Page 6 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which we meet the villain of our story. He’s kind of an asshole.

Catriona…

The man stops abruptly. “May I call you Catriona?”

There’s something vaguely familiar about him. He’s bald, medium height with a dark goatee, but I canna place him.

“It is my name. Ye certainly know how to dress for dinner, I see.”

He smooths his hand down his kaftan. “Do you like it? I had it created in the 16th century style of Russian formal wear.”

It’s lavish, the knee-length kaftan threaded through with gold and an impressive amount of embellishment, and a big red sash. He’s paired this with breeches and highly polished boots.

“Ye definitely have that whole Cossack vibe going on,” I offer.

“Thank you,” he beams. “Please. Join me for dinner.”

“We should complete the introductions, aye? And you are?”

He pleasantly ignores my question, seating me across from him at the table. “I thought we should have a recreation of one of my favorite meals from my last trip to Moscow.” He chuckles. “I stole the chef away from the restaurant, it was that good.”

“Is he… in the dungeon, then?” I ask. I wouldn’t put it past this one.

He smiles at me indulgently, like I’m the cutest wee thing in the world.

Two black-clad servers silently place the first course on the table, three kinds of caviar with blini and sour cream. “Do try the Kolikof caviar,” he says, gesturing to the tiny dish of plump, glistening eggs. “It’s the finest beluga caviar in the world.”

I’ve eaten many Russian meals with our Bratva allies, the Turgenevs and the Morozovs, and he’s right. The little bite bursts on my tongue with a wonderfully salty, sea tang.

“This is delicious,” I say. “I would like an explanation of-”

“Ah, and here’s the shashlik ,” he interrupts, rubbing his hands. “Pork, beef, and then, the lamb, which I believe is your favorite? ”

The tender bite turns sour on my tongue. “You seem to know a great deal about me.”

This oblivious son of a bitch insists on discussing the history of traditional Slavic dress, ignoring my questions through the golubts y, the vareniki and the pyranki until I push my plate away. “I canna take another bite.”

His jolly smile fades to something mournful, but he puts his fork down. “Is the food not to your liking?”

I’m picturing the chef languishing in the dungeon again.

“It’s amazing, I assure ye. But I would like to make your acquaintance properly,” I smile with clenched teeth and based on his expression, it is not attractive.

“Of course! I am Hugo Dubois,” he presses his hand to his chest, bowing slightly.

“You’re- oh, aye. You’re the French pharmaceutical industrialist. You’re the darling of the drug world right now,” I say. I knew he looked familiar. He’s been on the forefront of a multitude of new medications, though several were rumored to have been stolen from other researchers.

His happy smile is back. “Indeed! I had hoped you would recognize me on your own, but.. I forgive you. ”

Pompous arsehole.

“Ye just had dinner at the White House, aye? Ye were wearing some memorable evening wear. I saw the story on BBC.”

“Oui! It was a state dinner for the President of Chile. I wished to honor him, so I was attired in the Chilean formal chamanto and chupalla. The hat was a bit annoying during dinner, but I made it work.” He smiles at me, a more cunning one, his sharp brown eyes narrowed.

“I left with the contract stipulating fifty percent of the country’s pharmaceutical trade had to come through me in order to get the new diabetes drug.

The CEO of Pfizer was attending as well.

I think he might have had a stroke when he heard about the deal.

” He sighs happily. “It was a lovely night.”

“It’s not what ye achieve, it’s what ye take from others that gives true satisfaction.” I nod. I’m a wee bit ashamed to say I tend to feel the same way when it comes to other crime families who are not our allies.

“Exactly! You understand. I’ve requested a meeting with you numerous times,” he adds, having the audacity to look wounded. “But your father has been less than helpful.”

“I dinnae do much business in the industry,” I say. “Tell me why I’m here, Hugo Dubois.”

He stands, rounding the table to pull out a seat next to me, settling in.

“This home is particularly special to me. I’ve created a magnificent lab here and some of my findings have been…

” he pauses, “have been magical, truly. As you can imagine, there are very few people who can truly appreciate the beauty of poisons and their uses. I feel that you would be quite interested in my research.”

“Some people might consider a Zoom call to start with,” I say. “Dragging me off to your villain’s lair seems like a bit of an overreaction.” My stomach gives an odd little lurch and I swallow hard, feeling my throat tighten up.

Hugo laughs uproariously. “A lair?”

“Aye. I’m thinking your lair could take on other villain's lairs, beat them up and steal their wallet.”

huuhup“I fear I didn’t have many options, my dear. I needed a truly effective way to get your attention,” he says earnestly.

“Ye had my bodyguard killed,” I say flatly. “We’re not going to be friends, Hugo Dubois.”

“If you have no one else,” he smiles, “then I will become your only friend.”

My stomach clenches and I press my hand against it. “Why don’t we talk about this? I’m sure we can come to an understanding, aye? One that dinnae involve killing anyone else. ”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk,” he says happily. “But first, a fun little exercise.”

“What would that be?” Another cramp twists my stomach like a fist.

“I’ve poisoned you.”

***

Golubtsy - Russian stuffed cabbage rolls.

Vareniki - Dumplings with savory or sweet fillings.

Pyranki - Russian honey spice cookies.

Chamanto - A Chilean garment, similar to a poncho.

Chupalla - A Chilean hat worn for special occasions.