Page 66 of Savage Princess

“Well,” he says slowly, his expression tight. “We should go.”

I know he doesn’t want me to go with him. But I’m not going to be left behind, not after everything that’s happened and everything I’ve done. I feel I’ve earned my right to be at his side, and regardless—this is my life, too. I’ve been finished with taking a backseat in my own story for a while now.

Vasquez’s mansion is in a very different part of the city, on the outskirts, ringed by a wall and a high iron gate. Levin glances at me as we approach, his expression very serious. “Let me do the talking,” he says quietly. “And follow my lead. It’s important, Elena.”

“I know. I’ve figured that out by now.” As he says it, my fingers stray to the hard shape under the edge of my shirt—a knife that Levin purchased for me. We didn’t have enough funds to buy a gun for me, but at this point, he felt like I needed a weapon. Something to fight back with in earnest, if it came to that.

We’re stopped by black-clothed guards at the gate, who are immediately on edge when they see us. “What do you want?” one snaps gruffly, his hand straying to the gun at his belt, glaring at us suspiciously.

Levin doesn’t flinch. “El conejo necesita reunirse con la araña.The rabbit needs to meet with the Spider. Tell Vasquez that Levin Volkov is here to see him.”

I don’t think the words themselves mean anything to this man, who is likely nothing more than a grunt, but Levin’s manner is enough to convince him. He retreats warily to the guard shack in front of the iron gates, and Levin stands there, angled in front of me as he so often is, as we wait to see what happens.

The guard steps back out and nods. “He will see you.”

When we step into the mansion, it makes me think of something between my childhood home and Diego’s mansion. It’s more ornate than the home I grew up in, but without the over-the-top ostentation of Diego’s. The floors are a rich cream tile, the walls painted in jewel tones, and the rafters above wooden. Every bit of furniture and textile that we pass as we’re led deeper into the mansion and up a winding staircase is richly colored and textured, the walls hung with paintings in gilded frames and the wooden floors on the second level strewn with woven rugs.

It’s clear that Vasquez is a man who likes to demonstrate his wealth, but more tastefully than Diego chooses to.

I’ve gotten glimpses of the kind of man Levin used to be—who he still is, to some extent. I’ve seen how dangerous he can be, how resourceful he is. I’ve seen him steal and kill and haggle and gamble. But now, as we walk up to Vasquez’s office, I can tell he’s in his element. This is the Levin from the Syndicate, a man that he hasn’t been in some time. I can see it in his bearing, in the way he walks as we follow the guard to the mahogany double doors in the center of the second floor, not unlike the ones that led into my father’s office back home. It gives me a pang of nostalgia seeing it.

The guard raps hard on the door. “Levin Volkov to see you,señor. And the girl with him.”

“Come in.” A deep, rasping, accented voice comes from within the bowels of the room, and the guard pushes the doors open, standing back as he gestures.

“Go on.”

Levin doesn’t flinch. His face is a mask, blank and hard and assured, and I try to keep that same calm on my own face. I don’t want Vasquez to think I’m afraid. I don’t want him to think anything other than that Levin and I expect to leave here under our own power, and free of whatever deal he thinks he’s made with Diego.

I’m not going back to Diego. I know that for certain. Not ever—no matter what I have to do.

We step into the room, and I see the man who must be Vasquez. He’s sitting behind a long wooden desk, smoke curling up from a cigar sitting on a tray near his hand, dressed in a well-fitting tan suit. His hair is combed back, balding at the corners, and he has a well-trimmed mustache and dark, sharp eyes. He doesn’t look particularly dangerous–not that that means anything.

“Levin Volkov.” He doesn’t bother standing, instead continuing to appraise us from the other side of the desk. “You’ve brought my quarry straight to me, I see. Are you looking for a reward? Or just thanks? I’m afraid I’m not necessarily inclined to the former, but the latter—”

“I’m here to negotiate with you,” Levin says flatly. “For both of our safe exit out of the city.”

Vasquez laughs. It’s a real laugh, as if Levin has actually amused him, and he reaches for his cigar, taking a drag off of it before tapping it on the ashtray and leaving it there. “If you wanted to negotiate, you shouldn’t have brought the prize with you. What’s stopping me from just killing you and taking her? Gonzalez already wants you dead. You’ve made my job easy for me.”

Levin’s expression doesn’t falter. “You know who I am. You know who I work for—who I’ve worked for in the past, and who I still have connections with. I don’t think you’d kill me so easily. Not if I can offer you the possibility of a better deal. And not when Gonzalez is making so many enemies on account of his obsession with one girl.”

Vasquez narrows his eyes. “It’s true; I don’t understand why he would go to such lengths over any woman—even Santiago’s daughter. Even this one, although I understand it’s a matter of hurt pride. Wounded by both of the daughters, I’m told.”

“Is his hurt pride worth losing the possibility of an alliance with three of the most powerful criminal factions in North America?” Levin holds Vasquez’s gaze evenly. “Santiago is allied with those factions. I work for Viktor Andreyev’s Bratva, which has ties with the Syndicate in Moscow now. What does Gonzalez have?”

“The loyalty of half the cartels in South America or more, now,” Vasquez says thoughtfully. “And the Bratva and their alliances have never come to me before. The cartels are my business. Santiago is losing them. So as I see it, Gonzalez is the one I should be hearing out when it comes to the temperature of what’s happening among them.”

“Gonzalez holds those cards for now. But the Bratva, the Irish Kings, the Romano mafia—all of them are sending reinforcements to Santiago. Trading with Santiago. When the wind shifts in his direction, so will the money. The drug trade, and arms shipments. And if you help Gonzalez harm Santiago’s daughter, none of them will work with you ever again.”’

“And you think they will start now, when they never have before? There is no mafia or Bratva or Irish foothold in Rio—and I have no plans for there to be. Why should I give them an in to my territory?”

Levin shakes his head. “I’m not suggesting you allow them space in your territory. I’m not suggesting they take up residence in Rio at all. I’m suggesting a mutually beneficial trade agreement. You drop your deal with Gonzalez, and I will ensure that Elena’s safe return to Boston is rewarded with an increase in your business profits that will make whatever Diego has offered look like an insult.”

Vasquez leans back in his chair, considering. He doesn’t even really glance at me again, which I’m not sure if I find relieving or insulting.

“I can tell she means something to you,” he says, still speaking directly to Levin, as if I’m not even in the room. “She’s very beautiful. Is it just that? Or is it the soft spot for innocent damsels in distress that I’ve heard you have? It’s a shame, what happened to your late wife. I can understand where the urge comes from—to protect something so fragile.”

There’s the first crack in Levin’s hard facade. I see him flinch ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing at the corners, and I know if I see it, then Vasquez must too. I can’t imagine how it must feel, to have someone so easily slip a knife into what I think must be one of the only—if nottheonly—cracks in Levin’s armor.

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