CHAPTER SIX:
VIKTOR
As soon as they entered the meeting room, Roman checked to make sure the door was closed and locked behind him. He made his way to the table and poured himself a small amount of vodka from the bottle in the ice bucket which still remained there from the previous evening’s meeting. The ice was regularly refreshed by his house staff, so that they could always retreat to this room for a cold drink, as needed.
After he tossed back his alcohol, Roman poured himself a second, then poured a drink for Viktor and pushed it into his hand.
“You’re going to want to sit down for this,” Roman said.
Viktor looked his friend over with a faint frown. “It’s about my father?”
They both sat at the table, but Roman seemed unable to remain still. His leg bounced with nervous energy.
“Yes. We just got some new information, and I wanted to tell you as soon as it was confirmed.”
“I am listening. Do not try to spare me; just spit it out.” Viktor’s voice had hardened, and he leaned forward toward Roman. The man was his driver, yes, but also Viktor’s best friend and confidant. He trusted and valued Roman, and knew that whatever the man had to say now, it must be difficult, given his hesitation.
Roman licked his lips and exhaled in preparation. “I heard back from intelligence. There is no question that Boris’s death was poisoning. Foul play, which you already suspected, but… the person who stood to gain the most from his death was Sergei Volkin.” Roman allowed his message to sink in while he took another sip of vodka.
Victor felt lead and ice running through his veins. He stared at Roman, disbelieving. “Alexandra’s father?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Certain.” Roman’s lips pursed for a moment, an almost apologetic expression on his face. “Apparently Sergei’s business and wealth have been in steady decline for a while now, and he was keeping up the charade of success. Your father had been keeping him afloat financially in secret. We discovered the records hidden away and it became clear: of all possible suspects, Sergei had the most to gain from Boris’s death.”
Viktor’s mind connected the dots. If Boris’s dealings with Sergei had been kept a secret, then Sergei’s debts would have vanished upon his death.
“How much?” Viktor asked coolly. He took a bitter swallow of vodka, grateful his friend had poured it. “How much did my father give him?”
“Hundreds of thousands of dollars.” Roman shifted his weight in his chair. “Bookkeeping and our intelligence are still recovering the records, so it could be more, but right now we estimate the loans to be in the hundreds of thousands.”
Viktor had nearly choked on his vodka at the revelation, and took a moment to clear his voice. That was a lot of money to lend to someone. “There’s no chance of forgery? You said the documents were hidden—is there any chance they are fakes, to throw us off someone else’s trail?”
“No,” Roman said gravely. “Everything is in your father’s own handwriting, and bookkeeping has confirmed the money.”
Viktor scowled into his glass. The breakfast digesting in his stomach soured, and he clenched his jaw.
“And my wife?” he asked slowly. “Is she involved?”
“The marriage is legitimate, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
But there was something hidden in Roman’s voice—Viktor could hear it. He bared his teeth and resisted the urge to punch something, but he respected his friend too much.
Roman continued talking after another moment had passed. “But…” he began, “they also found documents that passed between Sergei and Boris, and it seems Alexandra was supposed to marry Boris to alleviate some of the Volkin family debt. A sort of partial pay-off.”
Viktor sat and stared, unmoving, unwavering. Anger and pain crashed down upon him in great rolling waves, threatening to carry him off.
This morning, his conversation with Alexandra over breakfast had seemed genuine, real, but Viktor doubted that Sergei’s plan to take out Boris and Alexandra marrying into the family were unrelated matters. She had to know something, and had to be in on it somehow. There had to be a reason she’d still married into his family, married him, and he imagined it had to be connected to that money.
Rage boiled up from deep within. She had trapped him, infiltrated his family, while her father had murdered his own. How could he have fallen for this?
Viktor’s mind raced. More importantly, why had he stepped up and married Alexandra in the first place? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, had made sense for him to take his father’s place to keep the family and the mafia held together in the wake of Boris’s loss, but now he felt like a damn fool.
And, last night, he had consummated their marriage. Memories of her lithe body and soft skin rose to the surface of his memory, but Viktor didn’t allow himself to be moved by the images in his mind. Instead, he reminded himself how naïve and innocent she seemed.
It should be easy to entrap her into confessing her father’s guilt, Viktor thought. She was young and probably didn’t realize Viktor knew anything of what had transpired between their fathers. He could catch her off-guard and make her confess.
He drank deeply from his vodka and looked over to Roman. “Thank you for telling me in person,” Viktor finally said.
Roman nodded slowly, grimly. “I don’t know what to say, Viktor, other than I’m sorry. And even that doesn’t seem to cut it.” The pain in Roman’s voice was genuine, but nothing could be changed about what had happened.
“To vengeance!” Viktor snarled, and clinked his glass against Roman’s. They finished their drinks in silence. Then, Roman disappeared down the hallway and left Viktor to his thoughts.
Sitting alone in the meeting room reminded him of the previous night, and how his new wife had come to him. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in the chair, allowing his anger to cool to manageable levels, and wondered…
Could he kill his wife’s father?
Could he kill his wife, if it came to that?