At least I got Pyotr talking. It’s the most progress I've made in three days.
And now I know that Ivan's never kept a woman here before. Never looked at anyone the way he looks at me. And he’s expected to choose a Bratva woman,notme.
I'm not sure if that makes me special or exceptionally screwed.
Probably both.
9
IVAN
Rain hammers Chicago like the city owes it money. The streets are rivers as gutters overflow, the whole place drowning in cold, gray water. I follow two of Dmitri's dealers through it, collar turned up, gun heavy against my ribs.
Mikhail and Alexei. Low-level muscle, but Dmitri's been using them for reconnaissance lately. I've been tracking their movements for two days, expecting them to lead me to another warehouse or drug lab to burn down.
Instead, they head toward the docks, venturing into familiar territory.
They lead me directly to Dave's Diner.
Shit. The diner should be neutral ground and off-limits. But Dmitri doesn't respect boundaries—that's why we're at war.
They duck inside, shaking rain from their jackets. Through the water-streaked window, I see Mick behind the counter. The piece of shit is working alone. No Lila to dump responsibilities on, obviously—she's forty stories up in my penthouse, safe and increasingly angry about it.
So… Mick's got connections to Dmitri's organization? Nothing major. Stays clean enough to maintain plausible deniability.
Smart. Or cowardly. Sometimes they're the same thing.
I slip in through the familiar back entrance, the one the staff uses for smoke breaks. The same one I slipped through bleeding just days ago. It’s never locked. The owner's too fucking cheap to fix the latch.
The back hallway is dark, reeking of fryer grease and mildew. I position myself so I can hear what’s going on but remain hidden in the shadows.
Mikhail's voice carries: "Where's the girl who worked that night? The pretty blonde?"
My hand goes to my gun.
Mick scratches his greasy neck. "Lila? Haven't seen her since. Bitch didn't even call in sick."
Bitch.I want to put a bullet through his skull right here. But I need to hear this. Need to know what Dmitri's planning. I have to be one step ahead.
"Dmitri wants her," Mikhail says.
"Why? She's just a waitress."
"Doesn’t matter why. Boss wants her either recruited or removed."
My blood runs cold. Recruited or removed. The two options Dmitri gives to loose ends.
"Recruited? What's that mean?" Mick asks.
"Pretty girl, no family. Perfect for his side business."
The side business. Fucking pigs. Dmitri's been expanding into trafficking over the past year, moving girls through the port and selling them to Moscow connections. I've wanted to shut it down, but other priorities keep getting in the way.
Now it's personal.
"If she shows up?" Mick asks, calculation and greed braided with every word.
"Call this number." Paper rustles. "There's money in it for you. Good money."
