At least Santi is safe.
“You’re going back to Korsakov,” Gabriel continues, his grip tightening. “You’re going to let him fuck you, own you, whatever it takes. And you’re going to get me intel on every shipment, every deal, every weakness in the Bratva.”
“He’ll kill me when he finds out—”
“Then don’t let him find out.” Gabriel releases me, steps back. “You’re smart, Ayla. Smarter than you pretend to be. Use it.”
I want to argue. Want to fight. Want to run until my legs give out.
But I can’t.
Because Gabriel’s right about one thing—I don’t have a choice.
I never did.
“Fine,” I whisper.
Gabriel nods. “Good. Now, go off to your room. Get some sleep. You have three days, then we plan how you’re going to handle the very angry Pakhan who’s probably tearing apart the city looking for you right now.”
I turn to leave.
“Oh, and Ayla?”
I stop, hand on the doorknob.
“Keep the brass knuckles,” Gabriel says. “Something tells me you’re going to need them.”
Chapter 15
Maksim
Three days.
It’s beenthreedays.
Found my car the next morning at her place.
Ransacked her apartment. Her money sits untouched in her backpack. Like she plans to come back. Clothes I got her still on her bed. Toiletries untouched. Found the marshmallow body wash.
Cheap.
Still uncapped. Still damp. She missed her shifts at Smash and Sugar.
Mrs. Hardinoff hasn’t seen her. I’m wasting men scoping the city for her.
Fuck.
Beda.
I find the asshole, that cornered her outside the diner, now he’s tied to a chair in my warehouse.
I stare at him. Blood drips from his busted nose, painting the concrete in slow, lazy drops. His breathing is ragged, wet. One eye’s already swollen shut.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he sobs.
“What are you to her?”
