I read the message and feel an unexpected pang of disappointment. Apparently, I was secretly hoping I would see him tonight. I start to place the phone on the table next to the bed, but then change my mind and type another message.
23:26 Bianca: Can I use the gym sometimes?
23:28 Mikhail: Of course. I’m usually done with my workout by 9, so it’s yours after that. Just one request - I don’t like an audience when I’m working out, so please wait until I finish.
What a strange request. I’m pretty certain I’d enjoy watching Mikhail work out, but I will respect his boundaries.
23:29 Bianca: Deal.
I leave the phone, turn off the light, and slide under the blanket when I hear a ping of an incoming message.
23:31 Mikhail: Can I take you to dinner on Friday?
An idiotic grin spreads across my face while I look at the screen. I feel like a teenage girl who just got invited on a date for the first time.
23:32 Bianca: Yes, you can.
I put my phone away, check the bandage on my arm, and turn toward the man tied spread-eagle to the wall.
“Now, where were we?” I ask as I take a knife from the metal table. I check its sharpness by holding it up to the light of the bare lightbulb, then stand in front of the bound man. He is already in a rough condition. To say he wasn’t happy when Yuri and I ambushed him as he was leaving his girlfriend’s house, would be an understatement.
“Oh, yes. You were going to tell me who paid you to send one of your gang members to my wedding, and who let the bastard in. That was a really stupid move.”
The Albanian gang leader spits on the floor.
“One of the tough ones. Great.” I walk back to the table, leave the knife, and take gardening scissors. “Let’s start with the ears, then, and see where it leads us.”
*
The door behind me opens with a squeak, but I keep sitting in my chair, watching small rivulets of blood trailing down the Albanian’s arms, and then dripping one by one into a big puddle on the floor. There is a severed ear lying next to his right foot, and several teeth scattered around.
“Anything?” Yuri asks and places a cup of takeout coffee on the table.
“Someone hired him online,” I say. “He never met the man who ordered the job. Everything was settled via phone. The client wired twenty-five grand before the job, and twenty-five more right after it was done.”
“Who was the target?”
“He doesn’t know. The shooter was to meet the client before the wedding to receive details. The client is the one who arranged to get him inside the hotel.”
“So, we have nothing so far.” Yuri walks to stand in front of the gang leader and cocks his head to the side, inspecting my work. “Is he dead?”
“Just passed out.” I grab the coffee, take a sip, and grimace. “I told you no sugar.”
“Sorry.” He mumbles and pokes the Albanian in the chest with his finger. The man stirs, lets out a strangled noise, then passes out again. “I always admired how you manage to keep them alive for so long.”
“Practice makes perfect, Yuri.”
“Yeah. Remind me never to get on your bad side.” He throws a look at me over his shoulder. “You are one scary motherfucker.”
“No shit.” I lean back in the chair and take another sip of coffee. It’s awful. “Is Anton back?”
“Yeah. We caught another guy from the same gang. Anton has him in his truck. He might know something. How much time do you need to finish with this one?”
I put the coffee down and take the gun from the table. “Move away.”
Yuri takes a step to the side. I aim and shoot the Albanian at the center of his head. “There. Finished. You can bring in the next one.”
Chapter 5
Denis opens the car door for me and rushes to get my bags from the back seat. I try to take them from him, but he hastily moves them out of my reach.
“No. Boss would kill me.” He shakes his head and starts walking toward the building’s entrance.
I look at the heavens and follow him inside. It’s just some cosmetic products and a few pieces of clothing, but he wouldn’t let me touch the bags the whole morning, insisting on carrying them for me. Denis is a nice guy, somewhere around twenty-five, and from what he said, he’s been working for Mikhail since he was eighteen. And he talks nonstop. He gave me the short version of his childhood story, which wasn’t a nice one, then a report on all the girls he’s dated for the past six months. There were at least twenty of them. After that, he gave me a quick lesson on how to change a flat tire. He clearly has no problem with me not being able to contribute to the conversation, because he hasn’t stopped babbling for two hours.