Viktoriya needed to sober the fuck up and fast. She’d left Vorya and hadn’t bothered to go home to grab one of her many sobriety inducing tonics. Two years of medical school might not have been a lot but it was enough to teach her everything she needed to know for her family’s line of work, plus a few other perks on the side. Instead, she made her way to an out of the way coffee shop, fingers stabbing at her cell as she summoned a loyalist. When she arrived he was already waiting at a back corner table. He’d drawn one of the short sticks that night and hadn’t attended the party. She needed someone sharp, not bogged down by drugs and the like.
Sveta was missing, that much was clear. Whoever the fuck had decided upon the suicide mission wanted to die in the most painful way possible apparently. They had to know the Russians wouldn’t let something like this slide. Svetlana Vorshevsky? Who were they fucking kidding? Viktoriya didn’t bother to greet Stas properly before spitting out demands.
“Find me information. Gossip, rumors, drunken declarations, I don’t care.” She inhaled through her nose, pushing down a wave from earlier vodka shots. “Pull every string.” The loyalist looked slightly confused. It wounded her pride more than anything to say the next sentence. “Sveta is gone.” If looks could kill...
Stas moved to leave but stopped when he felt her fingers snake around his wrist. Her nails dug into his skin ever so slightly, a reminder, though he hardly needed one. “Only to me.” The news would soon trickle out of Vorya but until then she wanted the Russians who had noticed, to have the upper hand.
The blond watched her compatriot’s back as he turned the corner, eyes silted like that of a snake. A figure slid into her view, blocking out the street. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Coffee, black.”
