Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Viktor approaches me during the social hour, his face drawn and his eyes tired. Many things have been weighing on his mind in recent weeks, and I can only hope I have not contributed to his worries. The pakhan to our Vory brotherhood, Viktor is the boss and our leader. He is mature in age and harsh in character, but overall, I find him to be a fair man.
“Kol’ka,” he greets me. “How are you?”
“I am well. How is your family?”
He nods and takes a sip of his scotch. “Well enough.”
There is a strained moment of silence between us in which I know what will come next, but I do not show weakness or make excuses. During our last meeting, I was promoted to the rank of avtoritet in my father’s stead. An honor on any other occasion, but I am certain my father does not see it that way. Especially not after I cut off his ear at the order of Viktor.
“Have you heard from Sergei?” Viktor scans the room for the man in question.
“No, we have not spoken since our last encounter.”
Viktor’s brows knit together. “I don’t suppose the events that took place that day bred good will between father and son.”
“I understand why it had to be done.”
“I will not stand for such behavior in our organization. Sergei took too many liberties with his position, and he did not deserve the title he bore.”
“I agree.”
I’m not saying so for the sake of pleasing Viktor. Sergei has always had a head too large for his shoulders, and it gets the best of him often. Familial blood or not, my loyalties lie with the Vory. If Sergei cannot live with our rules, then he is undeserving of the stars we bear.
“Any word on the Rembrandt?” Viktor changes gears.
“No,” I admit reluctantly. Lately, my time has been preoccupied with other pursuits. Most notably, the acquiring of Tanaka Valentini. The time and effort I have spent to bring her into my possession have become a distraction, and my Vory duties have fallen by the wayside.
I could describe what I do in many ways, but the truth is the most simplistic. I am a thief at heart with art being my specialty. I steal it, and I create it, and sometimes, I even destroy it. It is a job unique to someone with my talents. Gone are the days of gangsters shaking down local businesses to earn a nickel or two. In the modern world, times have changed and so have our practices. Priceless art has a large collateral value in criminal organizations, and it is often used for bartering. However, with Viktor’s blessing, I’ve chosen less primitive methods of utilizing the items in our possession to turn a profit.
Typically, the pieces I deal with are opportunistic ventures, but on occasion, I don’t mind a challenge. At some point, Viktor determined a stolen Rembrandt would make a lovely gift to his eldest daughter, should I be able to track it down, but he’s recently become more persistent.
“I don’t suppose she would settle for a forgery?”
Viktor smiles. “Don’t be daft, Kol’ka. She’d never know the difference, but I would.”
“Indeed,” I answer. I can respect that he only wants her to have the best. Something rare and priceless. And the hunt has always thrilled me. Finding something rumored to be lost for so many years gives me an adrenaline rush like no other. My travels have been extensive, and my recoveries worthy of a museum in my honor. But my position requires me to remain humble, no matter how big the score. Our clients value anonymity, and they would not pay such steep prices for something anyone could own. The stupidly wealthy are just another form of crooks, and they get off on the thought of owning stolen artwork, too. To be in possession of something so valuable they can only share it with their most intimate and trusted friends is a thrill that expensive trips or flashy cars can’t replicate.
Viktor glances at his watch. The meeting is due to start in several minutes, but he is not finished with this conversation, and already I am weary of what comes next.
“I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I have some questions for you,” he says.
“Of course.”
“Tell me about the girl.”
I drain the rest of my vodka and lime and dispose of the empty glass on the table. I have only been avtoritet for several weeks. What I did was ballsy, and some might say stupid, but in my eyes, I have earned my title and the power that comes with it. This was not an impulse decision. I have been waiting my whole life for answers.
“She is the daughter of Manuel Valentini.”
“I’m aware,” Viktor muses. “He has requested several meetings with me already. What I want to know is why she is with you.”