“You’ve been quiet,” he said without preamble. “Starting to think you forgot our arrangement.”
I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, continuing to wrap my hand with deliberate care. “I haven’t forgotten shit. Before, I had Joaquin and Beaumont to do my dirty work. I leaked intel to them as anonymous tips, and theyhandled distribution. Now they’re both dead, and my channels are closed. These things take time to rebuild.”
“Time we don’t have. Rafael’s expanding operations—”
“I know what Rafael’s doing.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “I’mthe one managing his calendar, remember? I’m the one with access to his files, his meetings, his entire fucking life. If anyone knows what’s happening in this organization, it’s me.”
Vance was quiet for a moment, and I could practically hear him recalibrating. “Are you losing focus, Cassandra? Because if you’re forgetting why you’re there—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, the word hard as steel. “Don’t remind me of my mission. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’m the only one with the power to destroy the Bratva’s business from the inside. But I also know that one mistake gets me killed. So, unless you want to lose your inside asset, you’ll let me work at the pace that keeps me alive.”
The silence stretched longer this time, and I used it to finish wrapping my hand. The white bandage was already starting to show red where blood seeped through.
“Two weeks,” Vance said finally. “I need something substantial in two weeks, or we’re going to have a very different conversation about your commitment.”
He hung up before I could respond, leaving me staring at my phone with hatred burning hot in my chest. Hatred for Vance and his manipulation. Hatred for the Bratva who’d killed my father. Hatred for myself for getting tangled up in Drew Kamarov’s orbit when I should have been focused on the mission.
I pulled up my messages and typed quickly:Club. Tonight. Need drinks and sanity. - C
Both Hailey and Barbara responded within minutes with variations of “already there” and “say less.”
***
Nocturne was packed when I arrived, the bass line vibrating through my bones like a second heartbeat. I found Hailey behind the bar and Barbara in our usual booth, drinks already ordered and waiting.
“Jesus Christ,” Hailey said the moment she saw me, her sharp eyes zeroing in on my bandaged hand. “What happened?”
“Wall had a disagreement with my fist. Wall won.” I slid into the booth and immediately downed half my drink—vodka cranberry that burned exactly right.
Barbara studied me with those honey-brown eyes that saw too much. “This about work or the Russian who’s been making you crazy for three weeks?”
“Both. Neither. Everything.” I laughed, but it came out bitter. “Drew kissed me today.”
The words hung in the air for a beat before both of them erupted simultaneously.
“He what?”
“I knew it!”
I held up my good hand for silence. “I confronted him about ignoring me. We fought. I shoved him. He warned me to stop. I didn’t. He shoved me against the wall and kissed me like he was trying to prove something or punish me or both.”
“And?” Hailey leaned across the bar, eyes bright with interest.
“And I wanted more.” The confession tasted like defeat. “I wanted everything. Wanted him to ruin me right there against the wall. Wanted to drown in whatever the fuck that was between us.”
“But?” Barbara prompted gently.
“But he stopped. Said it was a mistake and walked away like it meant nothing. LikeImeant nothing.” I finished my drink and immediately signaled for another. “So I punched a wall andgot a phone call from Vance reminding me that I’m supposed to be destroying the Bratva, not making out with Rafael’s cousin.”
The reminder of my actual purpose here settled over me like a shroud. For a few glorious, terrible minutes in Drew’s arms, I’d forgotten. Forgotten about my father’s murder, about Vance’s blackmail, about the mission that had consumed three years of my life.
I’d just been Cassandra, wanting Drew, getting lost in sensation that felt real and immediate and nothing like the carefully constructed lies I lived every other moment.
“Cass.” Hailey’s voice pulled me back. “What are you going to do?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? What was I going to do about Drew Kamarov, who saw too much and made me feel things I had no business feeling? What was I going to do about Vance’s two-week deadline when my channels were dead and my position more precarious than ever?
What was I going to do about wanting a man whose family had destroyed mine, whose blood was stained with the same violence that had stolen my father?
