Mikhail
"Thank you, Dominika."
She nods toward me before leaving the room. But her stony gaze stays on the three brigadiers.
I look toward the spiral staircase; then I hear a door click shut. Maria is back in her room. Good, it's safer that we have the rest of this conversation in private. Without a word, I walk toward my office, and the brigadiers follow.
The room is less of an office and more of a lounge. A small chrome bar with select vintages, several low sofas and side tables in chocolate and beige, and a space for art. Many of my treasured pieces are here for me to view alone. Works by Picasso and Pollock not seen in public since the day they were created. I resent having the brigadiers invade my private abode, but it's obvious that Maria likes to listen.
And there are things sh
