PRIVATE Business is Business

Dmitri Antonov

Corporate Enforcer
Dmitri Antonov
Eddies
254,375
Character Bio


Dmitri-Header-moshed-12-24-23-34-02.gif
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Location: Charter Hill
Time: 3:00pm
Tags: @Lizvetta Isakova
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House Call​
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Safety was where the money was, and Charter Hill was no exception. Minus the botched bank robbery that took place recently, this neighborhood was among the safest of Night City due to the large number of corporate executives who lived here. Both NCPD and each corporation's respective security divisions had a vested interest in ensuring that this district remained safe from the wanton violence that filled the streets of the other areas. That meant that most gangs had to operate on the downlow in this part of the city, lest they get the full heft of NCPD's hammer brought down on their heads. Crime still existed naturally, but at least it wasn't so brazen as Heywood or, god forbid - Pacifica.

That made Dmitri's plans all the more ripe for execution. Soon, Charter Hill would be his - or most of it at least.

There was the small wrinkle in the shape of the late Gregori Abramov's operation, which had established itself as a small bit equally effective information brokerage. Prior to his death, Gregori had the appearance of someone useful to Dmitri's own operation; eager to ingratiate himself amongst the resurgent Organitskaya in Night City. His untimely - and rather suspect - passing had put a damper on any potential collaboration, even moreso as his surviving widow had assumed control of his operation. Dmitri reflected on their brief encounter at Gregori's funeral as he watched the city pass by from the back seat of his car.

From the dry eyes, to the hawkish expression and sudden shift to alarm after his overtures; Lizveta struck Dmitri as a new and unwelcome problem to his ascent. While she did not say as much, Dmitri would not have been surprised had she attempted to position herself over Dmitri through some form of blackmail or leverage; perhaps in a play to seat herself at the top of the heap.

'Cute...' He thought to himself as he chuckled dryly. While Dmitri was far more Americanized in his view of women compared to those of his countrymen who remained within the motherland, there was a level of Russian chauvinism that could never be fully purged. A litany of sexist japes panned through his mind like a reel of film as he drew on his cigarette and expelled a cloud of smoke through the cracked window.

While such jokes soothed his ego, pragmatism won over as they drew closer to her apartment. While Gregori's death was ruled accidental, only a fool would believe that without any second thought. It was exceedingly probable that Lizveta had a hand in Gregori's death, which meant that she was resourceful and dangerous. Dmitri could not risk underestimating her; not if he wanted to succeed at drawing her in while preserving his own life.

That was partially why he was bringing dinner. He wasn't very keen on eating rat poison tonight.

 



A throbbing pang in her knee made Lizaveta flinch, and she extended her leg on the chaise where she had perched. She set aside her datapad for a moment to gently massage at her knee; the scars from her surgery were small and almost imperceptible by eye, but Lizaveta's fingers traced their contours. She knew them by heart. There's going to be weather, Lizaveta thought to herself, glancing toward the expansive wall of windows looking out into Charter Hill. The glass panel of the balcony had been replaced; one could almost forget that not long ago the patio balcony had been the scene of a murder.

Her mind strayed momentarily to that badge, Kowalski, who had badgered her so relentlessly about it. Something about their exchange had stayed with her, set her on edge. But she didn't allow herself to be distracted; after giving her knee a final rub, she bent her knees up again, balanced her datapad against her legs.

The dossier -- if you could call such a pittance of information a dossier with a straight face -- was frustratingly thin. There was so little to glean from it that it was essentially useless for the purposes of that evening's meeting. She'd scrutinized it twenty times if she'd done it once, and still -- nothing. One-Eye normally did thorough work; perhaps there was just nothing more to know about Dmitri Antonov. Or perhaps he hid things much more thoroughly than the average person did. The latter was the most likely, of course. The man positioning himself at the top of the Night City Organitskaya would have a past.

It was just a matter of finding it.

Lizaveta didn't have time -- tonight -- to grease the right palms and make the right calls to learn more, but she was certainly inclined to do so. She wasn't about to roll over for the Organitskaya, not when there was really no need. Grigori's network -- her network, now -- was not exactly legal, but neither was it illegal. What it did was not necessarily in competition with Antonov's organization, unless Antonov decided it needed to by muscling into the information brokerage game.

Her phone chirped; the text message read: "DA inbound" and listed a cross-street. Still time to get changed, Lizka thought, and set about to do just that. She couldn't very well be in her gym clothes when company arrived. By the time Dmitri got there, she would be able to greet him at the door in what you'd expect a respectable widow to wear (even if she and Grigori had not been married): black trousers, black blouse, black shoes, and a modest platinum Orthodox cross necklace.

The picture of innocent grief. Not that it seemed to do her any good.


 


Dmitri-Header-moshed-12-24-23-34-02.gif
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Location: Charter Hill
Time: 3:00pm
Tags: @Lizvetta Isakova
​
House Call​
​

Dmitri's car would eventually break away from the evening traffic of the city. While it had died down considerably from the after work rush, the city never did truly sleep. His car pulled into the hatched curbside drive in front of the building, with the front passenger-side door and the rear driver's side popping open almost immediately. Two men emerged from the car, both dressed in clean and pressed suits. The one previously seated in the front seat wore a black suit with a white shirt unbuttoned in the collar, with the rear man's suit a contrasting grey with plaid patterns, and a charcoal shirt similarly unbuttoned at the top. Both men, Grey and Black - had a dangerous look about them. Their suits were clearly tailored to their physique, which muted the obvious muscle definition that indicated they weren't just simple businessmen. This, combined with a neck tattoo on Grey partially obscured by the unbuttoned collar and a few gold teeth glinting from Black's mouth; would all but confirm what they were to the discerning observer. They were bodyguards to the last man seated in the back.

Black visually scanned the area as he made his way to the rear door while Grey carried a large paper bag with handles. Bleu was scrawled along the side of the bag with black letters in a modern minimalist font. The door was opened, and Dmitri emerged as the third of the trio that had formed outside of the apartment building. The three men proceeded into the building and up the elevator, which soon opened near the top of the building. They didn't have to wait long before they were standing at the door in front of Lizveta herself.

Dmitri, for his part, was dressed in a silk, navy blue suit with a sepia-hued shirt, also unbuttoned at the collar. He smiled broadly at Lizveta, with a small; or otherwise, appropriate - level of sympathy in his eyes. "Thank you for hosting us again so soon, Lizveta Isakova."

It may have been a bit formal by American standards to use one's full name when addressing them,but it was very Russian. He gestured to the bag held in Grey;s hand. "I hope you're hungry."

 
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