I glance down the road to make sure no other vehicle is approaching. “Go home.”
Even in the dark, I can see the obstinate set of his mouth as he squares off with me. “Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere. You said the thing was tomorrow. Why did you lie to me?”
My head drops back on my neck, and I beseech the heavens for help. “I don’t want you here, Aleksei. Go. Home.”
“Hell, no. Someone has to have your back,” he argues.
“I’ve got six men to do that.”
“But they’re not me.” He grabs the back of my neck and forces our foreheads together. “Aleks, what’s going on? Why are you shutting me out?”
Guilt rides me hard, and I sigh. “I’m not. I’m trying to protect you.”
He pulls away and gesticulates wildly, clearly annoyed. “From what? It’s an easy job. Go in. Kill Patrick’s bitch. Leave. Easy peasy. Why lie to me, then sneak out of the fucking bell tower? And why the fuck do you need six men to take care ofEva? You’re not telling me something, and if I have to beat it out of you, I will.”
God, I want to lie to him so badly just to get him to leave. But if my brother is anything, it’s stubborn. “Because killing Eva isn’t the only thing I’ll be doing.”
My twin usually has no volume or impulse control, so I know when he goes completely quiet, he’s really,reallypissed.
“What the fuck else would you be?—”
“Francesco killed Aoife.”
Aleksei’s words cut off abruptly. “What?”
That familiar rage that I can’t escape from swiftly flies forward. “He ordered her death. Sent his men to do the job.”
He roughly scrubs a hand over his chin. “You sure?”
“It came directly from Drako.”
“Well, fuck. I’m sorry, A.”
“Francesco is going to be there today.”
Without me having to go into details, Aleksei knows exactly what I’m implying. “Which is an even better reason why you need me with you.” He turns on his heel, gets back into his car, and stares at me through the window glass. Obstinate ass. Aleksei isn’t perfect, far from it, but I love my brother more than I hate his faults. Regardless of what I said, I’m glad he’s here.
With a groan of acceptance, I go to his driver’s side and tap on the glass for him to roll it down. “The other van is heading to the house. You follow me.”
He gives me a two-finger salute.
Aleksei stays close, and after two minutes, we turn onto an unmarked hidden road that is more a rutted earthen path than a thoroughfare. We’re about a half mile from house. I did my homework. Studied the satellite images and memorized the schematics that Patrick sent me. I know the layout of the Knight estate, the property, and the location of every security camera.
Aleksei is already waiting for me and opens the back double doors when I join him. “I know you brought the good stuff.”
“That I did.” Pulling the large black case toward me, I flick the latches and open it to reveal a sniper rifle and several guns strapped to the underside of the lid.
Aleksei removes his Sig Sauer from his back holster and grabs an extra magazine. “What the hell,” he says and takes another gun, doing a quick check and prep of the chamber and safety before stuffing it into his back waistband. “What now?”
Assembling the rifle, I reply, “Now we get into position and wait…why are you smiling?”
“Just like old times.”
Many of our old times involve doing “jobs” for the bratva. Torture. Death. Blood. We had to earn our way into the Petrov family, deserving of the mark we now have inked on our chests. I don’t consider myself a murderer, but the lives I’ve taken over the years—the lives I’m about to take, even if they deserve everything that was coming to them—says otherwise.
“Ready?”
He nods.
