I won’t walk away until I know for sure whether the man I fell for exists, or if he was just another one of Tony’s lies.
I owe myself that much, even if the answer destroys me.
20
Tony
Boris unlocks the cell door on day seven, and I know something has changed.
He doesn’t say anything. Just jerks his head toward the hallway and waits while I stand. My legs protest the movement after a week of sitting on concrete, but I don’t complain.
We walk through corridors I don’t recognize. Up two flights of stairs. Past guards who watch me like I’m a bomb that might detonate at any moment. None of them speak. A few spit on the floor as I pass. Can’t blame them for that—I’m the bastard who took a contract to destroy their Pakhan’s sister.
Finally, Boris stops at a door and knocks twice.
“Come in,” Dmitri’s voice calls from inside.
The office is nothing like the warehouse where he interrogated me. Mahogany desk. Leather chairs. Top-to-bottom bookshelves filled with volumes that actually look read. A crystal decanter of vodka sits on a side table next to cut-glass tumblers.
Dmitri sits behind the desk reviewing documents. He doesn’t look up when I enter. I stand there for thirty seconds. A minute. Two. This is a power play, and I understand it. He’s establishing dominance, reminding me who controls my fate.
I can wait.
Finally, he sets down his pen and looks at me.
“Sit,” he instructs.
I take the chair across from him. Boris positions himself by the door with his arms crossed. No one speaks for another long moment while Dmitri finishes whatever he’s reading. When he’s done, he closes the folder and folds his hands on top of it.
“Adrian’s been trying to reach you,” he states. “Seventeen over the past week. Each one more aggressive than the last.” Dmitri slides a phone across the desk. My phone. “He thinks you’re avoiding him because you’re too busy with Sasha to file proper reports.”
I pick up the phone and scroll through the messages. Adrian’s paranoia bleeds through every line. Demands for updates. Questions about why I haven’t responded. Threats about breach of contract. The final message, sent this morning, is just three words:Call me now.
“He’s getting desperate,” I observe.
“Which makes him dangerous.” Dmitri leans back in his chair. “But it also makes him predictable. Desperate men make mistakes. I want you to maintain your cover. Respond to Adrian. Continue to feed him false intelligence while we use your access to identify his source inside my organization.”
“You think there’s a mole.”
“I know there’s a mole. Adrian had information about Sasha’s movements that only came from someone with high-level access.” Dmitri’s voice goes colder. “Someone close to this family has been selling information to a man who wants to destroy us. I need to know who.”
I consider the proposal. Adrian’s going to kill me eventually for betraying him. That’s not a question—it’s just a matter of when. But if I can help Dmitri eliminate the leak first, maybe Sasha will be safer when Adrian finally comes for me.
“I’ll do it,” I declare.
“Just like that? No negotiations? No demands for immunity or protection?”
“What’s to negotiate? You have all the leverage. I’m just trying to keep Sasha alive.”
Dmitri snorts and replies, “You’re either genuinely in love with my sister, or you’re the best operative I’ve ever encountered.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“Not really. Love makes people sloppy. Compromises judgment. If you’re as good as your reputation suggests, you wouldn’t have let yourself fall for the target. Or maybe this is another layer of deception.” He picks up his pen and taps it against the desk. “Either way, you’re useful. For now.”
“What’s the plan?”
“You respond to Adrian. Tell him you’ve been maintaining deep cover with Sasha and that she’s starting to trust you. Provide him with false intelligence about family operations that sounds plausible but won’t damage us if he acts on it.”
