Page 9 of Maxim

“What is he planning to do?”

“He wants her gone.”

I don’t know this woman, so the thought of the mayor doing anything to her shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Killing innocents never sits well with me. Sure, people get hurt in the crossfire sometimes; it’s inevitable. But to willfully murder someone for doing their job is wrong. I may be a Bratva pakhan, but I’m not a complete monster.

Sasha fills me in on some more of our business dealings and then the call ends.

Artem drives me back to the apartment I use when I stay in the city. It’s comfortable - luxurious even - but it’s not home. I shed my jacket, pour a glass of vodka, and then step out onto the terrace.

The city spreads out below like a blanket of stars. The night is warm and humid. Sounds drift up from the street far below: music and laughter. I idly wonder if she’s still in the club, dancing.

I know she saw me.

Did she remember?

Part of me hopes not. It would be a bad idea to entertain any notion of pursuing her right now. I have too many problems to deal with, and the last thing I need is a woman stealing my focus, even if she’s the most attractive woman I’ve met in a long time.

This problem with the mayor is dragging on too long. He needs to approve the permits. I can’t afford to be caught up in whatever shit storm is in his future.

Although I have many friends in high places and I’m not afraid of a journalist investigating the mayor’s many crimes, I’d rather not have too much light shed on my business dealings. The Bratva operates best in the shadows.

Once again my mind spins back to the woman from earlier, despite my best intentions. I haven’t forgotten her tears or how she looked up at me that night, eyes cloudy with pain.

The guy she was with left the city a few hours after I beat the shit out of him.

My threat obviously sank in.

Chapter seven

Nat

“Thanks,” I say to the barista as she passes me my double espresso latte with a shot of vanilla. Our office has a coffee machine in the break room but I needed some fresh air and some time away from my computer. Nothing I’ve written this morning makes any sense.

Most likely because I barely got any sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured a faceless man lurking in the shadows. Even knowing my apartment was triple-locked didn’t help.

In the end, I shoved a chair under my bedroom door handle and stuck a knife under my pillow. I figured if anyone was going to break in, I’d hear them, which would allow me to stab them to death.

Not the world’s best plan, but it was good enough to let me get some sleep.

All of three hours.

And now I’m feeling it.

Double espresso notwithstanding.

I take my coffee and chocolate brownie - because sugar and caffeine are the only way I can cope today - and grab a seat in the corner.

The cafe is busy, buzzing with freelancers taking advantage of the good coffee and free power outlets. I sometimes bring my laptop in here when I want a change of scenery. Not today though. Today, I have my paper notebook, where I scribble ideas and thoughts.

Most other journalists I know use the Notes app on their phones. I get why they do, but I like making notes the old-school way. There’s something satisfying about putting pen to paper.

I scribble some notes as I sip my coffee, little reminders of people I want to talk to, leads to pursue, and angles worth exploring. While the story on the mayor is my main focus right now, I have other stories I’m working on. My editor expects us all to produce a steady stream of content for the paper’s digital platform, and I’m no exception.

Just as I swallow the last bite of my chocolate brownie, my phone pings with a message alert.

Unknown: 6 PM City Park. Bandstand - Margana.

My pulse picks up and I quickly tap out a reply.