Page 134 of Scarlet Vows
In it, Simonov finishes a meeting with someone I don’t know but recognize. A small-bit Polish crime family leader.
The video goes wobbly, out of focus, before sharply coming back.
Melor arrives. They go into the shuttered strip club. The time stamp jumps an hour, and then Melor comes out,laughing with Simonov. That friendly “I know you well” kind of laugh two people have when there’s a relationship there.
Simonov leans in, says something, and Melor erupts into more laughter. He slaps Simonov’s back. Then the two men shake hands, and Melor leaves.
Nausea roils hard as my throat burns.
Yeah, I could interpret this as Melor going the extra mile, sliding behind enemy lines to set up a sweet double-cross.
And I may just go and buy a bridge for sale in Brooklyn. And a slice of moon cheese.
Because I know what I’m looking at.
And I start to question myself and my instincts.
Have my feelings for Alina thrown me so off balance that I can’t see straight? Or maybe I’m not cut out to lead. I’m better behind the scenes, taking orders, passing them along, and making entirely different kinds of decisions.
Because I might not have known Melor long, but I trusted him.
Trusted.
I thought he was trying to help me, the only friendly face in a sea of hostility, and yet it seems he’s been plotting with the enemy, plotting against me, all this time.
With a sigh, as I wait for Melor to turn up, I call the hospital for updates.
The doctors normally wouldn’t tell me a thing if this were a normal call to a normal private hospital.
But I’m calling the special section where they will tell me or Demyan anything we ask when it comes to people we drop off.
Everyone’s fine. Stable. Some have gone home.
After I hang up, I call Denis on a whim. “This is?—”
“I know who it is, fucker,” he says to me in Russian. “I just got home. I was going to call to say thanks.”
The begrudging note is strong in his voice, but I find it’sthe most honest any of these people have been. He doesn’t like me, isn’t sure he should trust me, but I saved him. Plus, he did help me to the point he could have died.
This man I can trust.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fucking Russian. There is nothing vodka can’t fix.” He guffaws. “Someone is telling stories. Find them. End it or you won’t have a bratva. If you do end up the victor, I will be there. On your side.”
He hangs up.
Someone is telling stories.
Fucking Melor.
Who told me it was Denis and the others.
I lean back. I start to call Alina, but stop. I can’t have distractions. When Svetlana calls, I ignore that, too. If she needs more supplies, she can take matters into her own hands. She called the other day, wanting to order in new detergent for the laundry. I don’t need another of those calls now.
I sit up as a gunmetal SUV arrives on the street opposite. Melor jumps out and lopes up the steps to the front door of his home like he doesn’t have a fucking care.
Not his guesthouse on the estate but a house my PI uncovered.
