Page 53 of Hate to Love You
My hand is immediately on my gun, my eyes scanning instinctively for the source.
“Somebody help him! Please!”
A woman by the bar is pointing at the floor, her face painted with horror. However, with so many people on the dance floor, it’s impossible to see what she’s looking at.
…But then I get my answer.
“Boss! It’s Igor!” Oleg shouts over the music, grabbing my arm. “He went down!”
“What the fuck do you mean he went down? Did the idiot fall off a bar stool or something?”
“I don’t know, Boss, I only see him on the floor!”
We do our best to shove our way past through the crowd, but between the oblivious dancers, and the panicked patrons at the bar trying to back away we aren’t getting anywhere quickly.
Fuck this.
I immediately just start shoving people out of my way, knocking a few of them over in the process but successfully clearing my way to the bar where I find Igor on the ground with his eyes rolled back into his head.
“Fucking hell, is he drunk?” I ask, rolling my eyes, wondering how the fuck my sister copes with such a shitshow for a husband.
“No, Boss,” Boris says, pulling his finger from Igor’s neck. “He’s dead.”
It’s nearly three in the morning when I collapse on to the couch at my condo, a glass of vodka in my hand.
Igor Ivanov, one of my most reliable enforcers, and reluctant brother-in-law, is dead.
Neither the imbecile paramedics or the limp-dick doctor at the hospital could give me a straight answer as to the cause, only saying that it appeared as if the asshole just straight up had a heart attack.
The entire family arrived, and Polina was a nightmare. Strangely inconsolable, she kept screaming that this was a hit, and between her hysterical weeping, she demanded I press the coroner for his report, and look into this further.
I have to admit her response is a bit surprising, considering Igor had quite a temper, and she knew as well as anyone else that he was constantly dipping his wick in anything with tits.
But she’s not wrong, and something about that doesn’t sit right. Igor might have drank like a fish, and snorted coke like a washed-up rockstar, but he was also oddly paranoid about his health and regular gym rat. He was too young to have just keeled over like that.
I don’t know how or why, or even who did it.
All I know is that this wasn’t an accident.
“I’m telling you, Roman,” Ana says as the two of us take the elevator upstairs. “Something about this is…odd.”
“Well yeah, Ana,” I snort sarcastically. “Igor and Stetson are dead.”
“No, I’m talking about Polina,” Ana says, stopping and running her hand through her hair. “But we can talk about it later, after your interview.”
“Her husband just died,” I say, scrunching up my face as I continue down the hall. “What, do you expect her to be giddy about it?”
Suddenly I stop, turning to face her as her words sink in.
“What do you mean after my interview?”
“Roman,” she snorts, crossing her arms across her body. “I told you about this last night.”
“I was drunk last night!” I snort. “Ana, I don’t have time for an interview today.”
“You told me to find you a new assistant, remember? You told me to post the job.”
“That was five days ago!”