Rocking the Boat

When Rifka received the formal letter of invitation out to Brighton Beach, NY, also known as Little Odessa, she knew what it was for. It was a summons from Lev's bosses, the Russians. Her attendance wasn't really an option, it was a requirement, and she knew it all too well. Since they had gone through such formal channels, she contacted Chase and had her make the necessary responses and arrangements. Three first class seats were booked on the first flight to New York.

As her lawyer, Chase would accompany her to all formal meetings. Rifka had learned early on that red tape and paperwork could bury any upstart interloper before they even had a chance to toe the line. It was useful against cops, too... but Rifka did her best not to cross swords with the local law enforcement. Lev had taught her to believe that every now and again an honest cop would became an honest Detective. Honesty lead to curiosity. Curiosity lead to investigation. Investigation lead to complications, and complications were sticky and expensive. And expensive is bad.

The third seat on the flight would be filled by Cullen Montoya. He had been on the family payroll for only a short time before the fiasco that lead to Lev's death and put her best driver/bodyguard in the hospital. His performance during the chaos had saved the life of Thia DuShane, and more than likely that of Rifka's daughter, Dara, as well. Thia was delivered so quickly to the ER the doctors were able to save her, and Dara was brought home without a scratch. Rifka felt his devotion to the family deserved a show of equal devotion, and promoted him to her Chief of Security.

A limo awaited them at the airport in New York, taking them to Little Odessa and to the back door of a restaurant featuring kosher Russian cuisine. They were lead into a back room, where a boardroom table was set up and surrounded by chairs. All but one chair was filled. Cullen pulled out the chair, Rifka sat down.

At the head of the table sat the current Don, Alexi Dolovski. He pushed his chair back with a soft grating noise and rose to his feet. He spoke in Russian, his arms sweeping grandly and his face showing a genial, welcoming expression. Rifka watched his face and listened to the sound of his voice as she processed his words. She knew what he was doing. He was speaking Russian, expecting her to misunderstand him. It was a tricky language, after all, and she wasn't Russian, but she had an ace. Lev had been an excellent teacher. He'd also been paranoid, but he warned her that the minute you get too comfortable was always when shit hit the fan.

"We all mourn with you," Dolovski was saying, "Lev was honored amongst our ranks, and very well respected. As his widow and mother of his only child, we have prepared for you a benefit package."

A silver halliburton suitcase was placed upon the table and gently pushed toward her by one of Dolovski's men. He turned it toward himself, in a show of good faith, and flicked the latches open. He opened the case, and when he wasn't shot, poisoned, gassed, exploded or otherwise killed, he turned the case around to Rifka.

It was full of money. Possibly in the hundreds of millions. Fire swept through Rifka's belly, melting away the uneasy chill that had settled there earlier. These men believed her to be a simple trophy wife. They seriously thought she had been in it for the money. She looked to Dolovski, but he was already explaining away, with that same belittling look on his pale, blotchy face.

"This, we believe, is more than enough compensation for all of Lev's holdings in Los Angeles. New home, new car, new wardrobe, and college tuition paid in full for Dara. We will send a new man to take over business in Los Angeles, and you'll no longer have to worry about a single thing."

"Except for the integrity of my city itself, that is."

Dolovski faltered. He dropped his arms and opened his eyes, to see that Rifka was slowly getting to her feet. Her fingertips rested on the edge of the suitcase's lid, and her dark eyes were burning at him like charcoal briquettes. Her voice was clear, firm, and her Russian was flawless. The rest of table was just as stunned. At a simple, subtle movement, Chase stepped up beside her and set  down the small attache case she had been carrying. She opened it and removed a manilla folder, which she then placed on the table and pushed gently toward Dolovski. Glancing up at him with her cold, lavender eyes, she opened the folder toward herself before turning it around to him.

Rifka had not told her to mock them, but the lawyer had a dark, bitchy streak to her, especially when it came to acting superior. She never carried on too long, and she always got the reaction Rifka desired, so she let it slide. She didn't let it show, but she was pleased by the confusion and anger in Dolovski's eyes. He had not prepared himself for opposition. He had no response for their impudence.

"My client, Rifka Montonov, widow of late Lev Montonov, has already declared her intent to legally take over her husband's businesses and maintain his direction for each company. While not yet public, nor official, she has already been contacted by her husband's business partners, expressing their eagerness to work with her in the near future."

"We are his business partners!" Dolovski roared. Chairs were pushed back, falling to the floor, as the other men at the table began to raise their voices.

Rifka slowly pushed down on the lid, and the clicking of the latches brought silence back to the small room. It could not be denied that there was an intense presence to the woman. Lifting her head, she speared Dolovski with her dark eyes. "You can keep your fucking money. I will keep Los Angeles. For Lev, and for Lev's people. For my people."

On that note, she turned on her heel. Cullen was already pulling open the door, and she swept through as smoothly as though they had coordinated it in advance.

Chase closed her briefcase with a small, cold smile. "Gentlemen." She exited the room behind her client.

Cullen looked over the men around the table, all frozen in masks of rage and disbelief. With a smirk, he followed Chase out, and closed the door behind him.