Page 65 of The Leader

“Of course I know. I know about all the major players in my town. Even the insignificant ones who are like lice in my hide.”

Harvey blanched at that. His eyes scurried around the room, trying to peek through the dusty curtain rods. Jazzy could have told him that there was nowhere to go. There was only one way out of this room, and that was through the door Romanov stood in front of.

Oscar’s eyes flicked to her mouth, making her blood run cold.

“I want you to take her. Sell the whore through your contacts.”

Bile rose up her throat when she heard his plans for her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the promise of a quick death, which sounded better by the minute.

“He doesn’t trade in women,” Harvey said nervously.

“The nicotine-smellingsukais right. It’s the one thing I actually don’t trade in.”

Before Oscar could respond, the Russian made his move. He gave him a right hook, and Oscar dropped like a rock onto the filthy linoleum floor.

Standing over Oscar’s knocked-out body, Romanov scoffed, “I also don’t like to be summoned.”

Harvey took an unsure step toward Jazzy, as if in some twisted way, he was seeking comfort with her. “Mr. Romanov—”

“I don’t like to be called Romanov. Didn’t your extensive background check on me tell you that? I’m not impressed by your reporter skills, Mr. Harvey.”

“Sorry. Of course, I…I knew that.” The reporter started to stutter again. “You hate your father’s name, and—”

“You called me a stone-cold killer,” Kristoff cut him off.

Harvey paled. “I didn’t mean…”

“Of course you did. And you should, because it is exactly what I am. Never apologize for telling the truth.”

Harvey stupidly seemed to consider Kristoff’s words as praise. “Yes, yes, indeed. Speaking of the truth. I want to do an editorial on you. An exclusive to show the public the real man behind the name.”

“Ah, yes, your editorial on the Bratva. What is it that you want to hear? Do you want to hear about how I grew up on the harsh streets of Moscow, as an orphan?”

Jazzy could almost see Harvey typing inside his head. The idiot even took another pull of his cigarette before he took out his phone to type.

“That…that would be a good starting point.”

Kristoff’s eyes almost looked like the Ice Age. “Except…I wasn’t born and raised in Moscow. It was right here in California.”

Harvey looked up from his phone. “But, according to your birth certificate…”

“Anything can be forged, you fuck,” Kristoff suddenly said, in perfect English, with no trace of an accent. “When powerful men want to rewrite their history, they can make anything happen. Even turn a loving mother into a whore, making her put her pimp’s name on a birth certificate, instead that of her illegitimate child’s American father.”

Jazzy was wondering why Kristoff was sharing his life’s story with a man he clearly despised. And then it hit her.

Dead men don’t talk.

Harvey’s mouth almost dropped open by the sudden change in Kristoff’s demeanor. Gone was the semi-easygoing man, and back was the crime boss who casually pulled a gun on him.

“Oh, God.” Harvey stumbled backwards, his head hitting the wall. “I won’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight. I swear!”

Kristoff didn’t move or even blink. “You don’t know this yet, but I am doing you a favor,suka. If you knew what Detta had planned for that shit stain on the floor, you would beg me to make it quick.” He aimed his gun at Harvey’s mouth.

“Please don’t shoot me!” Harvey started sobbing and begging for his life, while Jazzy had difficulty keeping her eyes open.

“I’d say cigarettes kill, but that stick in your mouth isn’t going to be the thing that kills you,” Kristoff said, right before he pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered all over the wall behind Harvey.

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