Elle stands next to me and whispers in my ear.
“Yuri Volkov.”
My eyes widen.
The man’s supposed to be dead.
He’s the Boston bratva’s formerpakhan. His nephew inherited about five years ago.
Is he calling me from the grave?
Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s a bona fide demon.
“How’s the weather in Boston?”
“You know who I am,Señora.”
“I do. Your reputation precedes you.”
“But was it Enrique or Elodie who told you who I am?”
“Like I said, your reputation precedes you.”
“But I died before you became a mercenary.”
I don’t like that he knows anything about me when I know so little about him.
“Infamy lives on.”
What the fuck does he want?
He’s toying with me, and I can’t show my impatience.
He cackles before coughing.
Not dead—yet, but ill enough he stepped down.
“What do you want, Mr. Volkov?”
“Your boyfriend needs to stay away from Boston.”
“He likes chowder.”
I have no idea if Alejandro does or doesn’t.
“Be that as it may, he’s not welcome here.”
“Then you should’ve left him alone.”
Does he think Alejandro’s in Boston?
Is that where he really went and not Italy?
I stare at Enrique, trying to determine if Alejandro lied to me about his destination. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did, but I’m assessing the realistic danger Alejandro’s in right now when he’s supposed to be somewhere over the Atlantic.
“What’s done is done. Put the past behind you,Señora.”
The word sounds so strange with his Russian accent. He keeps on insisting upon using the honorific for married and older women. He’s making a point that I’m a Cartel woman, not a Mafia one. He’s not the one who gets to sever my ties to my family.
