Pagano delivers the threat with his dying breath. I stare at his lifeless body, momentarily numb.
Sera is di Salvo’s daughter. The implications ping-pong inside my skull.
The fact that her blood intimately ties her to the man who as good as murdered my sister. A man even more monstrous than Rocco.
The fact that he saw her in the club.
The fact that he knows she’s alive, and in the city, and within his reach. And he’s going after her.
Every instinct tells me he won’t let her escape. He’ll sell her or kill her. Either way, Renzo di Salvo saw Sera leave with me last night, which means he knows where to start hunting.
I yank away from Gio and start barking orders to Dimitri.
“No, no, don’t worry, Russian. I’ve got this,” Gio says sarcastically. “I’ll dispose of the body. No need to stay to help.”
I run for the door. Let him deal with the trash. I’ve got to get to Sera.
27
SERA
Ipull a tray of cookies out of the oven and do a silent cheer. They’re not nearly as burnt as the others.
Alik’s head chef, Irina, hovers around me, muttering under her breath as she clears away breakfast remains and I take up counter space, sliding my peace offering onto a cooling rack. The edges are a little singed, the tops a smidge past golden, but at least they look edible. Which is more than I can say about my previous two attempts.
I’m a cookie eater, not a cookie baker, but I woke up after thirty fitful minutes of sleep and was too restless to go back to bed. Restless and feeling guilty for running away from Dimitri last night. I owe him an apology. I made it impossible for him to do his job which, in the world ofmafiosi, is the same thing as failing to do his job. If Alik has punished Dimitri in any way, it’s entirely my fault.
I’m not so delusional that I think over-baked cookies are going to make everything better, but I hope it’s a start.
Irina picks up one of the cookies and raps it on the counter. The thing doesn’t even crack. “No good. He break teeth eating.”
“He’ll be fine,” I mutter, waving her away. “That’s what milk is for. To soften them up.”
The woman gives me a skeptical look before hustling back to the stove. I move the cookies to a plate before she has the chance to offer more criticism and grab a fancy glass jug of milk from the fridge on the way out of the kitchen.
It’s morning, maybe too early for cookies, but life inside the mansion doesn’t seem to run on a standard schedule. Alik is running around at all hours, Dimitri too. Overbaked or not, a sweet treat is always a good idea. The only hiccup in my plan is that I have no idea where Dimitri is.
He’s been my constant shadow since the moment we met in Alik’s apartment, even popping up when Alik dropped me off at my suite just before dawn. But I haven’t seen him once since waking up. Probably because he’s sleeping.
Duh, he should totally be sleeping.
I wander through the house, plate of cookies in one hand, milk in the other, slippersslushingagainst the highly polished floors. Unlike last night when we got back from the club, Alik’s guards are all in position. Some give me funny looks when I wonder by, craning my neck into various rooms on the off chance I’ll find Dimitri. Some look at my cookies suspiciously, but most ignore me.
Everything feels normal.
Until it doesn’t.
I’m at the end of one of the ridiculously long ground floor hallways, about to slip out the terrace doors to see if Dimitri is hiding from me outside, when the guard closest to me presses a finger to his earpiece, his face sharpening in concentration. He’s listening to whoever is on the other end, nodding, and directing his fierce gaze at me.
From there, it’s a domino effect. There is a line of guards down the hall and all turn to me, one right after the other. Thelook they give me is frightening, an awful premonition making me shiver. “What is it? What’s going on?”
The closest guard strides forward, a particularly intimidating gun in one hand as he locks his other around my elbow.
“Careful of the cookies!” I clutch the plate to my chest but lose the milk jug, glass and liquid exploding all over our legs as the guard hauls me to a rear staircase. “Where’s Alik? What’s happening? Where are you taking me?” Two more guards fall in line behind us, but all three ignore my questions.
The answer to the last one becomes obvious when we get to my suite. “In,” the first guard grunts, throwing open the door and pushing me to the other side as quickly and roughly as he dares. “Stay.”
I’d usually be pissed that he’s talking to me like a dog, but clearly something is going on. The pounding footsteps outside my my now-closed door confirms it. Soldiers mobilizing.
