Page 104 of The Payback

“But no, it wasn’t Nik. However, I think it was staged to look like it was him. I mean, they grew up together, right? So they spent an insane amount of time together when they were younger and then Nik went off to college and Interpol, and finally, when he comes home, Danil dies, the timing of it doing nothing but sowing discord and distrust between them.

“Even if Nik didn’t do it, Dimitri knowssomebodydid. And by doing it in Nik’s style, Dimitri’s only option would be to either have Nik killed or kill him by his own hand. Unfortunately for whoever thought to put these two head-to-head, Dimitri isn’t a man who acts without thinking things through.”

Olivia laughs. “A Bratva leader with restraint? That’s good, at least. Then the actual killer would have got away with it since the blame would have been on Nik, and he’d be dead and unable to claim his innocence.”

“I honestly don’t know if Dimitri would have got the drop on Nik. Trust me when I say these two are evenly matched. Although, there was a brawl in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago, and Nik passed out after a well-executed chokehold.”

“Why were they fighting? Were they sweaty or oiled up? Was it sexual?”

I choke on a laugh, then tuck the idea away for later—they might indulge me. “It had something to do with peanut butter sandwiches. Which Dimitri and I ate while Nik slept it off.”

“Peanut butter is disgusting.”

“Oh, the best part is that it wasn’t just peanut butter. It was peanut butter with bananas.”

Olivia pauses. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore. I’m keeping your child as my own; you’ll have to wander around aimlessly, living with your choices. I can’t help you anymore. The deal is done.”

I smother my laugh with my hand to keep it down. Dimitri was still in bed when I slipped out of my closet hidey hole about two hours ago to pee. I mean, understandable since it was three o’clock. But there was work to be done, and in my head, I’m cursing him and his blissful sleep while I recount everything repeatedly. I’m not bitter.I’m not. Just kidding. It’s 5:00 a.m., and I’m bitter as fuck.

“Anyway, back to the topic at hand,” Olivia says, all business. “Since Dimitri covered up the murder, only he and the murderer know Danil was killed and didn’t die in his sleep the way the morgue wrote it on the death certificate.”

It tracks, so I nod. Olivia continues. “So, not even Natasha knows that Dimitri’s father died by murder. This means someone within the New York chapter didn’t want Nik and Dimitri reunited and on good terms, and they did it behind Natasha’s back. I think the big question here is, why not? Why go through all the trouble of killing someone to cause a rift? And what have they done since it didn’t work? Clearly, they’re always together anyway.”

I hum as I reflect on a conversation from my first few days here. “Sergei assigned Nik as Dimitri’s bodyguard.”

“Okay, following that line of thought, didn’t you just say that Ana confirmed Oksana gives Sergei direction... for lack of a better word?”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly. “But then that doesn’t line up with the drive-by when someone took a shot at Oksana. She wouldn’t organise her own shooting, would she? These aren’t even likely connected.”

“Just indulge me. And no, that part doesn’t quite make sense either. Tell me when and where it happened, and I’ll have Rory pull up security footage from the surrounding area after Bella lets him wash his face off. We’ll pull angles and see what we can find. You said that they brought in Alexei and took care of his accomplices, but maybe we’ll get a hit on them. We’re still working on the phone, but Rory is making progress between princess makeovers.”

“Thanks, Ollie. This feels like a fucking disaster. And, to put the cherry on top, we have this gala thing soon where I’m supposed to meet everyone who’s anyone in the city, forming those connections that Oksana is so insistent on.”

“When is that?” she asks.

“God, I don’t even know anymore. Is it Tuesday? A week and a half? I have to get a fucking dress.”

“The last time we talked, you sat in a closet stuffed with clothes. Will none of those fancy-ass dresses work for you, Queen Ellie?” She puts on a posh, sarcastic accent, making it all the better.

I snort. “Okay, yeah, fine. There’s probably something in here. I just want to complain for a second and not listen to logic. I miss my kid. I miss you. Hell, I even miss my quiet desk at work.”

“Yeah, but you’re having sex on every surface of that penthouse, aren’t you? Makes up for it a bit, don’t you think?”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, deflecting like a pro.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s that you let a Bratva leader meet your daughter and the fact you reunited with said daughter’s father.”

I did not, in fact, deflect like a pro.

“Bitch, if you are not getting Eiffel Towered, I will declare you no longer my best friend.”

“What the fuck is an Eiffel Tower?” I ask, too curious to let it go.

“It’s where one guy fucks your face and the other fucks you from behind, like a spit roast, but at the end, they high-five.”

I drop my face into my free hand, groaning and laughing simultaneously. Somehow, the visual is just perfect. “No Eiffel Towers, no spit roasts. No—oh God, what was that term that one author used on TikTok?—Tupperware parties! You know, where she’s airtight? That doesn’t quite work here since I only have two guys. I can’t live up to your four.”

“Shut up, Ellie. That’s what toys are for. You know that. Stick a plug in your ass, do the Eiffel Tower and call it a Tupperware party under the tower. If you do it outside, there’s probably some other name. I need to Google that; it probably has some kind of ‘picnic’ term in there.”

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