I cross my arms. “Only my name made the Naughty List. Yours didn’t.”
That rattles him for half a beat, and he clears his throat with a cough. “You serious? Why not?”
I feel a little annoyed. “How should I know? Maybe because I’m the one still here. Maybe he figured you’d run off and out of the country and were out of his hair for good.”
He takes a moment to process it before speaking again. “Anyway, I got a theory. It’s what I’m here to talk about.”
“Theory? What theory?”
“That your boss, Vladmir Angeloff, or somebody inside his crew, took out Mom, Dad,andMaxim.”
“What?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Are you serious?”
He lowers his voice. “Think about it. Plane crash that’s never fully explained. Ballroom hit carried out with military precision. Smells like elite contractors—Angeloff’s specialty.”
“And why the hell would he do that?”
“You kidding me? Our family and Maxim’s were merged—almost. Just needed an heir to completely seal the deal. Then we’d be fully joined, too powerful to take on for the Angeloff Bratva. Vlad couldn’t stand for that. So he took out Maxim before he could have a kid, then pinned the blame on you, on us. That way, he stays on top.”
A cold thread weaves down my spine. If Vlad’s syndicate had a hand in those deaths, there’d be proof. I’d have to see it myself.
Jack softens his tone, big-brother mode in full swing. “Look, sis, I don’t trust Angeloff. You shouldn’t either. Come with me tonight, we’ll disappear together.”
I let the words hang there for a few seconds then laugh—a bitter, small sound. “You vanished for years, Jack. I’ve been alone. Now you waltz in playing protector?”
Regret—or something similar—tugs at his features. “I made mistakes. I’m trying to fix them.”
“By breaking into my apartment?”
His shrug is maddening. “Security needs tightening, I guess. Anyway, this is all too big for us. Our family’s gone, your ex-father-in-law has our birthright. The game got played, and we lost. You ask me, best you can do is get out of New York with your life, start over somewhere else.”
I spot my encrypted phone half-hidden behind the coffee canister on the counter. Jack’s line of sight is blocked by the hanging pot rack. He sighs then stands, sauntering to the window, whistling softly at the view of the East River sparkle. Perfect.
As he turns, I catch a glimpse of a gun tucked under his jacket. Jack’s my brother. But I’m not ready to trust him, not yet. I want Vlad here.
My face is carefully neutral as I sidestep toward the counter, crunching a shard of glass for cover noise. My heartbeat crashes in my ears as I slide the phone free, thumb flying over the keypad under the edge of the island.
Jack’s here. Inside the apartment. Possibly compromised. Need you.
Message sent. The indicator ticks green. Twenty seconds, tops, before Vlad sees it.
Jack’s still talking, back turned. “You and me, Teresa, we should bail to Montreal. Fresh IDs. I got a guy.”
I grip the phone, hiding it in my sleeve. “We’ll talk about all that,” I say calmly, keeping a safe distance so he can’t see my shaking hands. “But first, explain why you’re armed.”
He turns, brows rising. “You noticed.”
“I notice a lot. Start explaining.”
I imagine the elevator dinging out in the hallway, the thud of heavy boots. I just have to keep him talking until Vlad or his angels arrive. Because right now, the only thing scarier than Jack’s sudden re-appearance is being alone with him.
Jack’s eyes flick toward the entry hall, then back to me. He sighs. “God, I can’t believe this. We were supposed to be rich, you know? Mom and Dad built a shipping empire forus,but you,” he jabs a finger towards me, “handed control to sweet little Maxim. And what did he do? Let Daddy Volkov consolidate the holdings.”
I grit my teeth. “Mom and Dad were gone. I sure as hell didn’t know how to run things.”
“Yeah, well, look how that turned out.” Jack paces, agitation buzzing off him. “We could’ve been in Saint-Tropez by now instead of hiding from Bratva psychos.”
“It’s in the past,” I snap. “There’s still a chance to get the assets back legally.”
