Page 110 of Heartfelt Pain
What it must be like to be a whippet curled up in a million-dollar mansion with his own butler.
Joan says nothing as I flick ash into a tray the bartender set down. Smoking in bars is illegal in the city, but when you own the entire building, who cares?
And if anything, Joan is welcoming to her guests.
At least when she’s not trying to kill them.
“I thought it was you,” I admit, inhaling. “Very kind of you to take out all my exes.”
A soft smile passes over her face. So this is what it’s like talking to a psychopath.
“You could’ve asked for a meeting.” I lean my elbow on the back of the chair, carefully keeping the lit cigarette away from my hair as I reach for the whiskey. “Bit overkill don’t you think, going for my eighth grade sweetheart?”
“I did feel slightly bad for that one.” Except there’s nothing to indicate that it’s true.
“You’re trying to make a move into New York? The whole Leopold debacle might’ve made you a few enemies.”
“Leopold made a few unfortunate decisions,” Joan says, her hands clasping together on the table.
“Your grandson went after Lev Zimin’s daughter-in-law.”
She nods, a placating expression on her round face. “It was never our intentions to get on Gia Akatov’s bad side.”
“Right.” I tap more ash into the tray. “It’s hardly good for business, pissing off the Russians. Especially, if you want to start up your own business as a broker like Aunt Macy.”
They’d made a few outreaches when I first took over. Some inquiries into whether I’d entertain offers. Cliff had advised me to tell them to fuck off, though, now I know the reason had more to do with his own efforts to take over the business.
I stub out the rest of the cigarette.
“It was the guy waiting in my hallway with a gun,” I say, “that threw me off for a second. Changed everything.”
But when Trevino explained it had nothing to do with me, I went back to the people I’d suspected from the beginning.
“You’re so sure you’re going to get rid of me, you already started hiring out work?” The fucking audacity. Maybe I should sit back and see how the Stuarts end up playing with the Russians. “Why Isolde?”
Why does she have a hit out on her?
There’s a motherly quality to Joan. It’s all fake, of course,but her sigh is like a mother having to watch her kid discover the tough side of life. “Isolde Mattheson did that all on her own. Made enemies that no one would want.”
Who? I’m desperate to know but can’t show it. Not that it matters. Joan Stuart knows how much my friend means to me.
“You hired a triggerman for a customer looking to kill my best friend.”
Joan appears unapologetic. “You know how it is as a businessowner. Turning away work is silly.”
“Your work is in England,” I point out, arms crossed. “Why the sudden urge to pick up territory in New York?”
“It’s good to branch out now and then.”
“And killing all my ex’s?”
“It wasn’t my idea. What can I say? My brother likes a bit of pizzaz sometimes. And you know men. I suggested we do exactly this. Have a conversation face to face. Make a fair bid.”
“Your brother knew I wouldn’t accept.”
She bobs her head. “Hence, the need to prod you a long a little. I said it sounded more like poking the bear.”
“I’ve killed for this job. What makes you think I won’t again?”
