A Pole and a Gun

11 - Just walk away

♤ DIMITRI

The moment I hear my Babushka is in my office, fire runs through my veins to intercept any crazy ideas the older woman may have spinning in that head of hers.

One thing I'm absolutely sure of about my grandmother is that she is as lethal as she is mental. I find her perched on my chair, drinking from my stash of Beluga vodka, and I somehow know that she fucking drove herself here.

I take the elevator to the lobby and I sprint outside, scanning the area for Babushka's driver, Joseph, or the new car she recently bought.

"Shit," I curse when I round the corner and I meet a familiar sight.

Her Bentley Flying Spur is parked against the dumpster behind the building. The entire right side is damaged from the friction against the wall and the hood is bent in the resemblance of a harmonica.

The stop sign at the beginning of the street is slightly curved and there is a wobbly skid mark on the road. A puff of smoke releases from the car like a final breath, and I know it is another car that is a write off. The third one this year.

I grumble and take out my phone from my back pocket to dial her driver to sort this out. I have more pressing affairs to attend to.

"Joseph," the English gentleman on the other side of the line answers.

"Dimitri," I'm not used to being so curt to the chipper man, but I'm not fond of leaving Trixie upstairs alone with my grandmother.

"How may I be of assistance to the young master? Or do you wish to speak to your Babushka?" Joseph asks.

"I don't think she's home Joseph." I snort into the receiver.

"She went to lie down, I'll go fetch her." Joseph offers, unwavering, like any outstanding English butler.

"Unlikely," I cut him off. "Knowing that she is in my office and I'm currently staring at her car jammed against the dumpster behind my building."

"Oh dear," the deep sigh from Joseph's lips resembles the way I'm feeling. "I'll call the mechanic, Sir."

"I'll get Analovitz to drive her home later."

"My apologies, Sir."

"Just make sure she doesn't escape your attention the next time." I rub my temples. Fucking migraine.

"You know how she is, Sir."

I heave a deep sigh and end the call with Joseph before making my way back upstairs.

The moment alone in the elevator helps me get my shit together. After all that tension with Trixie back in the car, I need a shower to rub one out and cool off. The way she feasted her eyes upon me when I was changing shirts was a sin in itself.

She is the only woman who has ever had this effect on me, and when I remember the blush on her face, Jr. twitches in my slacks. Those pouty lips spilling those babbled words are my undoing.

When I saunter through the hallway to my office, I could never expect the sight that greets me.

"Zat is a good knife," I overhear Babushka speak approvingly to Trixie. I push the door open to find them in deep conversation, talking about - weapons?

Trixie has moved from the loveseat to the desk, sitting on the edge with her legs crossed. She is showing Babushka the hunting knife while she pours Trixie a glass of vodka.

"I prefer Kalashnikov," Babushka states proudly, nodding her head up and down.

"Kalashnikov?" Trixie asks inquisitively.

"Enough!" I wave my hands to stop the conversation going any further because the last thing I need is my Grandma pulling out a fucking automatic rifle.

"Dimitri," Babushka pipes up like she is just seeing me standing there. My blood boils now, but I know she is here for a reason.

"Joseph is fixing the car issue and Analovitz will drive you home," I state, leaving no room for protests.

"Not Nox?" she pouts.

Babushka doesn't visit that often. It's normally me who goes to the Sunday brunches with the rest of the family, and I usually take Nox as my guard. She has become very fond of him.

"He is busy attending to other important matters."

I round the desk and snag Trixie's tumbler out of her hand and take a big gulp of the vodka before giving it back to her.

I don't notice that my hand is resting on her thigh until the warmth of her skin seeps through her leggings and I enjoy the contact. Trixie blinks in surprise but says nothing and doesn't remove my hand.

"Have zose matters have anyzing to do vit your cousin Sergei?" Babushka raises a brow and takes her cane from the table to prod me with it.

"Yes," no need to lie. She probably already knows what is going on and is just here to get the truth.

"He vas at Tolderov's," Babushka says.

"The accountant?" I ask, and she nods briefly.

Interesting. Our visit to Ivana has put him on edge and he is setting his affairs in order, or this is just the beginning of pulling open a filthy can of worms.

"He wouldn't say, but I know Nikolai. We go vay back," she pauses for a moment. "Sergei vas saying somezing about zat you vere on his heels." She slams her glass against the sturdy table, making Trixie jump. My hand is still on her thigh. "I heard about ze container and ze brawl in ze stripclub and it sounded fishy."

I think back to the moment where I saw Sergei eavesdropping on the conversation between my father and his accountant. It was the first sign that Sergei was behind it. What my grandmother is revealing now means that there are more pawns on the board than what I initially suspected.

"So you put two and two together and you came to see me?" I finish for her, lifting my brow in question.

"I wonder if there is more to everything?" Trixie pipes up after holding her silence. "What if the container heist and then framing the Italians wasn't the only irregularity that has happened?"