"Good," I said, signaling one of the other men.
Immediately, he moved a small metal table in front of the senior Zaitsev and placed a chair across from him for me. The scrape of metal against the concrete floor echoed through the basement.
I took a seat and nodded for him to be untied. Zaitsev may be a dirty pig, but I was not. I was going to face him like the man he pretended to be.
"I hear Solovyov likes to play poker with his men. Did you know modern poker is an American game?" I said.
"The bitch was lying, I would never work with?—"
A simple lifting of my hand was all it took to silence him. I didn't know what made him more of a coward—the way he shook in front of me, or the way he treated his daughter.
"I am not American. Though I see the many opportunities this new world provides, I am Russian through and through," I continued.
"As am I." Zaitsev banged his fist on the table and tried to stand. My men put heavy hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down into his seat. The chair legs scraped against the floor with his struggle.
"Good, then let's play a Russian drinking game, shall we?"
Vladan set a bottle of Russian Standarddown on the table, the bottle still coated with frost, and Zaitsev's eyes widened as his lips twisted in a grin. It wasn't my preferred brand, but this greedy pig clearly didn't care about quality so much as quantity.
"We drink to our health and business," he boomed, like he was calling the shots. Vladan lowered a single shot glass in front of him. The glass clinked against the table, Zaitsev flinching at the small sound.
He looked at me with a line of confusion forming between his eyes.
I reached into the leather holster under my jacket and pulled out a .44 Magnum revolver. The weight of it was familiar in my hand, comforting even. The overhead light caught on the polished metal, sending a flash across Zaitsev's face.
He stared at it, and his confusion turned to understanding and horror as I pulled out six bullets from my jacket pocket and lined them up on the table. They rolled slightly on the uneven surface, coming to rest in a perfect row.
"I assume you are familiar with the rules ofRusskaya ruletka?"
"You only need one bullet for roulette," he said, his body shaking as he stared at the bullets.
"I say we make our own rules. We are going to start with an empty barrel, and then I am going to ask you some questions. If I don't like your answer, or worse, I think you are lying to me, I will place a bullet in the barrel."
"I—"
"See, the rules are simple," I said, sitting back in my chair.
He still stared at the bullets all lined up, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. A single drop ran down his temple, leaving a clean streak through the grime on his face.
"What is the vodka for?"
"That is for you. I'm not asking simple questions, and you may need some encouragement." I touched the tip of each bullet, watching his eyes bounce between them. The brass casings gleamed under the harsh light.
Vladan picked up the bottle and poured the first shot. The clear liquid splashed into the glass, the sharp scent of alcohol cutting through the basement's stale air.
Zaitsev didn't touch it. He would need it soon enough.
"First question. Did Solovyov send you to make a deal with me?"
"No," Zaitsev answered immediately. "Viktoria is a lying bitch like her mother. She doesn't know what she is talking about."
I clicked my tongue in disappointment as I loaded the first bullet. "I had it on good authority he did, even before meeting your daughter."
"Fine, but I would never betray you. I was going to double-cross him."
I slid another bullet into place. The metal-on-metalclinksent a visible shudder through Zaitsev's body.
"I'm not lying," he all but shouted.
