Chapter 37
Mikhail
I’m out on the streets when I look up and see Remus again—right there, out on his balcony, leaning against the balustrade, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
I’m hiding behind the corner of his building, in a patch of shadow where I have a direct view of his profile. If he turned to the side, he’d be able to see me, but he doesn’t, which tells me he probably deduced I was still here somewhere.
He looks different from how I imagined him—not nerdy at all, that’s for sure.
Instead, he’s got buzz-cut hair, sharp jaw, and marred skin, like a shark who keeps rising to the top after every fight with other ocean predators.
For someone who only recently found out he’s the heir to a criminal empire, he sure as fuck carries a lot of trained muscle.
Rodion and Niko keep asking me for updates, but something makes me turn off the earpiece instead. I lean against the wall, waiting to see what Remus will do next.
The clink of a lighter breaks the silence, and smoke begins to dance above his head. He inhales slowly, expelling it just as controlled, as if every breath could be his last.
“You smoke?” he asks, continuing to look ahead, Italian accent sharp on his tongue.
The corner of my mouth twitches upward. I don’t step out of the shadow I found, but I don’t leave either.
“Used to. I quit,” I say.
His head bobs as he takes another drag of nicotine, silence stretching between us, two monsters acknowledging each other, sizing each other up.
“I started young,” he says. “Kept me from feeling hunger. Now, I can’t seem to let go of the past.”
“How dramatic.”
He smiles. “Dramatic would be calling in my guys to hunt you down.”
“Others would call it smart,” I say.
“If I did what everyone expected me to do, I’d never get anywhere in life. I’m sure you agree, Mikhail.”
My brows shoot up. How the fuck does he know who I am?
A slow laugh. “I like that silence. It’s my reward for being underestimated. Better than any fucking cigarette,” he says, discarding it over the balustrade. “Did you find what you were looking for in my apartment?”
“If you hadn’t been so sloppy, I wouldn’t have found shit.”
“I like to think of it as generous.”
I snort. No way he left that information out intentionally. “You didn’t know I was coming.”
“No, but I was hoping you would. Heard congratulations are in order, by the way. Is my sister treating you well?”
“Half-sister. And I’m not here to talk about my love life. Why don’t you tell me what the fuck you want, if you were so eager to meet me?”
“Love life,” he muses. “Interesting. You rarely hear of happy endings for men like us.”
I cross my arms, feeling the weight of a gun strapped against my chest beneath my jacket. I could easily reach for it and shoot the fucker, but not yet.
“Va bene,” he sighs. “The truth about my partner. Tell me, did he betray me before you killed him? Or did he die loyal?”
I don’t mind answering that one. “He cried like a fucking baby. Spilled everything.”
“Then I suppose I should thank you for taking care of a problem for me.”
“Thank me for keeping my mouth shut. I don’t know if you noticed, but I never told Antonio about your existence. Neither has my Pakhan.”
“I did notice,” he says. “Heard you gave him half of Chicago. Let me guess: you want it back, and your alliance with the Cosa Nostra is a sham.” When I don’t respond, he shrugs. “So take back your city. When I distract him with my attack, it’s the perfect opportunity.”
Don’t I fucking know it.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out, seeing Victoria’s number on the screen. The fuck? Declining it, I shove the phone away.
“If you’re offering to help, it only tells me you need us,” I say. “Either now, or later down the line.”
“I like collecting favors, and I want a big, fat piece of the pie you all seem to be feasting on here in North America.”
Once again, the phone buzzes. Declined.
“Well, too fucking bad.” I snort. “We don’t give out favors to nobodies who haven’t proven themselves to us. If you want my Bratva to have your back, give me proof we can trust you. Then, we’ll talk.”
“Hear that, Renato? Give the man what he wants,” Remus says, but there’s no one else in our proximity. He must be talking into a microphone. His attention returns to me. “Your hacker should have the missing piece just about…now.”
I brush my earpiece with my thumb, and Maksim’s voice connects a few short seconds later. “You there? Someone sent me coordinates to a warehouse. It’s close to San Maleno.”
“Come January 22nd, that warehouse will be filled with weapons,” Remus explains.
“You’re welcome to follow the shipment from the port to that exact location.
My men will be there, waiting for my signal.
Because on that same night, I’ll see my father, and our conversation will decide whether he lives or dies. ”
“I also got details of a shipment, including the sender. It’s one of the arms dealers we collaborate with,” Maksim adds.
Well, I’ll be damned.
I nod, pinning Remus down with my gaze. So far, everything checks out. Of course, I’ll have to track that shipment and see if the warehouse really is where his men will gather on that night. But since he won’t be asking for his favor until later down the line, I doubt he’s lying at this point.
He turns his face to look at me, sketching a satisfied smile when our gazes meet for the first time. I mimic it, and before I disappear, my pocket vibrates for the third time.
“Impressive,” I say. “But I don’t fucking know you, and I sure as fuck don’t trust you. So don’t be expecting a favor until we get Chicago back.”
I take out my phone. Once again, it’s Victoria—but it’s a message this time.
The second I see my wife’s name mentioned on the first line, everything else around me becomes irrelevant.
Victoria: Something’s wrong with Cecilia.
Victoria: You need to come home.
Victoria: Right now!
With the phone clutched tight in my hand, each word I read feels like a stab to the heart.
A cold, merciless dread seeps into my bones.
My wife.
Something’s wrong with my wife, and I’m not there to help her.
I turn to walk away, completely disregarding whatever bullshit I was dealing with.
Up above me, the sun pales, no longer burning my skin.
A subtle wind flickers through the thorny leaves of the invasive plants lining the sidewalk.
The shrieking of birds echoes distantly in my ears, the moving cars in my periphery whooshing by like time flashing before my eyes.
My mind goes back to the nights of my childhood at the Alemont estate.
Because this feeling…this helplessness…I’ve only ever felt it once in my life.
I couldn’t save my brother when he needed me, and it turned me into a monster who couldn’t say I love you to the woman who offered me her heart.
All these years later, I’m in the same mental space, repeating history and on the verge of starting another war with myself.
A bitter taste coats my tongue, and I clench every fucking muscle in my body as I move forward.
I need to get to her. I never should have left in the first place.
“One more thing,” Remus says behind me, reminding me he’s here.
I don’t stop. He can do whatever the fuck he wants—I couldn’t care less. All I want is to be able to close my eyes and teleport back home, next to my wife. But I can’t. I fucking can’t, because I left her, even if she begged me not to go.
A shot rings out, and it throws my shoulder forward. The pain registers within seconds.
I press my hand to the wound, continuing to move forward. Blood sticks to my fingers, warm and sticky, as guttural sounds leave my chest.
I need a fucking jet. And a car.
And I need them now.
“When you make it back to your Pakhan, I want you to tell him exactly who I am,” Remus’ voice carries over to me. “I may have helped you this one time, but I won’t have you fuckers get the wrong idea about how the Cosa Nostra will be run. There will be blood. Best remember that.”
I keep walking, dragging my bleeding flesh along this stupid fucking sidewalk.
Cecilia.
Her name rings out in my head a million times, pulling my body forward.
I don’t get to die.
I don’t get to shut down. Not this time.
My wife needs me, and even though I’ve forgotten how to function, I still press that earpiece and bark my command.