Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
There’s a swift swoop low in my stomach when we lift off the ground, and I watch through the window as the town of Darlington spreads out below us as we ascend to eight hundred feet.
Pyotr taps his phone against his knee. “I don’t think it was a good idea to piss off your wife. If you haven’t noticed, she gets a little stabby when she’s mad,” his voice crackles through the headset.
I can’t get rid of the wide-eyed, terrified look she had on her face when I touched her, right before she bolted, like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
Taking out my frustration on him, I snap, “She’s not my fucking wife.”
“I don’t know what happened between you and Syn this morning—”
“Nothing happened.”
And nothing will happen. Ever. She’s made that very clear. I’m just the dumbass who keeps wishing for a different outcome. There’s a famous saying: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” That’s me.
“—but don’t let your emotions make rash decisions that could get you killed.”
“I’m not.”
After all the planning and strategizing, we were no closer to figuring out a plan to take Viktor down.
He was too insulated and too protected to get anywhere near him.
So, when Drako got word that he arrived in Boston this morning for a meeting, I wasn’t going to let that opportunity slip past me.
And I wasn’t going to wait around and waste time arguing about it with Tristan.
Pyotr turns in his seat. “You know I will always follow wherever you lead.”
“I know.” And I appreciate it more than I will ever be able to express to him. He’s my best friend, but he’s also my family in every true sense of the word.
“But I think you’re making a mistake shutting them out,” he quickly adds.
“Duly noted.”
He huffs out a sigh that comes over the earpiece as loud static. “Tristan deserves his pound of flesh from Viktor just as much as you do.”
I send Pyotr a look of caution to watch what he says.
The pilot, Misha, is one of Drako’s close associates.
He can’t hear our conversation while his headset is in isolation mode, but I wouldn’t know if he turned it back to the intercom system.
My personal business is just that—none of his fucking business.
I glance at Misha’s profile to make sure he’s not eavesdropping. I’m assured that he isn’t when I see his lips moving as he talks to air traffic control.
“Tristan isn’t bratva.” It’s a dumb counterargument, but I say it anyway.
“He’s your brother.”
I already lost one brother when Aleksei showed up at the Knight estate. And Tristan almost died. Fuck, he did die. I’m not risking that happening again. “I can handle Viktor.”
Pyotr’s green gaze bores into me, his hand grasping my forearm. “What happened to Aleksei wasn’t your fault.”
Index. Middle. Ring. Pinkie.
Logically, I know Aleksei made a choice to come, even when I did everything I could to make sure he didn’t.
He chose to go after Constantine. He chose to hold a gun on Syn.
And he would have killed them both. But logic holds no sway to my broken heart that still bleeds for the loss of my twin brother.
“And neither was what happened to Tristan,” Pyotr quietly states.
I move my arm, not able to tolerate being touched right now. “That’s just pacifying bullshit because I am exactly the reason Tristan was hurt.”
“Fuck, Aleks. Trying to get you to see the truth is like slamming my head against a steel wall for funsies.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t push any further, and we spend the rest of the short flight going over the details that Drako’s informants were able to gather.
There’ll be a thirty-second window of opportunity when Viktor exits his vehicle and heads inside the building where the meeting is taking place.
If I can get into position across the street with a sniper rifle before he arrives… one and done.
I check my watch when the helicopter begins its descent at Hanscom Field. Viktor flew in via Logan, so hopefully he won’t get wind of our arrival. At least, that’s what I’m counting on. The man has eyes and ears everywhere.
“Looks like our ride is here,” Pyotr says, pointing at the blacked-out luxury sedan parked near the helipad.
There’s a crackle over the headset when Misha switches to the intercom. “Drako sent a gift. It’s in the trunk.”
Meaning, weapons. Good.
“Who’s the driver?” Pyotr asks.
“Xavie.”
Pyotr nods his approval. “He’s solid,” he tells me.
There’s a hard jolt when we touch down, the steady whump of the rotors reverberating throughout the cabin. Misha flicks a few switches. “Let me know when you’re heading this way. We’ll need to haul ass out of here before Androv’s men get word.”
“Will do.”
As soon as the door opens, Pyotr and I jump out and duck.
The helicopter’s rotor blades slice the air with a shrill whine as they rev down, whipping the freezing air into a frenzy.
As we hurriedly walk across the painted concrete slab to the awaiting car, a wash of hot exhaust sweeps past and burns a path into my lungs when I accidentally breathe it in.
“I’ll check what he brought,” Pyotr says, making a beeline for the trunk.
Coughing, I yank open the back passenger side door and slide into the seat. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Dierdre quirks a manicured eyebrow. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Don’t even think about it,” she warns when I grab the door handle. “I will tase your ass if I have to. Trust me from personal experience. It hurts.”
Pyotr’s eyes haven’t left the rear view mirror the entire fucking drive to—I can only assume—Cillian’s compound outside of Boston.
I meet his stare with one that says, fuck you, when I see his annoyingly amused grin.
He’s enjoying every second of the verbal lashing I’m getting from Dierdre.
The woman hasn’t taken a breath in almost forty minutes.
“Aleksander, I’d appreciate it if you would at least pay attention when I’m yelling at you.”
I tear my gaze from the rear view. “Sorry.”
Her red lacquered nails click against the side door panel. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I beg to differ.”
I shrug, and she sighs…loudly.
“Is he always like this?” she asks Pyotr.
“This is normal.”
I knee the back of his seat.
“Lord, please give me patience,” Dierdre mumbles under her breath. “I never thought I’d meet anyone more obstinate than Tristan, but you get the blue ribbon.”
“How did you know?”
The decision to come to Boston was last-minute. Hell, I didn’t even know until I got to the bell tower and found Pyotr waiting for me. We left as soon as I changed clothes.
Holding up her fingers in succession, she enumerates, “Syn called Andie who called Declan who called Cillian who called Drako. Apparently, the two of them are tight.”
Of course they fucking are.
Her smile is sickly sweet as she continues. “And wouldn’t you know it? I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by and welcome you to Boston when you landed, so I could stop you from making the biggest, dumbest, most idiotic mistake of your life!”
The nuances of sarcasm are often hard for me to decipher, but hers come out loud and clear.
I scan the scenery passing by as we drive. Nothing but forest and road. How long does it take to get to Cillian’s place?
“I don’t need a fucking intervention. I know what I’m doing. And you’re fucking everything up,” I bite out with frustration when I check my watch for the thousandth time. My window of opportunity to get to where Viktor will be arriving soon is rapidly closing.
Dierdre’s forehead mars with a severe frown. “Clearly you do need a fucking intervention. I thought you were supposed to be smart, but what you’re doing is the epitome of stupid. You don’t go after someone like Viktor Androv by yourself. No offense,” she says to Pyotr.
“None taken.”
Before I can get in a rebuttal, the vehicle makes a sharp right, the centrifugal force jerking us sideways.
A tall iron gate appears in the distance, a stone guardhouse sitting in front of it alongside the road.
After a quick security check, we’re let in, and my irritation increases with each foot of tarmac we travel up the private road to the house.
I wish I was in a better mindset to enjoy the view.
Cillian’s estate is massive…and well-guarded, I think after seeing the armed men patrolling the grounds.
Their presence reassures me and helps ease my concerns about my sister’s safety since she’s living here now.
Dierdre leans forward in her seat, spotting something up ahead. “Seems like my stalling tactics worked. You can drop us off at the front,” she instructs the driver.
“Stalling tactics?” I parrot, not quite sure what she means.
As soon as we pull around the circle drive, Pyotr suddenly erupts into what can only be described as hyena laughter. “Oh, this is going to be good. I want popcorn.”
Wanting to know what the hell he’s laughing about, I make the mistake of looking out the window.
Syn is standing on the front veranda, Tristan right next to her.
Ah, I get it now. Stalling tactics. They must have left Darlington soon after we did. I’m going to kill Pyotr for telling them. I think he did it on purpose.
“What?” he asks innocently from the front seat when I glare at him.
Syn crosses her arms, taps her foot, and crooks an angry finger at me to get the fuck out of the car.
I duck my head and palm my face. This isn’t going to end well.