“You’re terrible at selling this idea,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m not selling anything. I’m presenting the facts, then letting you make an informed decision.”
Alexei sits back down and drums his fingers on my desk. He’s got the same thoughtful look on his face he did when we were kids, and I roped him into trouble.
“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll meet them. See what kind of people they are. But if this blows up, the cleanup’s on you.”
“That’s acceptable.”
“And if I can’t stand her, or the family’s toxic, the deal’s off, no matter the advantages.”
“Also acceptable. Just keep an open mind.”
“So, when and where is this grand meeting?”
“Next week at the Grand Europa. Neutral ground. Private dining room. Both families and their lawyers.”
“This sounds more appealing by the minute.” Alexei shakes his head but doesn’t argue further. “What else do you know about her, other than the surface bullshit?”
“She’s twenty-six. London educated. Speaks four languages. Active in the family business. No marriages or serious relationships.”
“No serious relationships at twenty-six? That’s either lucky for me… or suspicious as hell.”
“Could be both. Or she’s just been waiting for the right alliance instead of wasting time on casual relationships.”
“Or maybe she’s not interested in men. Or there’s some complication we don’t know about.”
I shrug. “Only one way to find out.”
The Grand Europa’sprivate dining room overlooks the Moscow River, all glass and polished wood. Neutral ground. Discreet. Exactly what both families wanted.
Alexei walks in like it’s a funeral instead of a wedding negotiation. His suit is sharp, but his expression is colder than vodka on ice.
“Relax.” I straighten his tie. “It’s just a preliminary meeting.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m the one being sized up like livestock.”
“Nobody’s livestock. It’s a civilized discussion between two families with shared interests.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
The Andreevs arrive right on time. I appreciate punctual partners. Leonid is in his late fifties. He built his empire with business sense and well-placed violence. His wife Elena is with him, plus a young woman I assume is Irina, their lawyer, and bodyguards dressed as suits.
“Mr. Kozlov,” Leonid greets me warmly, extending his hand for a firm shake. “Thank you for arranging this important meeting.”
“The pleasure is entirely ours. This is my brother, Alexei.”
“And this is my younger daughter, Mila,” Leonid adds, gesturing to the young woman beside him. “Irina’s younger sister.”
The introductions proceed with formal politeness while we take our designated seats around the polished mahogany conference table. Elena Andreeva is elegantly dressed and maintains the kind of composed, confident demeanor that suggests extensive experience with high-stakes business negotiations.
“I trust Irina will be joining us shortly?” I ask politely.
“Actually,” Leonid replies, consulting his expensive watch with growing concern, “Irina should have been here by now. This is highly unusual and uncharacteristic behavior for her.”
“Perhaps she’s dealing with Moscow traffic or some other minor delay beyond her control,” I suggest diplomatically.
“Perhaps, though she’s usually punctual for important family business.”
