shakes it. "My men will be in touch soon. Give them what you have on Novikoff, including locations."

"And you agree to protect me? If word gets back to Miran Novikoff that I had insider information, he'll do his best to kill me." Belinsky's face shows fear as it should.

"You have my word," my father states.

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