Chapter 35
Mikhail
Venice Beach is about as tone-deaf as I remember it. The famous eclectic charm? I don’t see it. I’m all for chaos and noise, but when injustice bares its teeth so openly, I don’t feel bohemian, or whatever bullshit picture they try to sell in movies and magazines.
Indignant is more like it.
It makes sense, however, that Remus picked this neighborhood as his hideout. Lots of people come and go around here, giving him the perfect cover. Well, almost perfect. Finding him wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Maksim Novikov, the Bratva’s head of security.
Peering down at the phone in my hand, I keep to the shadows of an apartment building, squinting from the incessant sun. Yep, this is it. The place Remus is seen walking in and out of every few days.
I have to give him credit for making it so hard to pinpoint the apartment number, though.
Turns out, he sent an entire family to Sicily to set up shop in their home, an unconventional route to stay hidden.
Usually, you’d expect a rental or an abandoned something no one gives a fuck about.
Then again, those are usually the first places you’d look for a man like him.
Checking my surroundings one last time, I pick up the coin Cecilia gave me and flip it in the air once.
Heads.
Looks like I’ll buy her peonies, not lilacs, when I get home. Not because I want to prove something, but because she deserves it after letting me memorize every delicious part of her.
I think that to myself, yet something rages at the falsehood of the thought. I want to buy her flowers just because—that’s the simple, honest truth.
I stop by the entrance, aware of the cameras tracking me—Maksim already watching from his office in Alemont. The green LED on the keypad flickers and then disappears entirely, as if the system has stepped away from itself.
The door opens at my pull, unlocked. I take the stairs to the second floor, walking like I have nowhere urgent to be, until I reach the empty apartment next to Remus’.
I already have a key, so I slip inside like a regular tenant.
By the time the system downstairs shifts back on, Maksim will have wiped me from the cameras altogether.
A faint smile sketches my face. I’d forgotten the thrill of these break-ins. I’ve always been better at walking into danger than waiting for it to knock. Last time I did this, I was breaking into a shrink’s office, eager to sniff out the secret Antonio desperately wanted to hide.
As I spot the doors to the balcony, my thoughts go back to yesterday, when a flicker of my wife’s memory appeared out of nowhere at the breakfast table, taking her mind by storm. I fucking loved how she sought me out for comfort, even though she was still angry from the night before.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about what remembering might do to her.
She’s strong, yes, but if anyone understands how torturous demons of the past can be, it’s me, and I hate that one day soon, she might have no choice but to confront her own.
I crack my neck, perching on the balcony’s balustrade and jumping to the one next door. Here, I don’t waste any time being out in the open, so I slide the glass doors and enter the apartment.
My thumb brushes the earpiece secured in my ear. “I’m in.”
The place is a fucking mess.
It looks as if the family living here was dragged out into the streets in the middle of the day and forced to evacuate. Which, I imagine, is exactly what happened.
Sketchbooks, paint, and brushes clutter the coffee table, kitchen counters, and couch. The portrait of a young woman stares back at me from the corner of the room, half-finished.
The other side of the room is different. Controlled.
A bunch of papers stacked together on an office desk tells me where to look first. I don’t know this Remus guy much, but when you’re born in chaos, you either grow up to be a menace, or you cling to order like it’s a teddy fucking bear.
This might very well be the desk he uses to coordinate the behind the scenes of Antonio’s business takeover.
I run my fingers across the pages, a bunch of Italian words scribbled down.
Bingo.
A satellite view of the San Maleno estate appears, and then another one, of the entire coastal town, a few alleys marked with words like entrata, uscita, and what looks like numbers identifying groups of people.
Soldiers, perhaps. I take pictures of everything, sending them to Maksim for translation.
As I flip through the pages, a smaller note slides out, landing at my feet. A list. Stooping to pick it up, I find two of the names are crossed—Massimo Bellini being one of them—indicating the two Capi Antonio mysteriously lost before I married Cecilia.
I rake my frowning eyes down the page, scanning the uncrossed individuals. The paper scrunches in my hand from how hard I’m gripping it, but the second I realize Cecilia isn’t mentioned, I relax.
So he’s not after her, then. Good.
After all, she’s not the one who abandoned him. Antonio is. For all I know, though, this guy could be fucking crazy, so getting confirmation he isn’t targeting my wife is a big plus.
“Found any dates?” Niko asks in my earpiece. I snap a final picture, turning my attention to the cork panel on the wall.
“It’s not like he’s going to leave that kind of information out in the open for us to find,” Rodion protests.
“No,” I say idly as I zero in on a pinned note, “but he can give us the date of a weapon shipment. Whatever could he need that for?”
Niko snorts out a laugh. “Shit.”
Shit, indeed. “January twenty-second. Long Beach Port,” I tell them.
Sure, it doesn’t tell us when he’ll be pouncing on Antonio, but when you get a bunch of automatic weapons delivered to you with a bow, you don’t get to wait around much longer. Especially when you’re from out of town, and the police here answer to the man you’re trying to start a war with.
Satisfied with the information, I plant the bugs as Niko and Rodion bicker in my ear. This is good. Fantastic, even. I found everything I needed, and because of this, Chicago is almost assuredly secured.
I expect some relief to hit me—some of the guilt to lessen up—but it never does.
The chip on my shoulder probably won’t disappear until after Wolfgang tells me Chicago is back in his hands.
Then, my plan will be complete, and I will have done the Bratva a huge favor.
I will no longer feel indebted to my brother for all the shit I did in the past.
I swallow down my impatience for the thousandth time, continuing my work.
Soon, it will be all over.
As I finish planting the mics, my hand brushes a smooth material, making me halt. When I look to my left, a cashmere scarf I hadn’t noticed earlier sits folded neatly at the edge of the desk. I scowl, searching for something in the depths of my memory.
Where the fuck have I seen it before? And why is it here, of all places?
“All the mics are connected. Get the hell out of there,” Rodion says as I continue to rack my brain about that scarf, like an itch I’m not able to scratch.
The sound of footsteps in the building’s hallway brings me back to the present. They don’t seem to be slowing or changing course.
As far as I’m concerned, the fucker’s back, showed up out of nowhere while I’m still here, going through his stuff. Adrenaline floods my veins, sharp and clean, as I slip onto the balcony and turn to face the room.
As expected, the footsteps stop in front of the apartment.
The keys turn in the door.
And right as I slide the balcony doors shut, Remus steps inside.