Page 43 of Lethal Torture
There’s nothing like watching your own mother die from an addiction nurtured by an abusive stepfather to develop a healthy hatred of dealers.
“And your staff?” I ask calmly. “Have you had any trouble with them dealing?”
Her eyes narrow. She sits back in her chair, eyeing me critically. “Occasionally. They’re warned when I hire them that dealing anything at all results in instant, irrevocable dismissal.”
“But not death.”
“No.” She lifts a shoulder. “At least, not usually. Most of my staff come from very difficult backgrounds. They need help, not more punishment.”
Interesting.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is more of a walking bundle of contradiction as Zinaida Melikov. It’s as disconcerting as it is fascinating.
As if to confirm this assessment, Zinaida’s chef enters, pushing a trolley of covered dishes that smell amazing.
“I ordered you breakfast.” Zin smiles at the chef as he serves us both. “Thank you, Max.”
“Max, is it?” I stand to shake the chef’s hand. “That looks amazing. I’m Luke.”
He beams as he returns the grip. “Si,I am Max.” He has a thick Italian accent. “Anything you need, Mr. Luke. Anything at all.”
“I didn’t realize you were going to start infiltrating my staff at the kitchen level,” Zinaida says dryly as the door closes behind him.
“That wasn’t work. That was just good manners.” I grin at her. “If you’d spent as long as I did eating army food, you’d appreciate a proper omelet, too.”
Her lips twitch in a reluctant smile. I like seeing it far more than I should.
The Spanish omelet is so fucking good I shamelessly eat the lot. To my surprise, Zinaida polishes off her own with equal enthusiasm. There’s a down-to-earth aspect to her that I find intriguing, an almost direct contradiction of the immaculate veneer she presents.
“I’d like to spend some time with Enzo, your front desk manager here, and Charlie, your driver,” I say as we finish. “Get a picture of your operation through their eyes.”
“Enzo won’t be easy,” she warns. “None of them will be. They’re not going to like this at all. And they’re certainly not going to trust you.”
“Let me handle that.” I stand up, checking my watch. “You’ve got meetings all morning. I’ll come downstairs with you and get started with Enzo, then ride with Charlie to get up to speed. You mentioned going to Pigalle Soho this afternoon?”
Zinaida nods. “It’s Nadja and Anatoly’s day off, but I’ve asked them to come in for some training, so we can head there after lunch.”
“I’ll focus on the clubs this week, and then Sophie’s House. I imagine you might need time to prepare everyone there for a man to come into the environment.”
She gives me a rather surprised look, but doesn’t comment.
“We can go over the Lowndes Square apartment when you’re done today.” I shut my laptop.
“There’s no need to go over Lowndes Square.” Her answer is swift and curt. “Mak set up the security in my apartment himself.”
The tension in her response is in contrast with the businesslike approach she’s brought to the rest of the discussion.
Interesting.
“I told you earlier that I need full access.” I keep my tone even, watching her carefully. “That’s the only way this works, Zinaida.” Saying her name is a curious intimacy, like I can taste her on my tongue.
She becomes very still. Her fingers curl around the handle of her coffee cup, like a fan closing.
Her tell.
I haven’t seen it all morning.
Unless you count the fingers clenching her pillow.
