Page 117 of Nothing More

Toly sat. He’d come this far; what else was he to do? The vodka was cold, and good, and he took another swallow to feel it warm his belly, and settle his rattling nerves.

Like the garage, the office had been set-up as though it were a permanent residence. Shelves loaded with books, a complex computer and printer and fax hookup. The sideboard, the leather satchel of firewood, the oil hunt scene above the mantel: all of it lived-in, cozy, loved. Misha set his drink on the desk blotter and lifted the lid of a humidor; twirled a wrapped cigar in offering.

Toly shook his head.

Mish shrugged, dropped the lid, and set about unwrapping and trimming his own. “If you’ve got cigarettes, you can get them out.”

Toly didn’t, on principle.

When he was lit up, and had puffed fragrant smoke into the air between them, Misha lifted his brows and said, “You’re the one who wanted to meet, Toly. You reached out, not me.”

It was an effort not to snarl. To stay in his seat, hands relaxed in his lap, and pretend they were civilized men. Pretend they weren’t in the business of gutting men on street corners, and rolling bodies over guard rails into rivers.

One body, at least, hadn’t gone in the river. That much he knew.

“Raven Blake,” he said. “What’s your interest in her?”

One of the things Toly had always admired about Misha was the way he wasn’t a showman, like Andrei, and so many of the underlings trying to worm their way into the Pakhan’s good graces. Not Misha. He didn’t play up his power to victimsorunderlings: quiet, confident, uncompromising, that was his way.

In that, at least, he didn’t appear to have changed. He met Toly’s gaze head-on, without theatrics, and said, “The model.”

“Former model. Modeling agent.” He wasn’t sure why the distinction was important; blurted it out automatically.

Misha took a long puff, peered at him through the smoke. “You’re dating her? Or guarding her?”

“Guarding.”

Misha’s gaze narrowed, doubtful, but he didn’t push back. He set his cigar aside in a black marble ashtray and leaned back, chair creaking. “I have no interest in her.”

“But you know who she is.”

Shrug. “Many do. She was famous when she modeled. She was on that billboard above the pub. You remember the one.”

All too well. Toly swallowed. “Why are you sending her body parts in the mail?”

Subtle surprise touched Misha’s face. “Why amI? Toly, why would I? What would I have to gain?”

Toly huffed a frustrated breath through his nostrils and gave in to the urge to dig out his smokes. Waited until he’d taken the first drag to say, “I know you’re not stupid, so don’t pretend to be. Someone’s trying to scare her: someone with connections to this bratva.” He stabbed the smoldering end of his cigarette toward the room at large. “The fucking Butcher’s ear in a box at her apartment building. That was you” – stab of the cig at him – “you were in the van the night I killed him. You were gonna dump the body. How was his ear still around to mail to my – to Raven?” He caught himself at the last moment, but Misha had heard thatmy. Toly knew he had.

Misha sighed. His expression verged into Disappointed Father territory, and left Toly wanting to squirm. He’d seen that look before, but it had never been directed at him; sent other, less disciplined member’s way, it had been accompanied by atskand anAndrei won’t be pleased.

Toly expected those words, now, but Misha reached for his drink and said, “I was afraid he was involved.”

Toly said, “You – wait.”

Misha sighed. “I’m not mailing your girlfriend anything. And no one here’s doing it on my orders.”

Toly’s vision tunneled, black and sparkly on the edges, Misha, and his expensive watch, and hispoor little Tolyface all he could see. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said, weakly. His lips were numb; it was hard to speak.

Here came thetsk. “Nowwho is playing stupid? Or hoping I am. You” – casual point of a finger, lifted off the side of his glass – “are not the type to guard. If yourmotorcycle clubpresident isn’t stupid, he won’t have used you for guarding. You are a knife, not a shield. You are protecting Raven Blake because you care for her. Let us not play the game where you say she isn’t your girlfriend, when I know she is.”

Toly took a long swallow of his drink.

Misha continued: “I was keeping an eye on you, yes. I have done since I arrived in New York, and especially after what happened with the raid on our property.” Again, his face went disappointed. It was more frightening than Andrei’s hot-blooded rage by a long shot. “I lost men in that raid.”

“Good ones?” Toly managed to quip, with effort. He might be sweating so bad that his clothes were sticking to his skin, but if his head was going to go tumbling across this expensive carpet, he wasn’t going to go meekly. (Toomeekly.)

Misha snorted. “That’s not the point. I am not happy with your Lean Dogs – there are many people who aren’t. You made many enemies with your stunts.”

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