I frown. “What?”
“You keep looking at the corner like someone’s gonna shoot through the blinds.”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
There’s a car out there. Parked too long. Engine off. No lights. Just sitting.
I’ve seen it twice now; once last night outside the motel, and now again here. White Nissan. No stickers. No damage. Clean plates.
Too clean.
Ray follows my gaze. “You expecting company?”
“No.”
“Want me to run that plate?”
“No.”
Because if it is who I think it is… I already know.
Igor, my own fuckingPakhan,doesn’t send warnings. He sends watchers. Reminders that he’s always ten steps ahead, even when you’re doing his dirty work.
He’s testing me.
Ray raises an eyebrow, then drops it. “Right.Bratvabusiness.”
I take a slow sip of the burned coffee and set it down again. “More like Bratva paranoia.”
Ray gives a dry chuckle. “Igor still seeing ghosts in his sleep?”
“He’s convinced there’s a traitor in his inner circle. Says someone’s been feeding intel to the outside.”
Ray leans back. “What doesheconsider ‘outside’? You? Because let’s be honest, Anton, if Igor’s bleeding money and you’re the one following the trail, it doesn’t take a genius to guess who he thinks is holding the knife.”
I don’t answer. But the silence says enough.
Ray snorts. “Jesus. You’ve given him what, fifteen years? Twenty?”
“Nineteen.”
He whistles low. “And he still doesn’t trust you?”
“He doesn’t trust anyone.”
Ray taps a finger on the mug. “Yeah, well… you’re not justanyoneto him. Word is, people have started looking at you differently. Like you’re the next in line.”
“I’m not.”
“I didn’t say you were. I saidtheythink you are. There’s a difference.”
I stare at the car again. The window’s fogged slightly now, like someone’s breathing inside. Watching.
Ray follows my eyes again, quieter now. “You think he’d do it?”
“What?”
