Marcello might be on the unhinged side, but can I honestly say that I’m any better? I mean, what woman gets hot with the idea of slicing someone open? Yeah, okay, maybe Marcello isn’t the only one who needs therapy. I could also do with a good dose of it. Too bad the Outfit frowns upon such things. But that’s a problem for future-me. Tonight, I need to be razor-focused for whatever Kirill is planning to spring on me.
Luckily, Annamaria is out like a light before ten. I get dressed and load up on every accessory and blade I’ll need for this little clandestine date before carefully heading to Enzo’s room. When I slip into his room, I remember one itty-bitty, inconvenient detail—Enzo and Lucky share a damn bathroom between their adjoining bedrooms.
“You know, knocking is the appropriate etiquette when entering a room with a closed door,” Lucky says, towel around his waist, running another through his damp hair.
“Bite me, Luciano.” I roll my eyes as I glance at Enzo’s empty room. “Where’s Enzo?”
“Out,” he says, offering absolutely nothing else.
In other words, Enzo is off banging his latest conquest. I thought as much. In fact, I was counting on it. Enzo’s room is the only one close enough to the big oak tree for an easy shimmy down to freedom. Like me, he’s not afraid of the soldiers my father has posted around the property. We’ve used this tree as our escape route more times than I can count. Which is exactly why Lucky isn’t shocked to see me here, even if I’d prefer to keep my comings and goings under everyone’s radar.
Enzo wouldn’t bat an eye at me sneaking out of the house, but Lucky? Lucky asks questions. And if I wanted questions, I’d use the front door and get the third degree from any one of our parents.
“Should I even ask where you’re going?” he mutters, proving my point.
“You can ask,” I reply, “just don’t expect an answer.”
“Whatever.” He huffs. “Just make sure you leave the window open for Enzo if you get back first.”
I give him a mock salute, which only earns me a scowl.
Once he shuts the door behind him, I swing one leg out the window, then the other, balancing on the branch before inching slowly to the trunk and then climbing down. I stick to the shadows and sprint toward the gate, making sure the guards don’t spot me. Once I hit the main road, I break into a full run toward the Uber waiting for me. The driver pulls away the second I get in, heading to the address Kirill sent.
I lean back into the seat, watching the secluded woods blur past, feeling excitement and restlessness coil tight inside me as Iwonder what kind of trouble tonight has in store. Whatever it is, I’m more than ready for it.
Chapter 8
Kirill
I flick my Zippo open and shut, the metallic snap the only thing keeping me from losing my fucking mind. The cigarette between my lips burns low, smoke curling lazily around me as I lean against the side of my car, parked across the street from the hotel entrance.
When I got the call from my spy inside the Embassy of the Republic of Belarus in Washington, D.C., telling me that Sergei would be inmycity for one night before heading to Bogotá to start his new post as ambassador, I knew this was my shot. My one chance to finally kill the bastard. What I didn’t account for was me driving to UChicago and inviting Stella to tag along. And because of that brilliant decision, my eyes keep dropping to my watch, tracking every second that ticks by.
11:56.
11:57.
11:58.
Still no sign of Stella.
Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe I didn’t make the offer tempting enough. Maybe she decided she was done with our little dance. Maybe, Maybe… Maybe. All these fucking maybes are doing my head in. And the worst part? I don’t have time to wait for her much longer. This kill is too important to fuck up. Not even for her.
Ever since Vasily died, Sergei has eluded death at our hands because of his diplomatic status. He’s hidden his true nature behind political smiles and alliances, even hiring Chechen bodyguards in case his ambassador title wasn’t enough to keep him safe. D.C. kept him untouchable since killing him there would bring the feds down on theBratvafast. Colombia is another story, though. It’s outside FBI jurisdiction. But that doesn’t mean Sergei hasn’t taken every precaution he needs to stay breathing. I wouldn’t put it past him to make a deal with the cartel to make sure none of us can ever get to him.
Which means tonight is all I get. My one chance to kill the last loyal lieutenant who followed Vasily’s orders to the letter. Sergei might not have lifted a finger to kill my sister, but that doesn’t make him any less guilty of her death. After all, it was his men who found her in Chicago and alerted Vasily to her whereabouts. He was the one who delivered Katya to Vasily. That alone earns him a slow, merciless death.
Sergei has walked around as if none of that blood were on his hands long enough. And seeing him holed up in a five-star hotel tonight, parading around under some bullshit alias like he’s untouchable, only fuels my wrath. If theublyudokthinks he can eat, fuck, and play in my city and get away with it, I’ll be here to remind him that he can’t. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Normally, I’d bring backup for something like this, but tonight… Tonight I want it to be personal. I want every second of it to be mine. I wanthislast second to be mine. No witnesses. No interference. Just me and my rage.
Stella was the only person I was willing to make an exception for. But she’s apparently a no-show.
Midnight.
Times up.
I push off the car and cross the street, tossing what’s left of the cigarette to the ground. I snap shut my Zippo with a sharp click before pocketing it and heading toward the hotel entrance. My focus is solely on Sergei, and on the satisfaction I’ll get from hearing him beg for mercy.
