Spider squints at the screen, leaning forward as much as his restraints allow. He studies the photo a long moment, then shakes his head.
“We moved hundreds of women through that club. Hundreds. But I’d remember her.” Spider’s cracked lips curveinto something too sad to be a smile. “Marina Voronina didn’t come through my pipeline. I promise you that.”
Frustration boils over and I press the tip of the knife under his chin, making him wince. “The men who took my mother had the mark of the Kupola Network tattooed on their arms. They weren’t pulling a random woman off the street. They called her by her real name. They knew who she was. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, kid. I was just the middleman. The Network paid me to bring women from Russia, I delivered them to Velour, and I didn’t ask questions. Didn’t want to know what happened after.”
“Then who would know?” I demand. “If you didn’t take her, if the Voronins wouldn’t touch their own daughter, what the fuck happened to her?”
“Ruslan Baronov is the man you should be talking to.” His voice drops to a gravelly rasp. “Interesting that Baronov is alive and well when the Voronins were all killed, supposedly by a rival Russian gang.”
I grab a handful of his greasy hair, forcing his head back. “I’m not here to play games. Tell me what you know.”
“The rumors were that the partnership between the Baronovs and the Voronins soured. Some said it was about money—the Voronins wanted a bigger cut. Others said it was personal, that an incident broke the trust between them.”
I go still, blood roaring in my ears like a freight train. “Are you saying Ruslan had the Voronins killed?”
He coughs again, weaker this time. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”
Outside, the aggressive roar of an engine shatters the quiet of the street below. My pulse spikes and I move toward the window, pulling back the curtain.
Fuck.
Kirill’s motorcycle is parked at the curb, chrome gleaming under the streetlight. What the hell is he doing here?
“Evelina! Open the door!” Kirill’s roar echoes through the wood, followed by a strike that makes the hinges scream.
Shit, shit, shit.
A boot slams into the door again, the frame groaning.
No time to consider my options. Only one thing left to do. Spider needs to go. He knows who I am, who my mother is, and why I’m really here—none of which I want him sharing with Kirill.
Worse would be Kirill discovering that I work for the Syndicate.
He’d never believe the lead hacker for the Syndicate is here for personal reasons. He’d assume I was sent as a spy, and I couldn't blame him.
The next kick cracks the wood, and I move. Stepping behind Spider, I yank his head back by the hair and drag my blade across his throat in one clean stroke. He makes a wet, gurgling sound before his body goes limp, his chin hitting his chest.
I wish I could’ve made his death more painful, but I barely have time to draw a breath before the door shatters, wood splintering as Kirill storms in. His massive frame fills the doorway, weapon raised. He pins me with a look of pure, cold fury before tracking the knife in my hand down to the pool of blood spreading across the floor.
His face darkens, turning lethal. The man who once vowed to protect me is now the one I should be most afraid of.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
KIRILL
Of all theways I imagined this night going, finding the woman I’m obsessed with standing over a fresh corpse wasn’t on my list.
Thirty minutes ago I got a call from Miron that Evelina had broken into the apartment of a guy named Leonid Adamovich, a former Kupola Network operative and Bratva member I know as Spider.
I laughed when he told me, convinced it was a mistake. Except the joke’s on me. Because here she is, dressed head-to-toe in black. Her hood is down, the blonde hair pulled back in a tight braid. Blood drips down the blade she’s holding.
Spider is slumped in the chair he’s tied to, throat opened in a clean slash, crimson soaking into his tracksuit and pooling on the floor beneath him.
Evelina stands beside him, looking no worse for wear.
