“So he’s an addict,” Dmitri says flatly. “Pawnshops, casinos, bookies. He’s feeding a habit.”
I nod. “And he wants more than a fix. That’s why the hitmen.”
Dmitri tilts his head. “Explain.”
“Simple,” I say, leaning back against cracked vinyl. “He believes if he takes me out, he gets to his sister. Teresa inherits a slice of Volkov’s empire from her parents. Jack rides her name, maybe her guilt, tries to muscle into what’s left.”
Dmitri sips, eyes narrowing. “Or he doesn’t need the hit to work. He just needs to make the attempt. A shot at you starts a war. Angeloff against Volkov, blood in the streets, both families weaker when it’s over. Jack slides in to claim whatever’s left standing.”
I let that turn in my mind for a minute. It has teeth, but it doesn’t sit right. I shake my head. “It’s too messy. Jack’s not a chess player. He can’t plan ten steps ahead. There has to be someone else behind this.”
Dmitri leans forward, lowering his voice. “Then who’s feeding him plays?”
Exactly the thought gnawing at me since the bar. I wrap both hands around the mug, letting the heat bite into my bones. “We’re missing someone. Someone else is holding Jack’s leash.”
Dmitri studies me over the rim of his cup. “Volkov?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I rub at my jaw over an old scar. “The old man has no patience for junkies.”
We finish the coffee in silence. The clock over the counter ticks too loudly. Outside, the highway stretches black and wet, the storm pushing east. I should be satisfied—we’ve got proof Jack’s sinking, proof he’s dangerous to himself and everyone around him. But satisfaction doesn’t come. Only more questions.
I pull out my phone and dial Teresa. It goes right to voicemail. Strange. She knows the rule: always have her phone on and nearby, always answer my call on the first ring. I try again, thumb pressing harder as if force will change it. Same result. Straight to voicemail.
“Problem?” Dmitri asks.
“Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”
The waitress drops the check without looking at us. I leave cash on the table and stand.
We push out into the cold. The wind lashes off the ocean, sharp and salty. I glance at Dmitri as we climb into the Tahoe. “Drive fast,” I tell him.
He doesn’t ask why. He just puts us on the road north, the city waiting for me.
CHAPTER 34
TERESA
The suitcase is hidden behind the bedroom chair. The whole place feels quiet and oppressed, like the snow outside has soaked in and muted the air.
I keep pretending calm. A glass of water I don’t drink. The blanket from the sofa draped around my shoulders. I force myself to breathe slowly, to remember Trina’s instructions:One hour from now, say you’re sick. Say you need the ER. If they argue, use the pregnancy. They won’t risk a pregnant woman. We’ll do the rest.
We.God help me, who iswe?
I step into the hall, heart pounding so loud it feels like it’s echoing off the walls.
The younger guard is at his post by the elevator. He’s the polite one, the one who actually treats me like a person. He gives me a once-over. “You okay, miss?”
I let my shoulders slump. “Dizzy,” I murmur. “My chest… feels tight.”
His brows knit. Behind him, the other guard appears—older, heavier, less readable. His hand hovers near his phone.
“She doesn’t look good,” the younger one says.
The older one frowns. “We should call for a doctor. Bring him here.”
Panic spikes in my throat. That won’t work.
I make myself sway, stumble against the wall, and go down hard to one knee. The blanket slips off my shoulders. “Please,” I gasp, pressing a hand to my stomach. “The baby—something’s wrong.”
