Eighteen
Journal Entry
Twenty-two years old
Lines of codeproject onto Pyotr’s face, scrolling up his forehead as his fingers fly across the keyboard of his laptop. “I wish you’d let me help you.”
“You are helping me.”
“Not with this, dumbass. The other thing.”
I would never forgive myself if he got injured…or killed, because there’s one thing I know for certain, Pyotr would take a bullet for me, and I mean that in the literal sense.
“The answer is still no, but it comes from a place of love.”
He flips me the bird and continues typing. “How many men are going with you?”
“Six.” All of them Drako’s, but he already knows that.
Pyotr’s head swivels my way, and I can sense his worry. “Including Aleksei?”
“He’s not coming.”
“Doesheknow that?”
“No.”
Pyotr’s eyebrows dubiously march toward his hairline. “You plan to sneak out in the middle of the night while he’s asleep?”
“Something like that.”
He returns his attention to the laptop. “Aleksei is going to kill you if you leave without him.”
Aleksei knows nothing about Francesco, and I don’t want my brother caught up in my revenge. It’s not his burden to bear. Same with Pyotr. There are so many things that could go wrong this weekend, but it is what it is. It’s too late to turn back now. My fate was decided the day my mother and Aoife died. Besides, if anything happens to me, I’ll need Pyotr to look after Aleksei.
A few more keystrokes and Pyotr’s arms shoot high in victory. “Voilà! We’re in,” he exclaims when he hacks into the live security feed at the guys’ house.
I easily could have done it, but he loves this kind of stuff, so I let him have at it.
Scooting in closer, all I see on the screen is the front door of the house. “Is that it? Can’t you access the other cameras?”
He huffs. “Impatient much?” He presses the arrow key, and the view cycles through other vantage points.
“Stop. There they are,” I say when I see Syn and the guys on the back patio. “Is there audio?”
“Ah…um…” He types in a few commands. “Doesn’t look like it.”
I rotate the laptop. They’re sitting around the patio table. Syn scowls down at the plate of food Hendrix puts in front of her, and her nose wrinkles with distaste. Cute.
“You’re grinning,” Pyotr remarks.
My smile falls away. “I am not.”
“Do you like her?”
“I don’t really know her.”
“Do you want to?”
