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“Enlarge his face for me.”

Kit did.

“That man is connected to the Volkovs. I know his face. He worked the corners in Dmitry’s fighting circuit,” Nikolai said.

Every single one of my brothers went still.

The Volkov ammunition I had found could have been a coincidence. That could have been a purchase. Weapons and bullets could be bought, stolen, or traded.

But a known Volkov soldier was harder to explain away.

Maxim swung his head towards me. “Find out who put him on that floor.”

“I will.”

Then, Maxim turned toward Alessia. “From this moment, you are under our protection.”

Alessia lifted her chin, her eyes flashing defiantly.

“Fine.”

I hadn’t even known her for a full day, and I knew that was a lie. She wouldn’t give in that easily without a fight.

CHAPTER 7

Alessia

Later that night…

I stood in the guest bedroom of Sergei’s townhouse with the door locked behind me, listening to the silence beyond the hall. Sergei was downstairs in his study with at least three screens full of men who wanted me kidnapped or dead.

It was time for me to make my move.

I changed into black jeans, a fitted black sweater, and the flat boots from the emergency bag. The small folding knife went inside my sleeve.

I had been mapping Sergei’s townhouse ever since we’d returned.

The main doors were obvious, which meant they were useless. The windows carried magnetic contacts. The hidden passage inside the wardrobe was monitored from both ends and opened into the adjoining building beneath a camera so discreet I would have admired it if it hadn’t been pointed directly at my escape route.

But the house was old.

Old houses were built around people no one important wanted to see. There were places for servants, butlers, and maids. Behind the pantry shelves was a narrow service door that led to a stairwell between the townhouse and the neighboring building. Sergei had secured every other entrance during the renovation, but somehow he had missed this one. The original brass latch remained, but no alarm contact was on the door.

I waited until the guard in the rear lane crossed toward the corner during his rotation, slipped through the pantry, closed the door behind me, and took the old stairs. At the bottom, a warped wooden door opened into the service corridor of a small restaurant that had closed an hour earlier. I crossed the empty kitchen and stepped into a dark alley.

With a deep breath, I turned, fully intending to make a run for it, but a large man stepped into the mouth of the alley. He wore a dark coat and black leather gloves. The black eight-pointed ring on his right hand caught the light when he reached inside his jacket.

In an instant, I knew he was one of Levon Petrosyan’s men.

“Ahhh. The Bellandi princess at last,” he said.

I pulled the knife from my sleeve, but he moved faster than a man his size should have.

I slashed toward his reaching hand and caught the side of his wrist. Blood darkened the leather glove, and he swore, jerking back. I drove my boot into his knee, then brought my elbow up beneath his chin. His teeth cracked together hard enough that I heard it.

For one beautiful second, I thought I might actually win.

Then he hit me with his shoulder, driving forward and crushing me against the brick wall. Pain exploded across my back. The knife slipped from my fingers and struck the pavement with a tiny metallic sound that seemed absurdly delicate compared to what was happening.