I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My cop brother is telling me he wants me to stay with the biggest known criminal in the city.
“I don’t like it,” he adds quickly. “There’s a hell of a lot about this I don’t like, as a matter of fact. I don’t like who he is, what he stands for, or what he does. But right now, you’re in the middle of what’s going on. And he’s your best chance at staying safe. I’m glad to see you, Am. But you probably shouldn’t have left the house.”
I look down at my hands, at the curl of steam wafting from the coffee cup.
“I’ll open an investigation,” he says. “Off the books at first, making it formal when I can. I’ll find out who was behind the shooting—if it’s Garin or some other Bratva head. But the fact of the matter is, that fortress of a mansion is the safest place for you right now.”
“And until then?” I ask.
“Until then you stay there. Stay where you’re protected. Don’t lie to me. And don’t do anything reckless to prove you’re strong—I already know you are.”
My throat tightens. “And what about Mom?”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t tell her anything for now. Take advantage of the fact that she’s on the other side of the country. When this is all over, then we’ll give her the good news. And wewillbe giving her good news.”
He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I don’t love this. But I love you. And that baby?” A small smile tugs at his mouth. “That baby is part of our family now. That’s my niece or nephew, and I’m going to love them like crazy when they show up—no matter who their dad is.”
I nod, tears spilling freely. Kyle hands me a napkin and I dab them away before I start to make a scene. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” he says softly. “I am too. But you’re not alone.”
When we stand to leave, he pulls me into one more warm hug, pressing a kiss to my hair. “We’ll get through this, Am. All of us.”
I want to believe him. I really, really do.
CHAPTER 45
ROMAN
“What do you think?”
“I think it looks like you’re about to explain how the Illuminati secretly controls everything.”
The far wall in my office is no longer adorned with art. Instead, a massive, sprawling crime board dominates the space. It’s covered in evidence—mugshots, photos, satellite pictures, text transcripts—all of it an attempt to link everything that’s happened to Garin.
Andrei’s handiwork.
“It’s a mess, I know,” he says. “But we’re onto something.”
“I think you are right.”
I sip my whiskey, my gaze moving slowly over the crime board. Garin. He’s what this is about. Elena’s assassination, the attempted kidnapping of Amalie, the shooting at the gala the other night. I know it was him. The problem is connecting him to it with more than just my intuition.
“We have some payments routed through a server shell in Latvia,” Andrei says. “Same provider Garin used three years ago as a logistics proxy. But it’s not proof. He’s damn good at hiding that.”
“He never signs his name,” I add. “That way, when people like the CPD or FBI, or you and I put together boards like this, we find nothing but dead ends. That’s how men like him survive.”
There’s nothing solid, not enough to throw on him and claim, undoubtedly, that he was the one behind it all.
“The gala shooting,” Andrei says. “The shooters were amateurs.”
“But loyal. No rent-a-gun would’ve kept his mouth shut like the man I caught did. He would have sung like a little bird to keep his life. And he would not have done something as risky as taking my gun.”
A thought occurs to me, one I can’t believe escaped my attention before. “When he took the gun…”
Andrei’s eyes flash. He gets it. “He was aiming for Amalie. Not you.”
I nod. “She was the target.”
