Tigran looks very unhappy as I adjust my black button-down shirt. “You look like a fucking waiter.”
“That’s the point.”
“Except waiters aren’t six-foot-four and covered in tattoos. You realize half the people in there are going to recognize you, right?”
“I have a plan.” I take out a black surgical mask and pull it over my face. “How’s this?”
Tigran rubs his temples. “That’s… barely better.”
“All I need to do is get inside and wait. I’m going to stroll straight into Aunt Sona’s fucking party.”
“It’s a silent auction, not a party.”
“Does that matter?”
“Absolutely, yes. There isn’t going to be a lot of loud music or flashing lights to hide behind. This is a bad idea.”
I turn away from the mirror. Tigran’s right, but I put a time limit on how long I have to solve this fucking civil war issue. If I’m going to get it done in less than a month, I have to take some risks.
“Just stay nearby in case it goes bad.”
“It’ll go bad.” He checks his weapon to make sure it’s loaded. “But I’ll be around. Scream if you need me.”
I pause to lightly pat his cheek. He glares at me. “You’re a good brother.”
“Better than you deserve.”
I can’t argue with that.
The hotel is a beautiful early twentieth-century building right in the heart of Baltimore with great views of the harbor. The place is always crowded and nobody looks at me twice as I walk out from one of the more secluded bathrooms and head down the hall toward the event space.
Aunt Sona spared no expense and invited half of the city’s elite to her little charity gathering. But I doubt it was out of some sense of civic duty. She doesn’t give a shit about childhood education or whatever the auction’s benefiting. These people are here because she wants them on her side as this war begins to heat up.
I’d do the same thing in her place.
Hell, I am doing the same thing. Only I’ve been making smaller, more individual visits to ensure nobody defects against me.
I manage to reach the ballroom without anyone saying anything. I walk around the edge of the room, almost invisible. The people here don’t bother looking twice at staff. To them, any man or woman in cheap black slacks and a crappy black button-down is less than human. We’re basically drink-and-food dispensing robots in their minds.
Which is good. I take the opportunity to lurk in a far corner. Tables are set up where the dance floor would normally be and a ton of stuff is stacked in neat little rows. High-end jewelry and handbags, watches and bottles of wine, even a few paintings and sculptures, tickets to baseball and football games, stuff like that. Shit rich people would happily overpay for.
And chittering among the city’s elite are my aunt and uncle. Sona and Garen are positively beaming as they shake hands and charm their way into every conversation. Garen’s good like that, I have to admit. He’s got a disarming smile and a fantastic laugh. I can hear him from across the room roaring about something and all the men around him are beaming too. Sona’s a little tougher—no matter how hard she tries, the woman’s got a face like a pissed-off Doberman—but she can smile and kiss cheeks and write fat checks with the best of them.
“Hey, you got a job?” A balding man in a caterer’s outfit frowns at me as he’s walking past. His tray’s piled with empty plates. “Take these to the back if you’re not busy. Some fucking prick pissed all over the floor in the bathroom.”
“I was doing, uh—”
“You were staring at the rich people. Newsflash, none of the old ladies in here are going to suck your dick. Now get to fucking work.”
I like this guy. I’m grinning behind my mask as I take the tray. If he knew who I was, he’d never talk to me like that. But hell, good for him. Ballsy fuck. I’ll kill him some other time.
I carry the dirty plates to the back. The dishwashers are shouting at each other. I like the bustle and noise back here. I like the laughter and the little radio playing Spanish music in the corner. Some dish boy gives me a little smirk and asks if I got any fat tips yet, and I’d better share if I do.
“Just a gummy old lady offering to take out her dentures for a little private time,” I answer, which gets the whole place roaring.
Guess they like a little blowjob humor.
Maybe I won’t kill that asshole manager after all, since I stole his joke.
I’m starting to think this is going to work. I sneak back out of the kitchen but only make it a few feet before I spot three men I know very well. It’s the chief of the Baltimore Police Department, and he’s flanked by his top two cronies. I spin on my heel, heart racing. If they spot me—
“Hey, excuse me? Yeah, you, hold on a second.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Yes, sir?” I don’t turn around.
“We need napkins. You got some napkins?”
“Sure, boss.” I lower my voice and make it gruffer. “Hold a sec.”
I speed back into the kitchen and get the dishwasher to bring the cops their stuff. He agrees, but only if he gets a turn with my new girlfriend.
I’m fucking sweating when I step out the side door and into the back hallway near the bathrooms. The catering manager wheels a mop past, cursing silently to himself, but he doesn’t say anything to me. The hall’s empty though, and I start toward the main room again, but I stop in my tracks.
Aunt Sona’s walking toward me.
She’s staring at her phone, furiously typing to someone, and doesn’t look up until she nearly walks right into my chest. Some sharp retort’s on her tongue, but it slowly dies as I pull down my mask and smile.
“Hello, Auntie,” I say.
Her jaw drops. “Arsen? What the fuck are you doing here?” Then she staggers back. “If you try anything—”
“I’m not here to kill you, Sona. I just want to talk.”
“You snuck into my auction to talk? You could’ve reached out.”
“I tried that. You sent my messenger’s head back in a box.”
Her lips press together. Her body’s tense, and she glances over her shoulder. But she doesn’t call out or try to run. “You fucked us. You know that, right? You married some nobody Russian slut and ruined all our plans. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t have you killed.”
“If you kill me, Tigran will take over, and you know my brother will burn this city down to get revenge. Just listen, Sona.”
Her jaw works. But she crosses her arms. “Talk fast.”
“My wife is pregnant. That’s why I married her. I did the right thing for my family, but I know I screwed you and Uncle Garen in the process. That’s why I’m offering generous concessions. More territory, a bigger stake in the imports—”
“We can get all that by destroying you.”
“But that’ll cost you too much, and you know it, assuming you can even pull it off, which is far from guaranteed. I always thought you were the clever one.”
She comes closer to me. Her lips tug into a smile. “The fact is, your uncle and I can never bow to you while that Russian bitch is your wife. If you want to make things right, divorce her. That’ll make all this go away.”
It doesn’t make sense. Her hatred of Lena seems bizarre. It’s frustrating that I went against our deal—but that’s on me, not on my wife. “If you talk about her that way again, I’ll strangle you. That would solve most of my problems.”
“Only half of them. And like your brother, Garen’s vindictive.”
“I could take my chances. You’re the brains. But I don’t want that to happen. We can solve this now and both our sides of the family can reunite. Everyone will profit. We’ll be stronger.”
“You’ll still be married to the Russian bitch. It isn’t going to happen.” She comes even closer, her voice lowering. It forces me to lean toward her. We’re alone and standing barely six inches apart now. “Here’s the thing about war. Sometimes, you only win if you do something risky.”
Before I know what’s happening, Sona lets out a snarl and rips something from her little clutch purse. I stare in shock as she lunges at me, closing the minuscule distance, a knife jabbing at my heart.
I jerk to the side. Sona’s smaller and older than me, and she’s not that fast. But there wasn’t much ground to cover. The blade misses my heart and sinks into my shoulder, dragging across bone. Agony blooms and I grunt at a sudden burst of pain.
If I were a little slower, if she were a little better—
I’d be dead right now.
All because I wanted to talk.
Fucking Tigran’s going to have a field day with this.
“Die, you fucking—” She rips the knife out and rears back to stab me again. This time, I slam a fist into her face, cracking her jaw back, and kick her hard in the stomach. She topples away and hits the ground, the knife falling from her fingers as she sprawls in a tangle of her fancy fucking dress on the floor.
“What the hell is going on?”
I turn to find the bald manager. He looks from Sona to me, and his eyes go wide. Blood’s seeping down my arm and dripping to the floor.
“I’ll fucking kill you next time,” Sona yells as I shove past the man. I snap my mask back into place. I’m bleeding all over my shirt and pants as I hurry back through the kitchen.
This was an absolute massive fuck-up.
I got stabbed by my goddamn sixty-year-old aunt.
Fuck, I’m going to be hearing this one until the day I die. Which might be soon, considering how badly I’m bleeding.
“You got my tips yet?” the dish boy shouts as I pass him. I pause to toss a few dollars from my back pocket in his direction.
“When they come looking for me, tell them I went out the other way.”
He stares at the wad of cash. “You fucking for real?” His eyes go wide when he realizes how much is there. “Yeah, okay, sure, you crazy bastard. Hey, are you bleeding?”
I keep going. Maybe the kid lies and buys me some time and maybe he doesn’t. Either way, I need to hurry. Hotel security’s going to be looking for me in a couple of minutes.
Last thing I need is to get arrested by some cheap fucking rent-a-cops.
I grab a towel on my way back out and jam it against my wound. It pulses with each step and I’m gritting my teeth as I speed walk back through the hotel. God, this is mortifying. I’m tempted to go back and stomp on Aunt Sona’s fucking skull.
But getting caught and spending my life in jail would be counterproductive.
Tigran’s sitting in the lobby bar looking bored and drinking a beer when I approach.
“Time to go.”
He turns to me and lets out a sigh. “What happened?”
“Sona stabbed me.”
“She… fucking what?” His eyebrows raise, and he’s trying not to grin.
“Come on, you asshole.” I grind my jaw and storm away, chased by his amused laughter. I’m more embarrassed than goddamn injured. Never going to live this down. “I need to get fucking stitches.”
