“No,” I say idly as I zero in on a pinned note, “but he can give us the date of a weapon shipment. Whatever could he need that for?”
Niko snorts out a laugh. “Shit.”
Shit, indeed. “January twenty-second. Long Beach Port,” I tell them.
Sure, it doesn’t tell us when he’ll be pouncing on Antonio, but when you get a bunch of automatic weapons delivered to you with a bow, you don’t get to wait around much longer. Especially when you’re from out of town, and the police here answer to the man you’re trying to start a war with.
Satisfied with the information, I plant the bugs as Niko and Rodion bicker in my ear. This is good. Fantastic, even. I foundeverything I needed, and because of this, Chicago is almost assuredly secured.
I expect some relief to hit me—some of the guilt to lessen up—but it never does. The chip on my shoulder probably won’t disappear until after Wolfgang tells me Chicago is back in his hands. Then, my plan will be complete, and I will have done the Bratva a huge favor. I will no longer feel indebted to my brother for all the shit I did in the past.
I swallow down my impatience for the thousandth time, continuing my work.
Soon, it will be all over.
As I finish planting the mics, my hand brushes a smooth material, making me halt. When I look to my left, a cashmere scarf I hadn’t noticed earlier sits folded neatly at the edge of the desk. I scowl, searching for something in the depths of my memory.
Where the fuck have I seen it before? And why is it here, of all places?
“All the mics are connected. Get the hell out of there,” Rodion says as I continue to rack my brain about that scarf, like an itch I’m not able to scratch.
The sound of footsteps in the building’s hallway brings me back to the present. They don’t seem to be slowing or changing course.
As far as I’m concerned, the fucker’s back, showed up out of nowhere while I’m still here, going through his stuff. Adrenaline floods my veins, sharp and clean, as I slip onto the balcony and turn to face the room.
As expected, the footsteps stop in front of the apartment.
The keys turn in the door.
And right as I slide the balcony doors shut, Remus steps inside.
36
Cecilia
“Ican’t believe she’s listening to me,” I marvel, gripping the reins tight as Victoria’s mare begins to move—with me on her back. I let out an awed laugh, engaging my core and thighs as I try not to fall.
“You’re doing amazing! How does it feel?” my sister-in-law asks, looking up at me with big, hopeful eyes.
When she saw me at the breakfast table this morning, sulking and sleep-deprived, she insisted we come out here and enjoy the sunny day. I ended up saying yes, that I wanted a riding lesson at last. Anything to take my mind off the danger Mikhail walked into yesterday, because of course, he’s all I can think about.
“I can see why you love it so much,” I admit.
“Wait till you start gaining speed a few months down the line. Nothing compares to the feeling of the wind blowing in your hair or the otherworldly connection you develop with your horse. When you can trust her, and she trusts you, it’s just…ah, it’s magical.”
“Oh, I believe you. Though if Alaska decides to throw me off her back, this rider’s future won’t be so magical.”
Victoria’s lips press together. “Try not to say the word schnitzel too much. That’s when she gets a little feisty. Ask me how I know.”
I look at her, and I laugh, throwing my head back. “She has a personality. Noted.”
We walk a few rounds of the fenced pen with me on the horse and Victoria by its side, instructing and encouraging me along the way. At some point, I gain my footing and relax a little, realizing there’s probably nothing to worry about. I won’t fall.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.
“Hmm? Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“How do you do it? Accept that Wolfgang’s life can end at any moment. You know, considering his line of work.”
