Oksana claps her hands lightly. "Sounds like a plan? Good. Let’s move."
Then she glances at Igio's limp body hanging from the ceiling.
"Oh, and if one of you could put that bastard out of his misery? I just cleaned up."
She grins. They all stare at her. Speechless. Floored.
And me?
I feel it, pure, unfiltered pride rising like heat in my chest.
"That’s my girl," I say.
And every man in the room believes it.
Even the air feels wired,electric, like New York is holding its breath. Raf drives with the confidence of a man who’s convinced rules are theoretical. Stephano handed him a little black box that Raf plugged in, and all the lights are turning green for us.
"You've been holding out on me, Marito," I say.
"Me too," Raf agrees.
"I might get you both one for Christmas," Stephano tries to joke, but it falls slightly flat. The tension is too high.
Stephano sits beside me in the back, holding my hand, like he needs the physical contact. His jaw is sharp enough to cut granite. We’re headed to Raf’s computer store to finally get into the Venezuelan database. We’re about to strip the Valverde files down to their bones.
That’s when my phone rings.
Grigori.
Oh shit.
With everything else exploding around me—lies, betrayals, Gustave’s rotting empire—I’d almost forgotten about Nico.
No.
Not forgotten. I shoved it onto the back burner like a coward. Yes, a coward.
Me.
The woman who can slit a man’s throat in the dark without scuffing her shoes. I can take a bullet, a beating, a kill order?—
But apparently deliveringanotherblow to Stephano Conti?
That’s where my spine wobbles. One more truth, and I’m afraid it won’t be just him breaking. I might crack with him. And Oksana Arsenyev does not crack.
I answer. "Da?"
"What the fuck is going on, Oksana?"
He sounds like a wolf foaming at the mouth. My blood turns to ice. I know that tone of voice. I've been there a few times when he used it on some hapless victim in his dungeon.
"What did you find?" I ask in Russian, already knowing the answer but praying I’m wrong.
More Russian pours through the speaker, vicious and fast. "Ty izdevaesh’sya nada mnoy?"—Are you fucking kidding me? "Ty zastravila menya nianiit’ i balkovat’ krvavogo vraga."—You made me babysit and pamper our own blood enemy.
My spine locks.
Stephano turns, brow furrowing. His Russian isn’t perfect, but he understands enough. Raf stiffens too.
