"Or at least neutralize them."
I don't mention the Barone information. The trap is too obvious—I recognized it immediately as false bait, felt Alexei watching me read it, waiting to see if I'd take it. The way his fingers drummed against the desk, patient as a spider.
"What aren't you telling me?" Nico studies me with eyes that have seen too much, done worse.
The parking garage is too quiet. Just the distant hum of ventilation and the tick of cooling engines. Somewhere, a rat scurries through garbage. The silence stretches until I can hear my own heartbeat, too fast, too revealing.
"The Barones," I say carefully, tasting each word before releasing it. "Alexei fed me information about them moving against us. Weapons shipment, three weeks."
Nico goes absolutely still. The kind of stillness that comes before violence. "And?"
"It's false. A trap. He's testing to see if I have outside contact."
"How do you know?"
"Because he wanted me to know. He practically gift-wrapped it." I shake my head, remembering the way he slid the fileacross his desk, those pale eyes tracking every micro-expression. "Alexei Volkov doesn't give away advantages. If that information were real, he'd use it himself—let us walk into an ambush. The fact that he handed it to me means it's bait. Amateur bait."
Nico exhales slowly. "Smart of you to spot it."
"I learned from the best."
"You learned from Dante. I just taught you how to kill people."
The joke falls flat between us, weighed down by truth.
We have a few more minutes before the risk becomes too great. I shouldn't waste them, but…
"How are you, Nico? Really?"
He shrugs, the motion controlled like everything about him. "Same as always. Keeping Marco from starting wars. Keeping Luca from finishing them. Watching Dante pretend he's fine when he's not."
"And you?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not an answer."
He huffs a laugh—surprised out of him, rusty from disuse. "Using my own words against me."
"Tommy is coming to visit next month," he says, deflecting smoothly. "Bringing his sister. You remember, from my unit?"
"The one who wouldn't stop asking about you in his letters?"
"She was asking about the family. The business."
"Nico." I catch the way his ears flush red in the fluorescent light. "She was asking about you."
He looks away, suddenly fascinated by a water stain on the concrete ceiling. The tips of his ears burn brighter, and something in my chest warms seeing my lethal brother undone by the mention of a woman.
I file it away for later teasing—if there is a later. If this ever ends.
"I should go. Before they notice."
Nico catches my arm, his grip firm but careful. "Sof. If it gets bad—if you need extraction—you call. I don't care what Marco says, I don't care about the mission. You call, and I come get you."
"I know."
"Promise me."
