I stare at his name for a moment before answering. My fingers itch to reach through the phone and wrap around his throat. “It’s late.”
“Then I’ll be brief. I hear there was an incident at Sasha’s apartment today.” He doesn’t sound concerned; he sounds satisfied. “I trust she’s unharmed?”
“She’s fine.”
“Good. She needs to stay intact until you’re done. Broken girls don’t suffer the same. Tell me, did you gather any useful intelligence during your visit?”
My jaw clenches.
He knows.
Somehow, he knows we were together and what we were about to do when the shooting started. Which means someone in Dmitri’s orbit is talking. In real time. To Adrian.
“I’m working on it,” I reply carefully.
“Work faster. You have four weeks left on our contract. I expect detailed updates, or we’ll discuss breach penalties.”
The line goes dead.
I take a deep breath and set the phone down slowly, because I want to hurl it against the wall. Adrian thinks he’s untouchable. He thinks money and contracts make him safe. But I’ve killed men with more protection than he has. I know exactly how I’d do it. Where I’d find him, how I’d get past his security, and which bones I’d break first to make sure he felt each second of what was coming.
The fantasy is vivid enough to taste.
I pull up a new document. If Adrian wants intelligence, I’ll give him intelligence. Just not the accurate kind.
I spend the next hour crafting a detailed report about Kozlov financial operations that’s mostly fiction. Bank accounts that don’t exist. Shell companies with fake addresses. Transaction patterns I’ve invented.
The trick is making it believable enough for Adrian to act on. If he uses this information and it leads nowhere, I’ll know the intelligence came from me. If future attacks target these fake locations or fake accounts, I’ll have established a pattern.
It’s not perfect, but it’s better than doing nothing.
I hit send and return to the security footage.
At 3 a.m., I hear footsteps behind me.
Sasha appears in the doorway wearing sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her hair down and messy. The shirt rides up as she stretches, showing off the faintest hint of bare stomach, but that’s all it takes to make my cock twitch behind my zipper. She’s carrying two mugs of coffee.
“Can’t sleep?” she asks.
“Apparently not.”
“Me either.” She crosses the room and hands me one of the mugs before sitting beside me on the couch. “What are you watching?”
“Security footage from your street. Trying to figure out who knew we’d be there.”
“And?”
“I have a short list of suspects and not enough evidence.”
Sasha sips her coffee and eyes the screen. “Show me what you’ve found.”
I walk her through the footage. The sedan. The phone call. The shooters arriving when we did.
“Someone tipped them off,” she agrees. “Someone who knew our schedule.”
I pull up my notes. “Only five people knew we were going to your apartment. Me, you, Boris, and the two drivers who cleared the place before we went in.”
“Go back to the sedan.” She gestures toward the screen.
