Page 68 of Nothing More

“That’s part of the plan,” Kat said, and piloted the Trans-Am down a narrow alley into a tight, grimy parking lot behind an equally grimy building. He backed in between a Toyota and a Lexus, and killed the engine.

“What plan?” Toly asked. “Where are we?”

“We’re at HQ. And I’ll let my boss explain the finer points of the plan.”

Toly watched him climb out of the car and move to stand in front of it expectantly, twirling his keys on his finger.

With a sigh, he climbed out and followed.

Pongo had described the interior of the Alpines’ headquarters in the way he described most things, which was to say accurately, but with lots of tangents and inexact, superfluous details. Beyond a rear vestibule that stank of cigarettes and looked straight from the fifties, still bearing all the dirt that had accumulated in the intervening decades, the place was done up like a sumptuous, old-fashioned gentlemen’s club, with dark wall paneling and plush, tufted leather furniture. They walked past a closed door that Kat pointed out; it belonged to the Scribe, apparently, who was in charge of all their hacking and computer crime. Beyond, they passed through a common area where several well-dressed men played pool beneath curls of cigar smoke, and where a horse race was replaying on a big-screen TV.

Upstairs, they knocked and were welcomed inside Prince’s office.

Toly had met the man only once before, at the clubhouse in Albany, but he’d been struck then, as he was now, by the Alpine leader’s resemblance to Andrei.

They didn’t look alike physically. Andrei’s eyes were dark, where Prince’s were eerily pale. Andrei enjoyed a life of luxury and excess, never expending more effort than necessary, and had been soft and jowly when Toly saw him last; by contrast, Prince – Peter Rydell – looked like he spent more than a few days a week in his brother’s gym, his suits tailored to highlight a trim, muscled physique, his jaw sharp and strong, his hands scarred and callused beneath his wealth of rings.

But both were snazzy dressers, and both had an aura of control about them, a silent sense that they expected to be shown the proper respect at all times.

Toly had no idea how anyone could ever mistake this man for an ordinary civilian.

When they entered, he turned from his place standing at one of the windows, peering past a blackout curtain that he let fall as he faced them. He had a harsh face, even now, when his expression was mostly at ease, made all the harsher by the way he wore his iron hair slicked back tight to his head.

“Afternoon,” he greeted, voice rich, tone giving away nothing. He stepped across the rug and offered one ringed hand. “Toly, right?”

“Da,” Toly said, accepting his shake, leaning hard on his accent in case there was some chance Prince didn’t know he was Russian as in born in Moscow.

The shake was firm, brief, as was the accompanying smile. A pleasant expression, if not outright friendly. After, Prince moved around his desk and motioned to the chairs across from it. Toly sat, and Kat sat beside him.

“I’ve been talking with Maverick,” Prince said as he folded elegantly down into his high-backed leather desk chair. His brows lifted as his hands steepled together. “Katsuya took you around to all the Russian hot spots.”

“Yeah. Confirmed bratva sightings in all.”

Prince nodded. “I thought so, but hadn’t checked to be sure. We try, generally, to avoid Kozlov’s ilk.”

The unspoken truth was this: they were only getting anywhere near them now because the Dogs had reached out, because of their new alliance with the club. This was the Alpines proving their worth – and sticking their necks out. If things went south, they stood to take a hard fall. It was all a bunch of tense, bullshit politics that Toly would have rather done without.

But this wasn’t about him. Was instead about the woman who’d rolled sweetly toward him in her sleep and sighed out, low and contented.

Prince studied him now, expectantly, waiting for a response. Toly had never been one for offering contributions to meetings, so he thought a moment.

Said, “I appreciate the intel.” Thanks always sounded stiff to his own ears. “But they’ll have noticed Kat sniffing around today.”

Prince nodded. “Exactly. Maverick and I discussed that this morning – Kat and I did, too. Because the Alpines haven’t broadcast out new working relationship with the Lean Dogs, I think we have an opportunity here to reach out and establish a relationship with the bratva’s new leadership.” He spread his hands. “We’ll let them think we want an alliance, and in that way we can hopefully learn whether or not they’re the ones sending gifts to Miss Blake.”

It wasn’t a bad plan, Toly could admit, though grudgingly. But… “What happens, whether or not you learn anything useful, they find out you’re jerking them around? And that you’re really working with us?”

Prince shrugged, as if he wasn’t troubled by the prospect. “We know how to be cautious, and cover our bases. We’ve remained neutral a long time. I’m confident I can keep our dealings with the Dogs secret for the time being, at least until we’re well clear of the bratva.”

A better man might have pressed him on that confidence, or offered assurances that the Dogs would intervene if necessary. Thankfully for Toly, he wasn’t all that good.

He nodded. “Fine. I will–”

Prince halted him midsentence with a single lifted finger. “Actually, it’ll be better if you take a step back. We can approach Morozov neutrally, but if you’re involved, even on the fringes, that complicates things. We want to come bearing gifts…not old liabilities. No offense.”

Toly exhaled slowly and spun his ring on his finger, over his old, faded wolf tattoo.

Prince spread his hands, an invitation. “You should call and check in with Maverick if you’re doubtful, but he and I both agree that you need to be well out of sight if this is going to work.”

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