Page 81 of The Payback

I’m okay with a lot in my line of work—see the recent murders—but this doesn’t sit well with me.

I’ve reviewed the former buyer lists Dimitri got from Sergei and have been paying the men visits. Most are local, and the ones that aren’t are easily lured here by the promise of new merchandise.

A smile curls my lips when I think of the plans I’ve been putting in place for the sick fucks coming next week. It’s easy enough to slip out when Ellie goes to bed, and Dimitri hides in his studio. It’s not as if either of them is ever looking for me.

I send Ellie straight upstairs to change, and she accepts my suggestion without protest. She’s still a little unsteady but waves me off when I try to help her. “I’m gonna go shower. Then I’m coming back down to eat a sandwich. I’m raiding your supplies, by the way. Got any peanut butter left?”

Only about four jars.“Yeah. I’ll pull out the stash. But don’t tell D where you got it.”

“Why not?” She cants her head in confusion.

“Because as posh as he pretends to be, he likes nothing more than a peanut butter and banana sandwich. If he finds my stuff, he’ll finish it, and it’smine.” The last word comes out like a growl, and Ellie’s pupils widen. Suddenly, I wonder if it’s peanut butter we’re talking about.

“No, Sergei. That is unacceptable. Push it back a few weeks until your ducks are in a row. No, I don’t care how my father did things. Without buyers lined up, you’re risking too much, and I will not have this falling on my head!” Dimitri shouts.

Ellie’s head swivels towards the office, and I shoo her upstairs. With one last look, she turns tail and clambers upstairs as Dimitri’s voice gets closer. He’s pacing across the living room, headed for the kitchen, still seething.

“Good. Do whatever you must, but do not put those girls on a ship until we’ve got confirmation from buyers. The last thing we want is excess supply driving prices down. Supply and demand, Sergei. It’s a basic tenet of business. Good!” He hangs up the phone, and I follow him into the kitchen.

“Pleasant talk with Uncle Sergei?” I ask, teasing him while he rakes his fingers through his blond hair.

“The man is short-sighted.”

“Nearsighted is the medical term.”

Dimitri glares at me for my joke, and I put my hands up in surrender.

“How was tea?” he asks, poorly hiding his smirk. No one wants to be on babysitting duty, sipping plant water from dainty cups and eating doll-sized sandwiches. They somehow left me more hungry than when Ellie and I arrived.

“Oksana yelledFuck!at the top of her lungs in a display of power, and they’re planning a gala for you and Ellie as some kind of wedding reception thing to introduce her to society and more of our members.”

Dimitri does a double-take. “That’s... Actually, as annoying as it will probably be, that’s brilliant. A good reason to have everyone under one roof and to have her present for the deals that always occur there. No one comes to these things for entertainment or charity. It’s all about the business that can take place between the cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.”

I tap my nose that he nailed it right on the head. “Oksana seemed pretty hell-bent on making it happen. She and Sasha were already deciding some details, and Ana, Maria, Valentina, and Ellie were dismissed. We went to the bar she and Ana had snuck off to the last time.”

“I know; My phone notified me. No trouble this time?”

“Nah, just a few drinks. They’re all fine.”

“Good.” Dimitri nods as he scrolls through his phone, his attention on business again. “The Irish are looking for O’Connor.”

He swipes away a message and starts typing a reply.

“Good thing they won’t find him,” I answer, knowing precisely what happened to the man who dared try to snatch Ellie out from under us.

“That they won’t.”

While D is immersed in his work, keeping the underlings in line, working on new deals with other organisations, and generally being a surly bastard, I carefully pull my supplies for sandwiches from the back of the cupboard and start putting one together for Ellie.

Dimitri finally looks up when I place it in front of Ellie’s usual stool at the kitchen island. “Where did you get that?”

If I look hard enough, I can see the drool forming.

“Don’t even think about it, man. You have to earn a sandwich. Or at least walk your ass to the store and buy the supplies.”

“But you have enough for at least four more sandwiches,” he argues, pointing at the mess behind me. “How did Eleanor earn it?”

“She bought me a drink at the bar.”

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