Page 60 of Auctioned Innocence
Recognition flickers—not of Dmitri Volkov but possibly of a threat.
An inconsistency.
A potential problem.
“Though some faces surprise me,” he adds, making his way to an empty chair across from mine.
I take a careful sip of coffee.
Maintain eye contact.
Let just enough recognition show to make Viktor wonder if we’ve met in his FSB days but not enough to confirm it.
A delicate balance.
I want him uncertain, questioning his own memory rather than certain of my deception.
“Market draws many types,” I say smoothly, my Russian accent perfect.
Viktor’s eyes narrow as he evaluates me.
He’s put on weight since I last saw him, grown softer around the middle but no less dangerous.
The watch on his wrist—a Patek Philippe that costs hundreds of thousands—speaks to his success since leaving government service.
The scar along his jawline is new, as is the signet ring bearing the Petrov family crest—a reminder of the aristocratic heritage the Soviets tried to erase and that he’s spent a lifetime reclaiming.
“Indeed,” he says, reaching for a pastry with manicured fingers. “I knew a Volkov once. In St. Petersburg.”
A test. A probe. He’s fishing for a reaction.
“Common name.” I shrug, the picture of unconcern. “Like Smith in America.”
The tension is taut between us, invisible to most but thick as smoke to those trained to sense it.
Jonah’s hand shakes slightly as he refills water glasses, picking up on the undercurrent.
“Viktor,” Madame Rouge intervenes, “you must tell us about your new acquisition in Monaco. I heard the views are spectacular.”
As Viktor launches into a carefully edited description of his latest property—conveniently leaving out that it likely serves as a money laundering operation—my phone vibrates silently in my pocket.
I check it discreetly under the table.
Mario:Calabrese contact went dark. Something’s wrong.
My heart drops.
Viktor’s unexpected arrival.
The missing contact.
The increased security.
The way Madame Rouge is watching the interaction between Viktor and me too closely, like she’s waiting for something to happen.
They know.
Maybe not everything, not yet.
