The warehouse smelled of rusted metal and stale rain. Nikolai sat at the folding table with the rigid posture of a man who had learned early that stillness conveyed power. His men stood at intervals along the walls, their presence more decorative than functional, like gargoyles meant to intimidate rather than protect. They all waited.
Godfrey stood near the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of British composure in a place designed for ugliness. He had perfected the art of appearing simultaneously present and absent, a skill cultivated over decades of watching men destroy themselves and each other.
"Where is he?" Nikolai asked, though he had asked this three times already in the past twenty minutes. His accent made the question sound like an accusation.
"On the way," Godfrey said, without emphasis. "The boss is running late with something that had to be handled."
Nikolai did not acknowledge the response. He tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm that suggested controlled violence, the kind that might erupt at any provocation or none at all. In Eastern Europe, his name carried weight that bent men into shapes of fear. Territories answered to him. Bodies disappeared at his word. But America was different, sprawling and indifferent to old world hierarchies, and he had come here to carve out new dominion in a landscape that did not yet known to be afraid.
The footsteps came from the far end of the warehouse, echoing through the empty space with the particular cadence of heels on concrete. Everyone turned as if choreographed, their attention drawn to the figure approaching through the half-light.
She wore a long designer coat that moved like water around her frame, tailored enough to suggest expense but not so severe as to seem deliberately intimidating. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders in a way that looked both careless and intentional. She walked quickly, purposefully, eating a sandwich that she held in one hand like it was the most natural thing in the world to bring into a meeting of this nature.
No one spoke. The only sound was the clicking of her heels growing louder as she approached, each step measuring the distance between entrance and confrontation. Nikolai caught the scent of her perfume before she reached the table, something expensive and clean that seemed absurd in this place of rust and decay.
She stopped at the table, still chewing, and swallowed before speaking.
"I am so sorry I am late," she said, her voice carrying genuine distress over the inconvenience. " They had messed up my order, and I had to turn back and let them redo it, because there's no way I'm letting them butcher my favorite sandwich like that. I'm sure you understand." She giggles as waves the sandwich towards Nikolai.
Nikolai stared at her for a long moment, his expression moving through several stages of confusion before settling into something harder.
"Is this some joke?" He turned to Godfrey, his voice rising. " I came here expecting your boss, and you guys bring me some random woman? This kind of disrespect has to be a declaration of war no?"
"No, no no no sir, the last thing you'd want with me is a meaningless war." she said, interrupting before Godfrey could respond. "And again, my sincere apologies for being late.." She set the sandwich down on the table with care, as if it were something precious. "Agh, where are my manners? I should introduce myself properly. Hi, my name is Charmy, but you guys know me as Red."
The silence that followed had texture to it, something dense and suffocating. Nikolai looked from her to Godfrey and back again, searching for the punchline that would make this make sense. When none came, he leaned back in his chair and laughed, a sound without humor.
"A woman? Red is a woman?" he said, as if testing the words to see if they would dissolve into absurdity. ''The last thing I expected from this meeting was to discuss deals with a woman."
He looked at his men as if expecting them to share in the revelation, but they remained expressionless, waiting. Charmy ignored the comment entirely, her attention already moving past it to what came next.
"So what is it you wanted to discuss?" she asked.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, though nothing physical had changed. She simply stood there, looking at him with the kind of attention that suggested she was genuinely interested in his answer, as if the meeting had finally begun now that the preliminaries were over.
Nikolai refused to look at her. He turned instead to Godfrey, directing his words to the older man as if Charmy were not standing three feet away.
"Something about talking to a woman about this makes me feel uneasy, I prefer having discussions with him." he says pointing at Godfrey. " And I don't have much to say either? I'm sure you guys are fully aware of what capable of in Europe and I'd luck to expand my business here in the states."
Godfrey and Charmy exchanged a glance, brief and wordless, the kind of communication that comes from years of working together. Godfrey said nothing.
"Yes Mr Shevshenko we are aware of what you're capable of," Charmy said, her tone remaining pleasant, almost conversational. "But I'm afraid to point out that what you're willing to offer won't be anything new, we already have people we deal with in Europe, and I'm pretty sure that whatever you have to offer won't top what we're already receiving and distributing here... respectfully, I was expecting you to bring me new and exciting ideas, that's why I attended this meeting in the first place."
Nikolai turned to face her now, his composure fracturing at the edges. " You dirty whore! Do you know who I am? Do you know what I'm capable of? What I've done in the past 12 hours is more than what you could ever accomplish in the last 5- Hell 10 years!" He leaned forward, his voice lowering to something more dangerous. "And you think you can speak to me this way because what, because of your little posy you have here? You think this makes you a big shot because you have ''some'' motion? I fuckin eat people like you for breakfast you no good bitch!"
Charmy did not react. She simply watched him, her expression neutral, as if he were describing the weather rather than threatening her. The lack of response seemed to infuriate him more than any argument could have.
He stood abruptly, grabbed the chair he had been sitting in, and hurled it across the warehouse. It clattered against the far wall with a sound that seemed too loud, too final. The echo hung in the air between them.
No one moved. Charmy's men remained where they stood, completely still, as if furniture being thrown was simply part of the expected protocol. But Nikolai's men shifted slightly, hands moving closer to their weapons, bodies tensing in preparation for violence that might erupt at any moment.
Charmy stared into Nikolai's eyes without blinking. He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could see the veins in his neck, could feel the heat of his anger radiating outward like a physical force. He shouted at her, his face inches from hers, spittle flying as he degraded her in three different languages, telling her he would do whatever he pleased in this city, that he would take what he wanted regardless of who claimed to be in charge, that a woman running anything was an insult to the natural order.
She did not flinch. She did not step back. She simply stood there, absorbing his rage with the same pleasant attention she had given him when he first started speaking about business.
When he finally turned and stormed toward the exit, his men following in a tight formation, Charmy reached for her sandwich. She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, and then nodded at Godfrey.
"It really is a good sandwich," she said, her mouth still full.
Godfrey allowed himself the smallest smile, barely visible at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure it is madame," he said.
They stood together in the warehouse as the sound of Nikolai's departure faded into silence, the space returning to its essential emptiness, waiting to be filled with whatever violence or business came next.