Chapter 33
Kolya
The Starlight Motor Court lives up to its name. The motel’s one of those places that peaked in the sixties and has been sliding downhill ever since.
A neon sign flickers against the afternoon sky, the star sputtering as if on life support. The smell of pine cleaner fights a losing battle against mildew and desperation.
I stand in the doorway of Cottage Seven.
Outside, Alexei holds his phone to his ear and paces with long strides while explaining to Roman why Gio Falcone is dead but the diamonds still aren’t in our hands.
Inside the sad little living area, Chloe perches on the edge of the sofa, a small white bandage taped to her cheek. Her bare toes curl against the threadbare carpet. Someone gave her a change of clothes. A t-shirt too large. Sweatpants rolled at the ankles.
Vanya’s, probably. He’s always prepared. Like a less wholesome Boy Scout. Even now, he’s unpacking a duffel bag of first aid supplies.
“Hold still.” With an uncharacteristic frown, he dabs antiseptic on a cut I missed along her hairline. “Beauty like yours shouldn’t be scarred.”
She doesn’t flinch at the sting. Just smiles. A real one, not the forced brightness she used to wear like armor. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
Vanya jerks back and clutches his chest in mock offense. “Blasphemy. The universe doesn’t allow perfection to be marred.”
“Tell that to my split ends.” Chloe flips her hair, and he laughs.
I should be jealous. Should bristle at his easy charm and the way she responds to him. Vanya’s as deep as a sake cup, and Chloe has surely picked up on that already.
Instead, I’m transfixed. Seeing her like this—bruised but unbroken, joking after torture—is like discovering a gem in a handful of gravel.
Roman might not have his diamonds, but I have mine.
And I’m never going to lose her.
Max scowls from the kitchenette, gulping water like he’s trying to drown something inside himself. His disgust radiates across the space in waves.
Not at Chloe. His glare is all for me.
“We should’ve finished it.” His voice is a barely controlled growl. “Ensured he was dead.”
“The building collapsed on him.” Kirill cleans his knife with precise, entrancing motions. Blood flakes away beneath his cloth. “No one walks away from that.”
“You hope.” Max caps his water bottle with unnecessary force. “You hope he’s dead because you chose to save her instead of confirming. Sloppy. Unprofessional.”
The room stills. Even Vanya’s charm falters.
Alexei enters, pocketing his phone. His bright blue eyes sweep over us, taking in the tension. “Kolya, a word in private?”
Suka.
The air outside is cool, a layer of cloud coverage weakening the intensity of the afternoon sun. The motel parking lot is empty save for our two vehicles, a black SUV and the van we used for extraction.
Both are stolen and due to be torched once we’re on the move again.
“I’m sorry.” Apologizing to Max is out of the question, but Alexei… He has his own personal reason for wanting Gio dead. Gio directed attacks on Alexei’s wife in an attempt to hide the truth about MJ’s death. “About Gio. I should have confirmed the kill.”
Alexei flips a coin between his fingers, the motion catching the light with each rotation, each hypnotic flash of silver. “Would you do it differently? If you could go back?”
I consider lying and giving the expected answer. The right answer.
Yes, of course, the mission above all.
