The Rule of Luck (6 page)

“None taken. However, allow me to point out that once you made Mr. Pennyworth's acquaintance, you'd already started your descent.”

“One hour,” I said instead.

“Alright. One hour.”

As if on cue, the flight-limo descended much like a helicon—hovering and landing with a gentle thud as it connected with the ground. I risked a look through the tinted window. We'd landed curbside in a premium parking space. Not that the pilot had much traffic to fight given the widespread use of the Y-Line. I suspected Petriv never had problems getting anything he wanted, parking included.

I reached for the door and found that it slid open before I touched it. A blond chain-breaker stood there, along with another man I hadn't seen before, made from the same mold except with sandy brown hair. Petriv slid out first, brushing by in a wave of musky cologne that went straight to my head. I fought not to gasp at how good he smelled. After the smart-matter incident with Mr. Pennyworth, I knew how easily people could be manipulated with scent.

Petriv murmured something in Russian to the chain-breaker, then held out a hand to me. “Come along, Ms. Sevigny. If we only have an hour, let's make it count.”

I wanted to slap aside his hand, but I'd look childish. Instead, I smiled and placed my hand in his. He pulled me to my feet with unsurprising strength. Worse, I couldn't stop myself from reacting to him, regardless of how loaded he might be with t-mods or what his MH Factor was. I knew what was happening. I'd lived this before, five years ago, driven by what I believed was love and that feeling in my gut. Dante had been good-looking, charming, and had swept me off my feet. He'd also had a wide enough rebellious streak that even my unconventional family raised an eyebrow. Alexei Petriv was all that and more, amped up to a level I couldn't even begin to calculate. I hadn't resisted Dante then and didn't know if I could resist Petriv now, even with Roy in my life. But at least I could be smarter about it—maybe.

“This way, Ms. Sevigny,” he said, tucking my arm in his.

The bodyguards fell into step around us, my boots with their metal heels making the only sounds on the gray concrete. I felt overwhelmed, and the Jack Daniels I'd consumed wasn't helping. I concentrated on my need to pee. That, at least, was real.

The Kremlin loomed ahead, a replica of the famous building that existed centuries ago in the former heart of Russia. Its colorful spires were a glorious finishing touch. The buildings around it emulated a similar style, copying its onion-shaped domes and multicolored spires. Street signs flashed in both English and Russian, pulsing in a hypnotic rhythm, following some internal music only the machines could hear. I caught whiffs of delicious odors I couldn't identify. Some made my stomach rumble, and at least one left me lightheaded. People wove along the sidewalks swathed in colorful, lightweight suits and fabrics in a curious fusion of Kenyan and Russian. Everything had an ornate, overdone feeling, like I'd stepped into a Venusian inspired opium den. Russians, if nothing else, transformed whatever they could into a reminder of former Mother Russia—with love and reverence.

While I was considering how comfortable I was with Petriv's world, I heard a muted explosion a few blocks away, followed by shouts and alarms. One of the chain-breakers spoke a flurry of Russian and Petriv nodded. His hand went to the small of my back, sweeping me into the restaurant. I saw little more than faux redwood paneling and elaborate golden scrolled handles as the doors slid open at our approach.

“Worried it was meant for you?” I couldn't help asking.

That earned me a grin. “It doesn't hurt to be cautious.”

Once inside, we stood in a regal antechamber. The floor was rich red marble shot through with veins of white, and the walls were covered with large portraits and mirrors framed in gold leaf. Gaudy as all hell, yet it somehow managed to look elegant. My mouth started to water. Maybe lunch wouldn't be so bad.

A waiter approached. I was the grubbiest person in the room. He bowed, then launched into a stream of Russian. Petriv answered and the waiter bowed again.

“Ah, forgive me,” he said in English. “I didn't realize.”

I shot a look at Petriv from the corner of my eye. He'd asked the waiter to speak English for my benefit. Part of me couldn't help but be a little pleased. The other part wanted to berate myself for enjoying the feeling.

“Sir. Madam. The Kremlin is pleased to welcome you,” the waiter continued, a slight trace of Russian accent in his words. Then, it was all Petriv. “Sir, it's always a pleasure to see you when you're in Nairobi. Your usual table is waiting for you.”

“Excellent.” To me, “I always feel like I've had a little piece of home when I'm here.”

“I need to hit the ladies' room,” I reminded him before I could be swirled away into this ridiculous fantasy.

The young waiter smiled and nodded. “Follow me,” he said.

I cocked an eyebrow at Petriv. “You don't think I'll bolt?”

“I think you'll consider it, but I'm holding cards far too interesting.”

I shook my head. Damn it. He was right. I was ushered down a hallway and to the door at the end. Once inside the bathroom, I let out the breath I'd been holding. Finally, a second to myself! I locked the door, took care of my immediate business, and proceeded to wash my hands under the gold-plated waterspout. I stopped short at seeing my reflection in the gold-leaf mirror. Saying I looked like shit would have been kind. No makeup. Matted hair no brush could save. Not even rats would feel comfortable spending a night on my head.

I scrubbed at my face, brushed my hair as best I could, and rinsed out my mouth. I had lipstick and powder in my purse so I slapped both on liberally even as I chastised myself. Once again Petriv was seeing me at a complete disadvantage. I'd always prided myself on at least being able to
look
like I was ready for any situation with the right outfit and the right makeup. Even wearing the right color was often enough to move things in my favor. (The intuitive kicks I got in my gut didn't hurt either.) While some people could use tech to make temporary modifications to their appearance for things like eye color, skin tone, or even hair texture, I had to compensate the old-fashioned way. It was hard work, but I was good at it thanks to years of practice. Except now;
damn it
, I couldn't even do that right! I groaned aloud. Gods, what did it even matter? I wasn't supposed to care what Petriv thought about how I looked.

I unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall. The blond chain-breaker was waiting. Despite his bravado, Petriv hadn't trusted me after all. I almost laughed out loud, then caught myself. I shouldn't be getting such a charge from this. Yet there I was, following my familiar patterns—allowing my gut to lead the way and letting what felt right dictate the situation. It felt right to go with Petriv. Forget Roy, my friends, my business partner, even my mother. Right now, being with Petriv was what I most wanted to do. Sometimes, I hated this side of myself, where logic fell by the wayside. I didn't want to be that person; she got me into trouble. And yet…I could feel myself getting lost in the moment in a way I hadn't in ages. Being with Alexei Petriv was scary and exhilarating. Everything else in my life felt drab and colorless, and even though I knew it was a horrible thing to do, I couldn't help but measure Roy against Petriv. How could I not? And Roy, gods help me, was starting to pale in comparison.

I gestured extravagantly down the hall. “Lead the way.”

The move seemed to irritate the giant, and with a jerk of his head indicating I should follow, he marched us back the way we'd come. A few turns later I found myself in a room at the end of a long hallway. I noticed other doors—all closed—and heard muted voices, but hadn't seen other patrons. Presumably they wanted privacy too.

Petriv and the waiter were there, making idle chitchat in Russian about gods knew what. When they saw me enter, the waiter bowed and backed away.

“I'll return in a few moments,” he said, then ducked out through the set of sliding doors, which closed behind him.

Unsurprised, I found Petriv and I were the only ones in a small dining room that was about the size of my bedroom. There was an intimate table set for two with wall-mounted candles providing soft lighting. There were no windows and no door other than the one through which our waiter disappeared.

“Well, this is cozy,” I said, voice throatier than I'd intended.

He smiled at me and somehow managed to look innocent and wolfish at the same time. “They know what I like,” he said, and stepped to the sideboard to pour a drink. The liquid was clear. Given all I'd seen so far, I guessed vodka over water. “Something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I'm still feeling the whiskey. No need to add to the mix.”

“Very prudent.” Somehow he made it seem like a tease. That rankled.

“Look, this is all fascinating, but let's get to the point. If I can do whatever it is you want, I will. And if you see fit to do something about my blacklisted status, even better.”

He walked toward me, stopping a few steps away. I held my ground, refusing to back down. “Not everything needs to be a personal challenge, Ms. Sevigny. There's no reason why we shouldn't enjoy ourselves while we work.”

I swallowed, nerves kicking in. “I think it's best if we just stick to why I'm here.”

Another step closer. “Is it always business with you?”

The heat was back in my belly and nudging lower. I wanted to slap myself, if only to snap out of it. I had a boyfriend. Roy. Crime lords were not part of my world, no matter how good-looking, rich, or powerful they might be.

“Honestly, I'd like to forget the last few days ever happened,” I said. He was so close. I could see a smooth expanse of chest through the open-collared shirt he wore, and the blue-black edges of a tattoo. It would be so easy to reach out and see for myself. Dangerous territory, and again I noted how wonderful he smelled. The thought brought me up short as I wondered how badly I stank thanks to my time in the One Gov holding cell. Considering my own disgustingness broke the spell, and I could think again. I glared up at him. “So are we going to eat, or what?”

“Of course.” He stepped away, pulled out a chair, and motioned for me to sit. “By all means, let's begin. As you say, I only have one hour to convince you.”

My stomach had been growling from the moment we'd entered the restaurant. Petriv arched an eyebrow as he took the chair across from me. He moved with a fluid grace I could probably achieve if I had a hundred years of practice.

“For the record, when I decide to seduce you, you'll know. I won't need all this to get the job done.”

I paused in mid-reach for my water glass. “I didn't say this was a seduction.”

“You were thinking it.”

We were interrupted by our waiter bearing a tray with a soup tureen in its center. Wordlessly, he served up two bowls and set down a basket of warm rye bread. After refilling my water, he left.

“Listen, Mr. Petriv—”

“Please, call me Alexei.”

I tested it out in my head.
Alexei
. He wanted to make this personal. How personal? Immediately, my imagination assaulted me with a series of hot, intimate thoughts about him that I had absolutely no business having. Hell no. I was not getting into this. “Mr. Petriv, let's keep this professional. I suspect you came to my shop because you wanted to test me and see if I could handle whatever task you had in mind. I assume I passed, or we wouldn't be here. I'd appreciate if you'd tell me what's going on, or I'm going to walk out that door and not look back. I don't like when people play games with me. After the last few days, I'm at the end of a very short rope.”

He raised his glass to me in a silent toast, then took a sip before he spoke. “You may not be aware of this, but the contract for the Earth-to-Mars transit link has expired with the current carrier, and it will be re-awarded within the next few weeks. At present, two candidates remain in the running. The current carrier, TransWorld, is one. My organization is backing the other.”

“So you want to get a foothold on Mars and Venus and spread the Consortium's influence?” I couldn't believe I'd just asked a crime lord to tell me his agenda, but I was in too far to stop now.

“I'm not certain what you've heard about me, Ms. Sevigny, but business is business. I acquire. I consolidate. I solve problems.”

“That's not what the CN-net says.”

His expression hardened and I stilled. I had the feeling whatever he said next would be absolutely deadly.

“The ultimate goals of the Tsarist Consortium are not for you to understand, nor are they up for discussion. I need help. You have the means to give it. Don't judge what you know nothing about. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes. I'm sorry I implied otherwise.” I refused to let him see how he'd shaken me. Instead, I ate my soup with all the unconcern I could muster. Better to concentrate on that than his irritation. The first taste just about killed me, the bitterness was so intense. “What is this?”

Bland face from Petriv. “It's called
shchi
. It's a Russian soup, typically served as the first course to any meal. Very good, although it may be an acquired taste.”

I peered into the bowl, spooning its contents. “It tastes like cabbage.” I hated cabbage.

“That and
smetana
—a heavy sour cream. The Kremlin's
shchi
is the best I've tasted.”

“I think you and I have different ideas about what constitutes good food.” I stirred the soup, dubious. Good thing I hadn't wasted precious calories on it. I looked back up at Petriv. His bland face looked like it could potentially become a scowl. Wonderful. First I insulted him personally, then I insulted his culture's food. Nothing for it but to keep plunging forward. “So, the Consortium wants the contract.”