And they all know that a man who has something to profit from is dangerous, but a man who has something to lose is deadly.
“And Morozov?” Miles asks.
I straighten my spine. “If Morozov arrives, he’ll be informed of the same terms.”
It’s a bold claim. I’m not a don but I’ve just made it crystal clear I will challenge a Pakhan.
My conviction is convincing. Miles exhales slowly. “Fine. We’ll step back.”
The Brit hesitates.
I say nothing. Seconds pass like minutes.
Then he swallows. “We… reassess involvement.”
I lift my chin, then I drop my voice to the temperature of Russia’s coldest winter.
“Any attempt to locate, threaten, or exploit my wife, or anyone connected to her, will be deemed a hostile act.”
No one says a word, because the implication is clear.
War will break out.
And war, unlike business, does not guarantee profit.
I straighten my cuffs, the conversation already concluded in my mind.
As I turn toward the exit, I hear it. The rustle of jackets, the shuffle of feet, the intakes of breath. In one smooth movement, I draw the gun from my waistband, spin around and fire at one after the other.
Pop, pop, pop, pop.
Four bodies drop to the ground.
Not one regret.
I’ve been in this business a long time and have met hundreds of men like them. Too green, too greedy, too blinded by the allure of dirty riches.
And they never fucking learn.
Erin
I wake from a restless dream to an unfamiliar room, with Paige sleeping soundly in my arms, just as she did when she was a toddler.
Memories of the hours leading up to this moment come flooding back in choppy images. Gerard’s sneer as he regarded me. Paige’s terrified face, her eyes streaming while her mouth was taped over. Blood running out across the floor. Brains splattered on a corridor wall.
Nausea starts to creep up my throat and my gaze darts about searching for a bathroom. Then Paige stirs, distracting me, and I press a kiss to her cheek.
I gently extract myself from her warm grip. I need to know where everyone is before I can fully settle. I tiptoe down the hall toward the reception room and see Mallorie asleep on one of the couches with a mountain of blankets covering her. A movementby the window catches my attention and the man who brought Mal here—Arrow—is awake, alert and keeping watch.
I walk quietly up to him.
“Do you know where my mother is?” I whisper, trying not to wake Mallorie.
He points back the way I just came. “First room on the left,” he mouths.
I nod and am about to turn when I feel his fingers lightly touch my arm.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “Can I get you anything?”
