The phone buzzes again and I assume it's Yuri with another warning, but when I look at the screen I see Jovan's name instead. Jovan has no business texting me at all, and it makes me wish he were here so I could tell him what I really think of him with my Glock.
I glance at the windows. the curtains are drawn but don't quite meet in the middle. But I resist the urge to stand up and check if someone is watching the house. If they're watching this house, they'd know I'm awake, but that doesn’t mean they are. Maybe he's sent me something he hopes I'll wake to, and that piques my curiosity.
I open the message and see that it's a video file. It's grainy and low quality, and it has a timestamp in the corner reading eight months ago. The date Andrei supposedly killed Dominic.
I hit play.
The footage is taken from across the street, probably from a security camera on one of the buildings facing Yuri's wife'sdesign studio. The angle is wide, showing the entire front of the shop, and for a moment nothing happens. Then headlights appear at the edge of the frame.
Three black SUVs race up the street and screech to a stop in front of the studio, and I watch as the doors open. One of them is clearly Semyon Mirov's car, the one poised to deliver Dominic to the studio where they'd pick up his wife to be.
Muzzle flashes light up the street and I watch as men from two of the SUVs shoot at the third in very dramatic fashion. The whole thing lasts maybe thirty seconds before the SUVs peel away, leaving nothing but wreckage behind.
I rewind and watch it again, slower this time, looking for details. The vehicles have no plates. The men wear masks and try to avoid being seen. Everything about this screams professional hit, and if this video existed eight months ago, why am I only seeing it now?
I pause on a frame where one of the SUVs is closest to the camera. its passenger window is rolled down, and I zoom in as far as the quality will allow. The image pixelates, but there's something there—an arm extended out the window, holding a weapon. And on that arm, visible even through the blur, is a dark tattoo.
I stare at it trying to make sense of it, narrowing my eyes until it finally comes into focus.
I know that tattoo. Every man in the Gravitch family has one, a symbol of loyalty to the organization, ink that marks you as part of the brotherhood. The core design is the same for everyone—a double-headed eagle with a crown, the symbol of our Russian heritage—but each man makes it his own. Some add names.Some add dates. Some add flourishes and details that turn the simple design into something personal.
I can't tell whose tattoo this is from the video. The quality is too poor, the angle too distant, but I know what I'm looking at. This isn't just any hired gun. This is one of ours.
Someone in the Gravitch family tried to kill Yuri's wife.
I sit back and let my mind spin through the facts. If this is true and one of our own was involved in that hit, then everything I've been told about Andrei is wrong. He wasn't the sole shooter. He might not have been the shooter at all. This could be a frame job—a way to eliminate a rival or cover up a betrayal—and I've been chasing the wrong target for eight months.
Who benefits from this? Who stands to gain if Andrei takes the fall?
I watch the video again, this time focusing on the other details. The way the vehicles move. The coordination of the attack, the timing. This wasn't sloppy or rushed. It was planned down to the second, and that means there are more people involved than just Andrei and his shooter.
After another thirty minutes of watching the video, the buzz of alcohol becomes too much for me to see straight. I'll have to inform Yuri of this eventually, but I don't dare send him another message tonight or he'll send "help" in the form of someone who will barge into my business and take over.
But with this new information, I think I have a better idea of how to move forward. Even if I have to draw the fucker out myself. Whoever it is, I know what his tattoo is, at least. When I see the man with the matching mark, I'll know who took the shot that killed Dominic.
I flip the tv off and then the lights, check that the door is locked and then plug my phone in and take off my pants. Danica stirs a little when I crawl into bed to hold her, but she nestles into my chest and falls right back asleep and soon, I join her.
And I dream the rest of the night about finally catching Andrei Lebedev, and taking down every person in his little conspiracy to overthrow my family.
And they're some of the best dreams I've had in months.
20
DANICA
Iwatch the city lights blur past the window as Vadim drives us through Ada, heading toward the waterfront. My hands rest in my lap, fingers twisted together, and I'm trying to figure out how I feel about all this. Going on a date with him feels too normal for what we are. We're not a real couple. This marriage was nothing more than a transaction, and even after everything that's happened between us, I'm not sure what we're supposed to be now.
But I owe him this much. He saved my life when Marko had a gun to my head, and if maintaining appearances means playing the devoted wife for an evening, then I can do that. Besides, going out feels kind of special, like he actually cares about me, though I'm not sure what that means for a man like him. He's had every opportunity to tell me he really cares about me and at times, I've felt like he does. But he never says it and I'm left wondering. If he did, would it mean anything, anyway? Could I stay with him in this life he lives if he does?
"You're quiet," Vadim says, glancing at me briefly before returning his attention to the road.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"How strange this is."
His mouth quirks slightly. "Strange how?"
