Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(18)

The interior of the building is spartan and sparkling. More bronze and glass everywhere. I feel like leaving a single smudged fingerprint on any surface will get me beheaded.

An older man with a white mustache greets Misha at the door. “Welcome, Mr. Orlov. Mr. Ivanov is expecting you.”

“I would hope so, considering he asked for this meeting.”

The man leads us down a hallway before we’re shown into the largest meeting room I’ve ever been in. One hundred people could sit around the table without bumping elbows.

But there’s only one lone man standing at the far end. He’s younger than I expected a CEO to be. Mid-thirties, maybe, with a battle-ax of a face that frightens me even from here.

“Welcome, Misha. It’s been a long time. Please take a seat.”

“I’ll stand,” Misha responds, his tone far from civil. “I won’t be here long enough to justify sitting down.”

I glance at Misha. Not only are his knuckles white, but his expression is contorted into barely-contained rage.

Something is happening here. Something far above my pay grade.

“You came all this way to give me only five minutes?” Mr. Ivanov asks with a chuckle.

His dark eyes are set close together and his brows are pinched in suspicion. But whereas Misha radiates fury, this man exudes a slimy kind of calm.

“I came all this way so that I could look you in the eye when I say, ‘Fuck you, Petyr Ivanov.’”

I stifle a gasp and wait for Petyr’s reaction. When it comes, it’s understated. Just the subtlest, quarter-inch raise of an eyebrow.

I have this vague, nauseating feeling that all hell is about to break loose. Then, right as the feeling reaches its peak, Misha smiles. “I just wanted to get that out of the way first. You wanted to talk to me, Petyr. So talk.”

Now, it’s Petyr’s turn to burn with rage. “Polytech Incorporated.”

Misha looks amused. “What about it?”

“Cut the shit, Orlov,” Petyr hisses. “You’re the one trying to buy it out from underneath me, aren’t you?”

“That’s a big accusation to make. Do you have proof?”

Petyr’s jaw moves infinitesimally, but even I can tell he doesn’t have solid evidence.

“Ms. Masters,” Misha says unexpectedly. He turns to me pointedly. “Have I signed off on any documents to facilitate the acquisition of Polytech Incorporated?”

I swallow back my nerves. “Not to my knowledge, no.”

“There you go. From your mouth to Petyr’s ears.” Misha turns back to his enemy. “Is that all?”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Orlov.”

“Then maybe you can enlighten me, because I’m not quite sure myself.”

“You won’t get away with it for long.”

Misha chuckles. “It seems like you need a vacation, Petyr. How’s that wife of yours doing? Is she still trying to kill off your mistresses? That must be like a game of Whack-a-Mole. Very exhausting. But hats off to Olga—she doesn’t give up.”

“You little—” Petyr freezes mid-lunge as a loud click echoes through the room.

I look around and realize all thirty of Misha’s men have weapons in their hands. And they’re all pointed at Petyr Ivanov.

I just stand there, trapped in a living nightmare, wondering how on earth I got here in the first place.

“We’re here at your invitation, Petyr,” Misha remarks casually. “If you choose to violate the respect due to me as your guest, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to violate the respect due to you as my host.”

“You won’t make it out of here alive,” Petyr snarls.

“Death is always around the corner for all of us. Closer for some than others, though.”

Petyr looks disgusted. “We’re done here. Get out of my building.”

Misha nods and his men put their guns away. It’s like a perfectly orchestrated dance. Everything happens in unison.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Petyr,” Misha says with a smirk. “Take care.”

“What the fuck was that?” I demand the moment we’re back in the Rolls.

Misha doesn’t seem at all flustered. In fact, he looks downright relaxed as we drive away from the gleaming bronze spire of Ivanov Industries.

“What do you mean?”

“That wasn’t a normal business meeting, Mish—Mr. Orlov,” I correct. “That… Well, I don’t know what the hell it was. But I know what it wasn’t. Who are you? Like, really?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“I guess I don’t believe you then,” I snap. “Is the business you run legitimate?”

He glances at me in mild surprise. “Some of it is.”

I fall silent for a moment, but the cogs in my head keep spinning. I check the rearview mirror and note that all the armored trucks are still tailing us.

“Do you always travel with this kind of security?”

“Not usually. But since we were meeting on Petyr’s territory, it was necessary.”

“You talk like…”

When I trail off, his gaze fixates on my face. “Yes?”

“You talk like you’re a mob boss or something,” I admit, hoping that he’ll correct me. I want him to laugh in my face, at the very least.