Chapter 1

“I don’t see her yet.” The speaker was a heavyset man in late middle age, his dark hair going gray at the temples. He was impeccably groomed, and his tailored suit fit him in a way that quietly advertised its expensiveness.

“Are you even sure that she’ll be here?” his companion asked. He was younger and fitter and while his suit fit him well enough it was clearly off the rack. The two men sat at a small round table that overlooked the party below. Except for the stray older businessman seeking some easy young company for the night, the crowd below was young and glittering and noisy. A constant wave of chatter drifted up to the two men where they sat.

“That bitch?” the older man laughed harshly. “Try to keep her away from something like this.” His arm swept out, taking in the scene. “She’ll be here, her and her little pussy posse, don’t you doubt it.”

“You seem to be going to a lot of trouble just to smoke her out,” the other man observed. “You do realize that you’re paying me for my time whether she shows up or not.”

“I know. I know. Don’t worry about that either. Almost any price would be worth it to see that bitch get what’s coming to her.”

“About that. What did she do to get you so obsessive about revenge?”

“Revenge?” the older man growled, frowning. His eyes were hard in his fleshy face. “Not revenge. Justice! Justice for what she did to my son!”

“Of course,” the younger man nodded.

“You don’t believe me?” the older man glared at him.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not,” the younger man shrugged. “It would help if you remembered that. You’re paying me to do a job, if I accept it. I don’t care what your reasons are for wanting the job done. I just care if you pay me.”

The older man regained control of himself with a visible effort. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I keep forgetting that you’re a professional.”

“I’d mind your tone of voice, if I were you,” the younger man said mildly. “I am a professional, and my skills are in great demand. I don’t have to take your job, no matter how well you’re paying me. There are plenty of others who want my services.”

“Sorry,” the older man shrugged. He sounded less angry if no more sincere. It was clear that he was accustomed to getting his way, and not at all accustomed to being spoken to that manner. Grigori found it interesting to deal with such people, especially when they wanted something from him very, very badly, as this one did. He could bluster and try to bully Grigori into getting his way, but in the end Grigori had the ultimate power to grant or deny his wish. The older man knew it, and it must grate on him. Grigori smiled at the thought and sipped at his drink. He turned his attention to all the glittering golden youth below, trying to pick out the truly wealthy ones from the less-wealthy hangers-on. The wealthy ones had more of a carefree air about them, as if they believed that their lives of pleasure would simply go on forever. The hangers-on… well, those were mostly beautiful young women anxious to trade their looks and their nubile bodies for the security that marriage to a wealthy young man could bring. Grigori did not hate them. He had once, but now all he could feel was a certain contempt for their empty lives, their empty heads, and their almost certainly empty souls. They were his prey, and he did not even respect them as prey. They were too easy, to readily deceived and used and, in some cases, discarded. Still, they had provided him with a much more comfortable life than he would have had back in Rostov. He wondered if a wolf felt the same way towards sheep.

“There she is!” his client sat up straighter, pointing. “There’s the bitch!”

“Where?” Grigori asked. “And stop pointing, you fool. It attracts too much attention.”

His client dropped his arm almost sheepishly. “Over there,” he nodded. “That tall blonde bitch.”

Grigori scanned the vast room below and was hard put to find a young woman there who was not tall and blonde. “Wh