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authority.
    It’s an awkward situation for him, I admit.
    “Gregorovich,” I say with a simple nod in return, which is more than the vile shit deserves from me. I loathe this man, not just for what he’s done, but for how he gives me so few things to insult him about. He’s not fat, he’s not ugly; he’s just a manipulative bastard who plays things cautiously all the time. Too cautious. Cautious to the point of paranoia.
    Which would all be excusable, except he’s also greedy.
    And a greedy, paranoid mafia boss is a dangerous thing for everyone.
    “How nice of you to pay us a visit,” he says, tugging open his thick overcoat as Nikita rushes around to help him out of it. “I trust everything is alright?” And with that brow arched at me, I know I have already engaged more of his suspicion than I wish to.
    “Just visiting an old friend,” I say, giving a light smile to Nikita, which she bashfully returns. I don’t generally let slip any emotion around these men, but it’s important they know who I favor, so they know better than to mess with her.
    “I see,” Gregorovich says, looking me over once more than Nikita as well. “Well it’s fortunate timing, there’s a matter we can discuss. In back,” he says, leading the way. It’s the most presumptuous thing he’s yet dared do with me in front of others.
    Surprisingly, however, along the way he gestures for Vasili to follow. He’s a two-bit crook, and why he’s being trusted with anything baffles me.
    But I have a sinking suspicion this is about the matter I came here for, so I follow after, into the back room, with its reinforced walls. It’s empty but for a simple metal table with some chairs, and he helps himself to a spot there while one of his men pats down the underside of the table, checking for any listening devices.
    I stand back, fold my arms as another of the guards pats down Vasili as well, checking him over. Gregorovich trusts no one.
    When they come to me I don’t budge, and they back off, knowing better.
    “What is the issue at hand?” I ask brusquely.
    “You fucked up,” Vasili says with malicious glee, but I don’t so much as grace him with a glance.
    Gregorovich clears his throat, cutting off Vasili, preening at his expensive suit. I leave him the dubious honor of being the only one sitting.
    “There are some loose ends from your job,” Gregorovich says.
    “I do not leave loose ends,” I say firmly, an edge to my voice to let them know I’m serious. But I want more info, so I’m careful not to be too rough with them.
    “Well, this time, the police think you have,” Gregorovich responds carefully. “And they’re looking for a potential witness seen entering the hotel with the party.”
    “That no-women no-kids rule of yours has finally fucked you up, Volkov,” Vasili says with sneering relish, fidgeting a lot. Probably because he’s constantly wired on a cocktail of different drugs.
    “Was there a woman there when you did the job?” Gregorovich asks calmly, and I know it won’t be easy to lie to him. He’s perceptive, for a greedy little shit.
    “I agreed to take on this job, knowing it might lead to a bad place,” I say firmly. “But I did the job, and no one survived.”
    “Then how do you explain this?” Vasili says, pulling out the picture of Allie with the men I’d slain. It’s not great quality, clearly taken from a security camera. But it’s her. I take a moment to soak it in before Vasili gets into my face, that greasy weasel so full of himself.
    I take a moment to slam my fist into his throat and send him choking and sputtering back against the wall.
    “Why is this little rat fuck in here with us?” I ask Gregorovich pointedly.
    “I’ve tasked him with finding this woman. And making sure she can’t talk,” he replies, ignoring the coughing and cursing of Vasili as we engage.
    “She has nothing to tell anyone,” I insist calmly, not overplaying the point. I can’t give him reason to suspect