55. CASSANDRA

The ride to Brighton Beach was awkward, to say the least.

“So all this was going on and you never told me any of it?” Tricia barks. “Great, now I feel like the dumb sidekick in a romantic comedy!”

We’re sitting in the parlor of a vast Victorian mansion. It appears to be a gentleman’s club of sorts, judging by the photos of old men sitting around the place smoking cigars and drinking. None of those gentlemen is here right now, though.

The room is beautiful. In any other circumstances, I’m sure it would be enchanting.

As it is, it makes me want to vomit.

“How many times can I say I’m sorry, Trish?”

“I don’t know. How about you keep going and I tell you when to stop?”

“Be quiet,” our Albanian friend says from the corner of the room.

If it was just him guarding us, I might try to make a move. But he’s been joined by a couple of others, both of whom have hairy chests and unibrows. And guns, of course.

“You three are thoroughly unattractive,” Tricia snipes. “I just want you to know that before you kill us. I’m talking not a hope in hell.”

The Albanian rolls his eyes.

“What are we waiting for, exactly?” I ask.

It’s common practice to keep people isolated and bored when you’re trying to break them. That’s not going to work on me, so I’d like to speed the process along, whatever the endgame might be.

“I think it’s me,” says a voice from behind me.

I turn, and my heart sinks as I see Carson and Maksim walking into the room. They can’t be here! It’s bad enough I couldn’t keep Tricia from being involved in this. If anything happens to Carson, my heart will crumble and disappear.

“Are you all right?” Carson asks, eyes wide.

I look directly at the Albanian, using all my training to keep my emotions from showing on my face or in my voice.

“Get them out of here,” I say coldly. “This doesn’t involve them.”

Tricia glares at Maks.

“What are you doing here with them?” she asks. “Are you involved in this too?”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, just looks at the floor.

“Cassie,” Carson says. “I’m here to negotiate for you.”

I want to yell at him to get out now, to run. But I won’t give these Russian slugs the satisfaction of seeing me weak.

“I don’t negotiate with people like this,” I say.

Tricia turns her glare to me.

“Were you planning to tell me that at some point?” she yells.

“I’m sorry, Cassie,” Carson sighs. “I’m the one in charge here, not you.”

“That is good to hear,” says a voice from the doorway.

Without looking up, Maks says: “Hello, Uncle.”

Next to the Albanian guard is a barrel-chested man with a wide face and a pompadour of iron-gray hair. His hairy body is covered in a sheen of sweat under his Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.

“Aannd the sexiness factor in the room just went down, somehow,” says Tricia.

“Not now, Trish,” I growl.

Carson locks eyes with the newcomer.

“Bogdan Nabatov,” he says. “I’m glad we finally get to meet.”

The old man’s eyes flash anger and he tilts his head toward Maks.

“You and I will have a long talk after all this is over, boy,” he snarls.

Maks says nothing.

“This meeting is about you and me,” Carson snaps. “Nobody else. I want just the two of us in a room. I think I have an offer you’ll appreciate.”

Nabatov pulls a cigar from his shirt pocket and lights it. The stench of the smoke makes my stomach hitch.

“You would like that, I’m sure,” he says. His English is much better than Maksim’s. “But I’m afraid we will all stay right where we are. I know what you did to my associates; I can assure you that won’t happen to me.”

What Carson did? What did he do?

“Fine,” says Carson. “I’m here to make a deal. To compensate you for your losses. And to prove that there is no investigation against you.”

“Is that so?” Nabatov’s thick eyebrows go up. “Well, then. I am a reasonable man. Please go on.”

“You let these two go,” says Carson, pointing to Tricia and me. “And I sign over my fortune to you.”

What?

I see naked greed in Nabatov’s eyes as the offer sinks in. His cigar almost drops from his mouth.

“Carson, no!” I blurt.

“I told you before,” he says, eyes never leaving Nabatov. “I’m in charge here, not you.”

“Carson, I am not going to let you give up everything you’ve worked for just so a piece of shit like this won’t do something to me! I can handle myself!”

“Well?” he says, ignoring me. “What do you say, Bogdan?”

Nabatov sucks on his cigar for a moment before answering.

“And how do you propose to do this?” he asks.

“I know you’re under your brother’s thumb here in America,” says Carson. “You create a shill corporation and I buy it from you for everything I have, three billion and change. I get a worthless company, you get the cash. More than enough for you to go legit and give up nonsense like the Chase.”

This is crazy. If I weren’t so desperately in love with Carson, I’d kill him myself for being such a fool.

Nabatov chews his cigar noisily.

“I would be amenable to that,” he says. “Of course, part of the money would have to go to compensate Mr. Buckner for his… troubles.”

Carson frowns. “Buckner?”

“Don’t ask,” I say.

“How do I know you will keep your end of the deal, Mr. Drake?”

“Simple,” says Carson. “You keep Cassie here until it goes through. I’ll make sure my lawyers fast-track it.”

Fuck that! I open my mouth to say exactly those words, but Maksim beats me to the punch.

“No, Uncle,” he says, looking up from the floor for the first time since he arrived.

Nabatov turns slowly to face his nephew.

“What did you say to me?” he growls, his heavy brows drawn down over his piggy little eyes.

“I said no. You are not going to be hurting my friends. I won’t let you.”