The next day I call Noah’s phone numerous times, but it is switched off all day and all night. I try not to worry. His battery died. He lost his phone. But my heart knows it is not that. He would never switch his phone off. Not at a time like this.

I call his club, The Matrix, put on an American accent, and pretend that I am Dahlia, Alexander Malenkov’s wife. I ask to speak to Noah, but the manager tells me nobody has heard from him since last night. He hasn’t called any of his other businesses which is very weird.

‘I’ll get him to call you as soon as he calls in,’ he says.

‘No. No need,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll call him tomorrow.’

I sit on my bed and think. I think of all the possibilities that are open to me. Then I lay my plans meticulously. I play with a best case scenario and a worst case. I make a list of every move I plan to make, then I make a list of everything that can go wrong on every single move. Then I think up things that can go wrong outside of my actions.

At eight I go down to dinner and act normal. After dinner I go up to Baba’s room and I tell her what I want to do. Step by step. She doesn’t say a word. When I finish talking she puts her hand gently on my head. I know it is her way of giving me her blessing. I take her hand in my own and, bringing it to my lips, kiss it.

Later, when the household goes to sleep, Baba comes to my room and I slip out of the house and climb the wall. I tell the cab driver to take me to Noah’s house. As we drive up to the road I see it in complete darkness. I don’t react. It is something I have already planned for. My whole body feels cold. I don’t think about what has happened to him. If I do, I will just want to give up and die too.

The car comes to a stop. The driver turns to look at me.

My stomach is in knots. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Take me to Rusaki.’

Rusaki is Dimitri Semenov’s club. It is a Russian stripper club located in the underbelly of the city.

This is it now, Tasha. There's no going back.

I know I have to see it through to the very end. I turn my attention to the night traffic whizzing by until the cab driver pulls up outside its gaudy red and gold awning.

‘We’re here my love,’ the taxi driver says.

I feel my heartbeat rise a notch as I take a deep breath and step out of the car. I pass the driver his money and thank him. Gathering my coat tightly around myself in an unconsciously defensive gesture, I turn around to face the club’s neon lights. As I walk up to it, I realize what I am doing. I let go. Tilting my chin and letting my hands swing confidently, I go up to the entrance. There are three bouncers in black suits watching me approach with various expressions, leering, admiring, and expressionless.

I’m met by the large outstretched palm of the expressionless one. ‘Dancers to the side door,’ he says in a strong Russian accent, jerking his head towards a grey side door.

Beside me an obviously wealthy Russian man in a camel hair coat and an icy blonde on each arm is respectfully ushered in.

‘I’m not a dancer.’

The leering one comes forward. ‘What are you then?’ he asks. His accent is English.

‘I’m here to see Dimitri Semenov.’

The leering guy sniggers. ‘Sorry darlin’. Even if you suck my cock you can’t hope to see him.’

I stare at him as haughtily as I can, as my father would have done.

Keeping my expression blank I issue my instruction. ‘Tell him Tasha Evanoff is here to see him.’

‘I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England, you’re not going in, little pussycat.’

‘Did you say Evanoff?’ the expressionless bouncer cuts in suddenly.

‘Yes.’

The bouncer who was laughing at his own joke stops abruptly.

‘You’re Nikita Evanoff’s daughter,’ he repeats incredulously.

‘That’s right.’

‘Got any ID to prove that?’

I hand over my driver’s license.

He looks at it. ‘I’ll just hold on to this for a minute.’

‘Of course,’ I say coolly.

He unhooks the red rope and stands aside. ‘I’m sorry about my colleague’s behavior, Miss Evanoff,’ he says in Russian. ‘He didn't know who you were and meant no harm. He’s English.’ 

‘Of course,’ I say graciously.

‘Perhaps you’d like a drink while I tell him you are here.’

‘Thank you, no,’ I say.

As I follow him I hear the rude bouncer ask the admiring bouncer, ‘Who the hell is Nikita Evanoff?’

I don’t hear his reply.

‘Please wait here,’ he says, and disappears into a dark door.

I look around me. I’ve never been to a strip club. There is something sad and desperate about the women and the men. Both moving towards each other like magnets but connected only by the currency of money. I watch a woman on a pole.

‘Come this way please,’ the bouncer says close to my ear.

I follow him and we walk in silence along a darkened hallway, the sounds of our footsteps on the wooden floors creating an eerie feel. I feel my stomach churn again. At the end of the hallway we take a lift to the top. The door opens to a large room that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a French palace. It is a startling contrast to the rest of the club.

‘I’m going to have to frisk you, I’m afraid,’ he says politely.

I hold my arms out as he brushes his hands down my sides, under my breasts, around my waist, and down my thighs. He stops at my knees. He is very professional about it, and I feel as cold as ice.

‘This way,’ he says. He opens a set of double doors and we enter a large, expensively decorated room.

Dimitri Semenov is sitting on a long sofa with two topless blonde girls wearing thongs. They look frightened. I imagine them to be girls trafficked from Ukraine or Russia. He is carelessly fondling the breasts of one of them as he watches me with small, curious eyes.  

‘Come in and sit down, Tasha,’ he invites cordially.

Then in a completely psychotic about-turn, he harshly orders the man who had shown me in to get out.

My eyebrows rise in surprise and he smiles. A sly, ugly smile. A shudder goes through me. I have heard this man is an utterly ruthless monster. I also know that other than me, no one hates my father more than him, and I have come to see him because of the old maxim.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

‘So what can I do for Nikita’s beloved only daughter?’ He says the words as if he is slurping them. He can hardly hide his delight that I have come to see him. He understands exactly what it means when your enemy’s daughter comes to see you.

‘I cannot speak to you in the presence of anyone else,’ I say quietly.

He slaps the breast he was just fondling. ‘You heard her. What are you waiting for?’ Both women jump up and literally run out of the room.

He picks up his glass of amber liquid and takes a sip. ‘There you go. Just you and me. Now speak.’

‘I need to hire two of your most silent men for a day.’

His eyes narrow. ‘All my men are silent.’ Then to make sure that he has not misunderstood the situation, he asks, ‘Does your father know you are here?’

I shake my head.

He smiles slowly. ‘What sort of … expertise should they possess?’

‘Heavy lifting. They must be able to lift, help transport, and completely dispose of a heavy object.’

His smile widens even further. ‘Do you know I have a pig farm? Those greedy beasts will eat anything. Back in Russia we used to feed them sawdust. Naturally, they enjoy a change to their diet as much as the next man.’ His eyes glitter with cruelty.

‘How much will it cost me?’ I ask.

‘For Nikita Evanoff’s daughter … nothing,’ he declares grandly, then he laughs again with the glee of knowing he is looking at the face of the instrument of his enemy’s downfall.