“I understand.”
“Good. Because Timofey wants to discuss territorial security. Particularly around our financial operations.” Another pause. “I hope you haven’t been careless with sensitive information, Anton. Family loyalty requires absolute discretion.”
I stare at the documents spread on my counter. The proof that Igor’s own cousin is orchestrating a coup. Information that could save Igor’s empire or destroy it, depending on how I play this.
Information that Mary stumbled upon because she was too conscientious to ignore suspicious transactions.
“I’m always transparent with you,” I lie.
“Good. Because I’m calling a meeting tomorrow night. All senior leadership. We need to discuss recent developments.”
Another meeting. Which means Igor’s either planning to eliminate threats or identify them.
Either way, by tomorrow night, people are going to die.
“I’ll be there.”
“Excellent. And Anton? Bring anything interesting you might have discovered. Any information that might be relevant to our current situation.”
He knows. Somehow, the old bastard knows I’m sitting on something big.
“Of course.”
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down, stare at Mary’s purse.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was hunting Viktor Kozlov for stealing casino money. Simple job. Clean execution.
Now I’m hiding evidence from myPakhan, protecting a bank clerk with a death wish, and sitting on intelligence that could start a war.
All because I couldn’t walk away from a woman who smelled like soap and fear.
My phone vibrates. Boris again.
Mission accomplished. Got enough clothes to last a week. Also grabbed some toiletries because I’m not a monster. Heading back now. Please tell me you haven’t burned down the penthouse in my absence.
I look around the pristine apartment. At the cold lasagna that I can’t finish. At the purse full of evidence that’s about to make my life infinitely more complicated.
Penthouse is fine,
I text back.
But we need to talk when you get here.
Boris : Uh oh. That sounds ominous. Should I bring vodka?
Me: Bring everything.
Because tomorrow night, Igor’s going to ask me what I know.
And I’m going to have to decide whether to hand over the woman I can’t stop thinking about, or start a war I might not survive.
The lasagna tastes like cardboard now.
But I keep eating anyway.
Because some habits die hard.
