8
Would a murderer really have done that? I think to myself triumphantly. Check and mate, Anders.
A part of me registers that I'm being naïve. Registers it loud and insistently, actually, like a red alarm screaming IDIOT-IDIOT-IDIOT!
But a larger part of me wants to prove the staff wrong. For no other reason than to assure myself that I'm not just a terrible judge of character who picks all the wrong men.
My phone is lying on a shelf next to the jacket. I don't even bother checking the screen as I slip it into the right pocket of the slip dress. Then I take the jacket, fold it over my arm, and turn to find Cory watching me. His eyes land pointedly on Anton's jacket.
"Goodnight, everyone," I say, pointedly ignoring everyone's gaze as I walk past them towards the exit.
"Where are you going?" Molly asks. "We haven't even docked yet."
"Just need to get some fresh air," I tell her.
But the moment I step out of the kitchen, I ignore the steps that will lead me up to the deck. Instead, I turn the corner and head towards the room that Anton led me to when we first boarded. My wedding dress is still there. I'm not sure I want it, but I'm also reluctant to just leave it behind.
As much as I want to start clean, some things are hard to part with.
I'm lingering outside the door, about to step inside, when I hear the creak of a door not far off.
Instinct pushes me into the room to avoid whoever is heading my way. I close the door with a soft click, just as footsteps thump past in the hallway. When they're almost gone, I open the door a tiny crack and stick my head out.
I see a shadow disappear up the stairs.
Then I hear voices.
"We've gone through the entire night without talking about any heavy weaponry," Anton says.
I find myself creeping forward despite my better judgment. I'm no lawyer, but "heavy weaponry" sounds like it might not be legal, strictly speaking.
"We're not selling anymore," replies someone I don't know.
"Is that so?" Anton says in a dangerous growl. "That's not what my reports say."
"Reports…?"
"Benyamin, we've been doing business now for how many years?"
"A long time, Mr. Stepanov."
"That's right. And we've had a good working relationship, wouldn't you say?"
"Of course, Mr. Stepanov."
"So why do I get the feeling that something has changed?"
"N-nothing has changed." But even I can tell that he answered much too fast and much too shakily.
"Your son's face says differently," Anton remarks. The threat in his voice is undeniable.
"My son is… young. He is learning. He doesn't know how to conduct himself at these meetings yet."
I turn to the left slightly, putting myself just behind the ajar door. Enough so that I can peek into the room.
The first person I see is Anton. He's facing the door, taking up most of the sofa he's sprawled across. Opposite him are three swarthy men, all of whom look small and hunched in comparison. Another man stands to Anton's right, but his face is out of my line of vision.
Even from where I'm standing, I can feel the tension in the room.
"I don't know why you're letting him call the shots," one of the trio whines. His voice is not quite as deep as the others. "I don't know why you're letting him talk to you like this."
"Quiet, boy."
"No! The whole fucking night, he's been talking down to you."
"Your son has a lot to learn indeed," Anton observes. He looks vicious. I shudder involuntarily.
The man in the middle nods, and even from behind, I can sense his fear radiating from him. "He does."
"Tell me, boy," Anton says. "What is it about me that you disapprove of?"
The boy in question turns to Anton. When he speaks, it's with a nasty undercurrent of disrespect. "Everything. Our other business partners know how to treat us with respect."
"Respect is earned."
It sounds like Anton is leading the boy right into a trap, but he's too incensed to see that. "Respect is owed. Rodion Ivanov knows how to treat us."
The room goes quiet and I know immediately that the boy has made some terrible mistake. I shudder again, and this time, it doesn't stop. Keeps me in its icy claws, shaking me everywhere.
Something bad is about to happen. I can feel it.
"The boy, he doesn't know what he's—"
Anton holds up his hand. The effect is instant—a hush falls over the room.
"You came here claiming that you no longer had anything to do with Rodion Ivanov," he snarls.
"That… that's true."
Anton turns to the boy. "Is it true? Don't lie to me, boy."
The boy doesn't say anything for a long time. He might as well have fallen to his knees and confessed through tears. I don't know the first thing about what's happening and even I can tell that what he said is true.
Anton nods once and gets to his feet. Everyone else follows suit.
"You're playing both sides, Benyamin."
"That's not—"
"It's a dangerous game."
"I'm not—"
The phone lying on the table between the two sofas rings, interrupting him. Anton answers wordlessly. Ten seconds later, he hangs up without saying a word.
"My men just checked the guns you sold us," he says. "Pity for you all."
The three men stiffen, but they're as good as dead.
"Anton, wait!"
Anton's eyes narrow as he raises his arm. I feel a spike of terror rattle through my body. The gun in his hand is unmistakable, but my brain is still trying to make sense of it all.
Maybe it's fake. Maybe it's a taser. Maybe it's a threat, just a scare tactic. There has to be another explanation.
But then he pulls the trigger.
There is no sound, but the man in the middle drops to the floor. Blood puddles around his body.
And God help me…
I scream.
ANTON
That scream.
Fuck.
I set the gun down and watch with my teeth clenched so hard they might shatter as Lev drags Jessa into the room.
Why the fuck did it have to be her eavesdropping? It could've been any of the dozen other busybodies on board snooping at my door. They would've been so easy to kill and dump overboard.
But her?
It will pain me to do what I must.
Yulian appears at the door looking flustered. "What happened?"
"This is why you don't step out of important meetings for stupid phone calls," I growl. "Clear everyone out."
The Meninsky boy is staring down at his dead father as though he can't quite compute what he's seeing. Omer is the only one who seems to have his bearings intact. He doesn't spare a glance for his murdered boss. He's looking at the man in charge.
He's looking at me.
"Anton, listen, I had no idea the weapons were tampered with," he begins.
"Did the boy?" I ask.
Omer glances towards the shell-shocked kid. "I don't know."
My eyes flit to Jessa. Lev has a hand clamped on her arm like cuffs. From the look of her pale, stricken face, he might be the only thing keeping her standing.
Goddammit. As much as I need to sort this shit out, I need to deal with Jessa first.
"Clear the room," I order both Lev and Yulian again. "I'll deal with these traitors later."
Everyone starts to stomp towards the door, but then I call out, "Wait."
They all freeze and look at me. I jut my chin at Jessa. "She stays."
All of us hear the sound of her swallowing hard past the knot in her throat.
Lev drops Jessa's arm and moves towards the Meninsky boy, Moshe. His eyes glaze over, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He doesn't fight. Neither does Omer.
"Should I send in the team?" Yulian asks, glancing towards Benyamin's body.
I nod and he disappears, leaving Jessa and me alone.
She's clinging to the jacket I gave her earlier in the night like it's a life raft. Her skin is bleached white with fear and her hands are shaking badly, but I can't help admiring the clench of her jaw. She's steeling herself up for whatever comes next.
Brave little kotyonok. What a shame that I can't keep her.
"You were looking for me," I say. It's not really a question. "Did you find what you were after?"
She opens her mouth, but her voice comes out in a garbled squeak. She looks down at her feet in embarrassment and takes a breath that doesn't quite seem to do the trick.
"I… I was trying to return your jacket," she mumbles.
I extend my hand and she flinches back. Gently, I pluck the coat from her grasp. "How thoughtful of you."
Her eyes flicker past me to the man on the floor, which makes my upper lip curl in anger.