Everything was clean, gleaming and shining in the way Maxim demanded.
I glanced over, saw a few paint cans and other remnants of the recent construction haphazardly shoved in one corner.
So he’d come here with short notice, and there had been a rush to get the place in order, which wasn’t uncommon.
“Your room is on the fifth floor,” Adrian said.
“Can I take the stairs?” I said.
He nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Adrian.”
Then I turned and headed to the nearest stairwell.
I knew the routine.
It was the same wherever we went, when he planned to stay for any length of time.
Maxim would find a place and renovate it to his satisfaction, offices on one floor, living area on another, a third dedicated to Adrian and the other members of the security team.
That place was where we would stay until his business took us elsewhere.
We’d spent three years in the Paris space, two in São Paulo. Four in Prague. Other places were shorter-term, and Maxim found temporary accommodations. We’d stay for days, weeks, sometimes hours. The six-hour stay in Kraków always stuck in my mind.
But it was the way of things with Maxim, his business.
There was no home, no permanence. He simply went wherever his business required, and for reasons I still didn’t understand, he always took me with him.
It was funny, because in a lot of ways, Maxim’s activities resembled what I imagined that of a very busy CEO would be, though his business was in no way ordinary. I had understood immediately what his business was, even if the specifics were never spelled out. By now, I seldom thought about it, accepted Maxim’s business as I accepted all of the other things in my life.
I stepped out of the stairwell and into the living area and went to the first door and opened it. The two small pieces of luggage that sat in the center of the room confirmed this was to be my bedroom.
I’d handle my belongings later. I closed the door and went to the other and found that his things had been delivered. I quickly moved to action, the familiarity of the routine soothing me.
Putting down roots, building something that could be a home, something that could be wiped away as it had been that awful night, was no longer for me.
But this, the motion, the movement, living life in the warmth of Maxim’s shadow. That was something I could handle.
I went to his luggage and began to unpack.
Two
Maxim
The SUV came to a stop in front of the squat little storefront. I took in the surroundings quickly, pleased with the location. The small commercial space was located in the worst spot in the shopping center. A few other businesses operated, all Syndicate-owned, though that was not apparent to the naked eye. The place gave a feeling of a functioning if not particularly popular shopping center, which meant the incoming and outgoing traffic wouldn’t garner attention.
“Maxim.”
I turned at the sound of my name and nodded at Sergei, who stood in the storefront doorway. He was slouched, looking easy, almost carefree, but I saw how he stood at the ready, eyes searching the surroundings, though his face was still set in his trademark smile, his stance loose, easy. I moved toward him, thinking of how he’d been a scrawny, short kid when we’d first met.
He’d grown up now, at least physically. Whether his mentality and business acumen had as well was yet to be seen. Sergei led me inside, and when we stood in the small yet tidy office, he turned to face me.
“It wasn’t necessary for you to come all this way, Maxim. I can handle this,” Sergei said.
“If you could handle it, it would be handled,” I said.
Sergei continued to hold my gaze, his eyes darkening, some of the looseness in his smile dampening, but he didn’t disagree.
He couldn’t.
I liked Sergei, saw talent, but he was still young, not experienced enough to handle Santo Carmelli.
Even if I had trusted him to do so, I would still be here. I had more than a passing interest in the matter.
After a moment, Sergei nodded, signaling his acceptance of the current situation. I knew he hadn’t given up, though, wouldn’t have respected him if he had. We’d be discussing this again. For now, Sergei said, “Want me to set up a meet?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “By now Santo knows I’m here, but he doesn’t know why. I’m content to let him sweat.”
Sergei huffed. “He will. Santo’s paranoid as fuck.”
“As we all should be,” I replied.
“Right. So, is Senna here?” Sergei asked.
“What’s your interest?” I asked, my voice not changing. I tensed, though, not sure what interest Sergei had in her, not at all pleased that he had any interest in her at all. I’d overlooked Sergei’s tendency to seek Senna out, ask about her, but she had no role in our business, and Sergei needed to remember that.