Handling this myself, without backup, would've been suicide.
My friends found the bait—the only thing guaranteed to drag Calder out of his safe house and onto ground I control.
New York.
My city. My streets. My territory.
The M&K formal sale must be referring to the Mortelle-Karpov merger. Karpov is a relatively new Russian mob pushing into the Western world. Cat's been trying to broker a mutually beneficial agreement, and it looks like it finally landed.
If that's the case, this event will be the biggest consolidation of criminal assets in over a decade. Every major player on the Eastern Seaboard will be there—cutting deals, forging alliances, circling each other like sharks in bloody water.
Calder will want a seat at the table. It cements his position at the top of the food chain.
He won't be able to resist.
And he'll have to bring Keira. Dressed up, paraded around,displayed on his arm like a trophy he wants everyone to admire but no one to touch. His pretty little prisoner in designer clothes.
He'll walk her right into my hands and never see it coming.
That means I have two weeks to keep this mask in place and plan everything perfectly.
It also means two more weeks of standing close enough to touch her—but not being able to.
Two more weeks of this slow, excruciating death.
Keira ispaler than before when she finally walks out of the doctor's office.
Her hands hang limp at her sides, a faint tremor in her fingers. Whatever happened in that room shook loose the last threads holding her together.
She won't meet my eyes.
Two fresh puncture marks dot the crooks of her elbows. "Is everything alright, madame?"
She doesn't answer.
We walk out of the clinic in silence. The parking lot is empty—no sign of Otis anywhere.
She stops at the edge of the pavement, staring out at nothing.
"I'd like to walk for a bit. If that's allowed."
She's asking me for permission to take a fucking walk. To breathe fresh air while we wait. As if existing outside a cage requires approval from her handlers.
"Whatever you want," I say through clenched teeth.
I completely forgot to ditch the rage and put on the accent.
Fuck.
Keira's eyes lift to mine, a small furrow forming between her brows.
She heard it. The slip.
Get it together. You're going to blow everything because you can't keep your shit straight around her.
But she doesn't call me out.
Instead, she repeats the words back to me. Like she's tasting something foreign on her tongue.
