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“Mila said that she was nice to her, even though she didn’t give her name.” Zakhar scoffs. “I can’t even be angry with my daughter for not pushing it. She was fucking traumatized as it was.”

A part of me is grateful she didn’t push it. What would the woman have done if Mila had? Would she have killed her?

I reject the thought as soon as it enters my mind. Like every other time it has. If she was going to kill Mila, she would have done it the moment she found her or any other time in the moments before they got to the diner parking lot.

Whatever this woman’s motive, killing Mila was never it.

Maybe I should be grateful to her and let this go, and perhaps I would have, but then she had to kill my men and shoot me. Not to mention putting a knife to my throat, patting me on the head like a fucking dog, and humiliating me.

So why am I low-key impressed she managed all of that?

No, that has to be the blood loss fucking with my head, and lack of sleep as I try to find this woman. No other explanation exists.

“We’ll find her.” My tone makes it clear there is no other option. “But put out the word she is to be brought in alive and unharmed.”

They share an incredulous look. “Who the fuck cares if she’s unharmed? She killed our men. She shot you,” Oleg says.

I pin him with a cool stare. “She’ll pay for it all, but it will be at my hands, not the men.” I don’t elaborate, mostly because I can tell they don’t want to let it go.

I have plans for this woman. Whoever she is, I want to see what use she might be to me. She’s clearly well trained, and I have use for someone like her. She’ll pay for the men she killed and the bullet she fired into my body. Whoever she is, her days are numbered, and soon, she’ll belong to me. Whether she likes it or not.

4

LANE

ONE YEAR LATER

Ifire the gun, but I’m striding across the concrete before he’s even realized the bullet hit him. I never miss. He’s alive, barely, but he’s hurting and on the edge of going into shock. Experience tells me I have about ten minutes before he’ll be of no use to me.

I slap his gut, right over the wound that will hurt the most. He cries out, thrashing and trying to get away from the pain. The chains rattle, and I wait until he settles before I say, “Better get talking, Renat.” I keep my tone bored. “You’re running out of time, and if you’re of no use to me …” I press the gun to his gut, and he thrashes and sobs again.

“No, no, no. I’ll talk. I’ll talk,” he pleads. “I was only doing what I was told. I’m not in charge.”

“You really expect me to believe that, Renat? You are the right-hand man of the biggest Pakhans in Russia. You are the one who signs the orders. You are the one who follows all the instructions. You’re running a ring with direct ties to the Bratva Butcher. I want to know just how deep it goes, and you’re going to tell me. Or I’m going to drag out your torture for a few more hours. It’ll be long, slow, and so painful you’ll be begging for death but unable to achieve it until I’m ready.”

He whimpers, and tears slide down his cheeks. He’s going to break; he just needs one more little push. I withdraw my knife again, blood staining the edge. I press it just above the painful cut and slice into his skin. Blood wells and drips as he screams and tries to wrench away.

“Get talking, Renat.”

And he does. It bubbles out of him in gasping rivers of information, confirming most everything I’ve already figured out myself. Until he says something I don’t expect.

“He wants it through California, and he’s figured out the way. Client of his from the s-s-school. One he sent his d-d-daughter to, but there’s someone in the way.”

I give nothing away as I stare at him, waiting for him to finish, but my mind is spinning with what that means. California. There are a few different Pakhans in that state, but only one who’s big enough to pull something like that off. Timur Belov. And the daughter sold? Rayea Antonova. It’s the only person it could be. The same woman, now going by another name and as far away from the Bratva as she can get. The same woman who gave me an idea on how else to expand and use my talents.

She’s a whole other problem I’ll have to rectify eventually, but right now, I need to know what Timur Belov and the Bratva Butcher are planning. Pasha Antonov is nothing if not thorough and ambitious. If he thinks Timur Belov is the one to expand his empire—the one no one has realized he’s building yet, except those of us who know him best—then Timur has exactly what he wants.

I make a mental note to check in on that as soon as I’m finished. I don’t have time to waste if I’m going to shut this entire thing down.

“What else, Renat?” Sweat pours off him, and he has a glazed pain in his eyes. Shock is imminent, and he’s almost out of time.

“Belov has someone in the way, been talking about taking a girl to weaken another Pakhan. The other one is big, and the girl escaped before. No one knows how.”

“Who’s the girl? Why is she so important to Belov? A Pakhan doesn’t need to go through a child to make big moves.” The hair on the back of my neck prickles. My gut is telling me to get the information, to pay attention.

“R-R-R-oo …”

“Speak up, Renat,” I bark, driving the side of my knife into his side to give him a little incentive to keep talking.