“That’s terror,” Raina says.
“Her husband was the man who broke into my flat,” I whisper to Fallon. “The one I killed.”
“Does she know Ares is the one who ordered his death?”
“Aye,” I say.
Across the room, Ares leans in to whisper something in her ear. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t move. She just nods once, slow and mechanical.
“I just heard Ava give Griffin an update,” Connor says. “He’s going to marry her.”
“They’re in love?” Fallon says, scrunching her nose.
“I doubt Ares knows how to love.” I tuck her hand into my folded arms. “Not everyone is as lucky as we are.”
Connor leans in. “She knows he killed her husband. Forher. To marry her. Apparently, he’s off the rails for her.”
Elias Black’s company has been completely consumed by the Bratva. Everyone left alive pledged their possessions, tangible and intangible to the Volkovs. Including their wives.
But it looks like one got away.
Lourdes Sinclair.
Then Connor whispers something in my ear, and I go still. My eyes shoot back to Ares and Lourdes. How long? How long until it’s known that Lourdes didn’t get awayempty-handed?
A ripple moves through the crowd as midnight approaches. The row of overhead clear lightbulbs flickers. Once. Twice. Long enough for my instincts to flare.
“Come on,” Connor says, signaling to me and Trace, “Raina, guard Fallon.”
“What about me?” Shea says, folding her arms.
“The last man who tried to hurt you lost his head,” Trace says, grinning at his wife.
“That and she has Lachlan O’Rourke on speed dial. No one will dare harm her,” I add.
“Oh my God, Shea.” Fallon gasps and tucks in close to Raina. “You and Rhys have a lot in common. He practically decapitated Kosta.”
“We are lucky, lucky women,” Shea says, and locks Fallon firmly behind Raina.
Guests drink Ares’s expensive champagne and watch the fireworks, not realizing something horrible has happened.
In the elevator foyer, the only entrance into the rooftop club, Ares is a wall between everyone and Lourdes, who shakes in her skimpy dress.She’s not only guarded, she’s claimed.
A widow, hunted by the Bratva.
But why? What does she know? What does she have that belongs to the Volkovs?
“Ares,” I call out to him.
Zervas holds up his hand and doesn’t even turn around. “Walk away, Quinlan. This doesn’t concern you.”
“We’re allies, Ares,” Griffin says, parting through us.
“Not for this.” He turns around. “Not anymore.”
In his hand is a letter.
And behind him are seven bodies on the floor. Dead.
