“Nah, that’s not his style. He wouldn’t give me a job with the Syndicate until I went to university, got a proper education first. When I graduated, he offered me one and I accepted because I wanted to. I don’t think of him as my boss. He’s more like a brother.”
Something wistful in her voice makes me think about my own family. The weight of being a Baronov, the expectations, the violence that comes with the name. I never had the luxury of choosing. This life chose me the moment I was born.
“Speaking of which,” she says, “I need to call my father. I talk to him once a week and he’ll worry if I don’t check in soon. Same with school. I have a few labs where the profs will notice if I’m not there. Not to mention my boss at Velour. He’s a bit of a dick that way.”
“School is taken care of.” I check my blind spot and merge onto the highway. “Called the registrar this morning and told them you had a family emergency. You’re off the hook for the next month. Told Oksana the same because she was worried about you. Your boss though … you’ll have to make it up to him. Maybe with a lap dance?”
She giggles, tucking one leg underneath her as she shifts to face me. “Tried that once. Ended kind of … messy.”
“It got you the job, didn’t it?” My palm finds her thigh, warm through the denim. “You can call your father tomorrow, but I’m guessing you don’t want to tell him you married a Baronov and agreed to help hunt down a cyber terrorist.”
“Yeah, I’ll leave that part out.” She scoffs. “My father and Pavel would freak the fuck out if they heard I was married. Andnot only that, into another bratva family.” She whistles through her teeth to make her point. “Don’t worry, when this is all wrapped up I’ll give your mother’s ring back, of course.”
Everything in me goes taut. “What do you mean … wrapped up?”
“When we…” My expression must be ice because she falters mid-sentence. “End this union. Get the marriage annulled or whatever. When our deal is fulfilled.”
“That’ll be never,” I clarify, since she seems to be confused about our arrangement.
“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes with a grin. She thinks I’m kidding, and I’ll let her believe it. But whatever she’s hoping for—to get the marriage annulled, or a divorce—none of it is happening. The thought of her leaving makes my chest feel like someone’s standing on it.
She grows quiet, watching the industrial skyline of Queens blur past. “What do you know about the Ghost? Beyond the technical stuff we talked about?”
“I told you everything I know.” I tighten my grip on the wheel, sifting through the details for anything I might have missed. “There is one thing, though. Something they said when they took over our comms during the Pier 19 operation. Something about the past always coming back and them being very patient. Weird, right?”
“That sounds personal. Someone with a grudge?”
“The Baronovs aren’t short on enemies. But if it’s personal, why strike all the families in New York? They’re toying with us. They like the chaos, seeing us scramble, bleeding us dry. But if they wanted to own the city, at this point it wouldn’t take much.”
She drums her fingers against her thigh, the way she does when her brain is working. “There’s a reason they haven’t made that final move. You better be ready for the fight of your life.Even with the families working together, it won’t be easy. Lucky for you, you have me.”
We strike in two days, and I’m betting everything on this plan to flush out the Ghost and end this once and for all. But I’m not naive. They’re a different breed of enemy, and underestimating them will get a whole bunch of people killed.
“I am lucky. Very fucking lucky.” I take the exit toward Rosa’s. “You hungry?”
“Starving, actually.”
“Good.”
Rosa’s is quiet this time of day, the lunch rush over and the dinner crowd not yet arrived. Her nephew Carlos is behind the counter when we walk in. He calls out a greeting before going back to restocking the cooler.
A hand on her lower back, I guide her toward the corner table we sat at during our first visit. That was less than two weeks ago, but it feels like a lifetime.
She slides into the booth and I take the seat across from her, watching her look around with open curiosity. The hand-painted murals on the walls, the mismatched furniture, the smell of cooked meats and spices hanging in the air.
“I think this is my new favorite restaurant,” she says. “I swear, I’ve dreamt of Rosa’s tacos.”
“She’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
As if talking about her summoned her, Rosa appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Kirill,mijo.” She leans down to kiss my cheek before turning to Dinara. In Spanish she says, “And you brought your pretty friend again.”
Dinara’s smile is wide and warm as she greets Rosa, and the older woman reaches out to squeeze her shoulder affectionately before her gaze drops to the emerald-cut diamond on Dinara’s left hand.
She looks at me, then back at the ring, then at me again. A smile spreads across her face, bright enough to power the whole block. “You got married?”
“Yesterday,” I confirm in Spanish. “It was a little unexpected.”
