Fuck Irina, fuck her all to hell.
* * * * *
Phoning a man who had held my life in his hands for far too long didn’t come easy yet needs must. Lev had been pleasant on the call, a little miffed it had been so long since I’d last had any communication with him. To me, it was testament to how smoothly the organisation had run over the years, how well we’d lined his pockets and made him the many millions he had squirrelled away somewhere. He’d wanted a face, the Ischmov name, and boy, he’d got it all right, successfully too. Check in texts about summed up our contact, we had never called one another for social purposes, in fact, I tried not to call the man at all.
He’d been expecting me, of course, and said as much while inviting me up to his house for dinner with himself and Sergey. I’d accepted eagerly because an invitation was exactly what I’d been angling for. A face to face, where I could read the situation far easier than I could hear over the phone. Nothing major moved without his say so. Irina may have pulled my strings, but he pulled hers harder. If anyone thought the originals had died or gone off without another peep, they were downright mistaken. And perhaps that had been the problem, why we’d never scraped the surface of the businesses we were supposedly running.
I’d been to Lev’s house exactly once, and I grudgingly admitted the place was as beautiful as I remembered when I pulled to the front door. The man had favoured solitude years ago, hadn’t shown his face to anyone for longer. I suspected it had more to do with his relationship with Sergey, his right-hand man, than old age creeping in. He also liked the illusion of being in control and living out of sight fitted his mysterious persona, people still said Lev Rafikov and shuddered in fear when they did so.
Dinner was pleasant, the first half hour Lev used to familiarise himself with operations he hadn’t had a hand in for some time, while Sergey played host.
“We don’t own anything, Lev,” I stated, though he knew as much.
“It’s an organisation, most assets belong to the company, as it should be.”
“Well,” I sighed, wiping my mouth with a napkin once I’d finished my food, a very excellent carbonara with creamy sauce. “I hadn’t realised exactly how little was ours until we went through everything, and it feels like my guys worked for fifteen years for not very much of anything.”
“Their bank accounts don’t reflect the years of service?” he asked sharply, tipping his head. “Okay, out with it. We’re all caught up now, Yannick, and I know you didn’t accept my dinner invitation so we could recap the ins and outs of things I’m already aware of.”
Pushing my plate away, I steepled my hands in front of me, elbows on the table, and looked Lev in the eye so he had no doubt what I was saying to him. “The contract expired.”
“Yes, it has. I imagine my grand daughter is most bitter about it too.”
“She’ll survive,” I said, unconcerned about Irina for the moment. “Did you have a plan for after?”
He shrugged, glancing at Sergey. “It would depend entirely on you and what plans you have.”
Lev made it sound too easy, like the ball was in my court and I could decide how I wanted to move on. “Nothing concrete, not yet anyway, not until this discussion is over and done with. I need to know what options I have.” Suddenly, I was nervous. If Lev decided I was of no use to him anymore, if he understood exactly how desperate I wanted out of the organisation, I could very well have just eaten my last meal.
“You want a way out?”
“Yes.” There was little point bullshitting, he’d never been a stupid man in all the years I’d known him.
“I’d hoped that wasn’t the case,” he sighed, looking weary and every one of his ninety plus years. “I’m too old to be getting involved, certainly not the man to shape the future of whatever you leave behind. Irina will not be stepping up either, she’s had enough, no matter what she thinks.”
As displeasing as she might find Lev’s decision on that front, I agreed with the old man, and in the back of my mind I thought Irina might just be grateful once she got over the slap in the face Lev would deliver when he told her no. Her leadership qualities were non-existent and to demand loyalty with the threat of fear - something she tried often - was asking for trouble. Irina had a fantastic business head, but she wasn’t diplomatic in the slightest when she engaged with people. What Irina needed was someone to stand beside her, not to rule her or be obligated, perhaps then Lev would give her what he should have years ago - a seat at the head of the table.
“Irina isn’t my concern.”
Lev scrutinised me, then nodded. “After fifteen years she still couldn’t get you.”
“Was never hers to have, Lev. You know that better than anyone I suspect.”
He chuckled before taking a long sip from his wine glass. “You want guarantees, I presume?”
“I do.” Glancing down at the empty plate smeared with the remnants of sauce, I decided honesty was the best policy at this juncture. “I’d like to live my own life, I think I deserve that, don’t you? I did everything I was ever asked, much of it against my better judgement, without grumbling, and I did it exceptionally. I’ve had enough, I want my freedom.”
“Out, out?”
“All out, yes. A guarantee I’m safe to go about my business
