Chapter 19
Vanya
I pull out my soft wool, charcoal gray, Italian-cut suit. Despite Alexei’s rough handling of my bag, not a wrinkle mars the material.
The burgundy tie goes on next, fastened with a smooth and symmetrical Windsor knot. My hands don’t shake. They never shake while I’m working. Only when I’m alone, late at night, when the walls close in and I remember what happens if I fail.
If neither charm nor violence works.
I cinch the knot tightly enough to feel it against my throat.
My job is to get the book.
No room for complications like feelings or the memory of how Paige looked at me last night after I told her to scurry back to her quiet life.
I think I’m really starting to care for her. Beginning to imagine what my life would be like with a certain blond acquisitions curator present long-term. The real question is, how does she feel about me?
At the moment, the answer doesn’t matter. Only getting Paige to the library, securing the book, and giving it to Roman does.
No more detours. No more screwing around.
Not that it had ever really progressed to that. Maybe if it had…
Get your damn head on straight!
In the mirror, I look exactly like what I’m supposed to be.
A man who’s all about the job, money, and power. The mask fits so well, sometimes, I almost believe the facade myself. I probably would if not for the phantom sensation of Paige’s fingers gently drifting over my chest and my arm. Or recalling the way she kneeled, gazing at me with such compassion.
Empathy, not just lust.
I shove the thought away and bury it someplace deep, where it can’t touch me. Where I won’t grow weak.
She was only worried that I wouldn’t manage to keep her safe. I’m not really her criminal, or her anything at all.
I slip on the jacket and wince at the pain before becoming the lie I’ve perfected over the last decade. Charming Ivan Orlov, the silver-tongued fixer. Vanya, the man who can talk his way into or out of any situation.
Outside, morning light cuts harshly across the sedan’s black paint, and I confront my first problem of the day.
How did Gio find us at the Banya Club?
My phone’s clean. So am I.
Paige’s phone died in the wreck, left crushed in the passenger floorboard. It’s likely sitting in some junkyard lot by now.
If Gio’s men somehow tracked my Bentley after one of the guys drove it back to the compound, they should’ve shown up there, not the club. Max left roughly an hour before the SUVs showed up.
Which leaves this Mazda.
I circle the car, scanning every inch. Paint’s clean. No dings, scratches, or marks that suggest tampering. Windows intact. Tires properly inflated. Nothing obvious.
Max, who I trust with my life, dropped it off and handed me the keys.
But…facts are facts, and I need certainties.
Behind me, the door opens, and Paige emerges. Back in her own clothes and with her blond hair arranged in another severe bun, she’s redonned her costume of a proper archivist, as if attempting to hide all that wildness she revealed in the sauna.
Too late for that, sweetheart.
My charm didn’t work on her. Being myself didn’t either. She locked up and shut down as soon as the guns came out and shit got real.
Yesterday, I hoped her regression was a one-time thing triggered by the car wreck, but she did it again last night. Attempted to save me, sure. But after plenty of thinking all night long, I’m positive she just meant to keep her shield in one piece.
And my weak ass read too much into it.
“What are we doing?” Her voice is too loud for the sleepy neighborhood.
I raise my hand. “Later.”
“Vanya—”
“Later.”
Her eyes bore into my back. I can tell she’s hurt. Confused.
Good. Let her be confused. Allow her to remember I’m not the kind of man you get close to, not the kind who patches you up and holds you when the nightmares come.
I’m the kind who gets people killed.
Alina’s face, smeared with tears and panic, flashes through my mind without warning.
She tries to act brave as they drag her away.
The headmaster lays a heavy hand on my shoulder, his breath thick with vodka and old cigarettes.
“It’s for the best,” he claims. “Your sister will get a good home. You should be happy for Alina.”
I bought every damn word.
Charm, while effective as a weapon, makes for a lousy shield.
It can’t protect the people you care about most. No matter how much charisma I aimed at the headmaster, he still sent Alina away.
Only years later did I learn that, shortly afterward, she ended up dead in an alley.
Stabbed to death and missing her coat and shoes.
Charisma failed me when I needed it the most. And charm doesn’t work on those who, deep down, want to hurt you.
As for Paige?
The way she touches things like they might break, the way she stores facts in her brain like an encyclopedia with a lockbox, the way her eyes catch on me as if I could be more than what I am—
Focus.
I crouch by the rear bumper, skimming the underside with my fingertips. Cool metal. Nothing but smooth paint and cold steel. I move into a low plank for a better angle.
Hidden behind the plate bracket is a magnet-locked, two-inch black disc with a red LED pulsing like a metronome.
A GPS tracker.
What the hell? Is this Gio’s work?
Doesn’t matter at the moment.
Only getting the culprits off our tail does.
Plucking the tracker free and pocketing it, I climb to my feet and brush off my hands. “Get in the car.”
Paige remains on the porch, her eyebrows drawn tight. “What’d you find?”
Her knowing would only cause her to worry, and we need to move. Fast. “Get. In. The. Car.”
My tone does the trick. She obeys, sliding into the passenger side and setting her purse on the seat next to her.
After I start the engine and crank the wheel, we’re out of the driveway with no goodbye.
Paige watches the road, then flicks her gaze to me. “We’re being tracked, aren’t we?” Her voice stays tight and level, holding steady like she’s bracing for impact. “That’s how they found us last night.”
Why did I think I could hide the situation from her? She’s too smart. “Yes.”
Her eyes narrow. “Shouldn’t we ditch the car? Wouldn’t that keep us safer and ensure Gio loses our trail?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I take the next left too hard, and the tires chirp against the blacktop.
“Vanya—”
“Trust me. This is my job.” I cut across a yellow line, drift through two lanes, and merge onto the expressway.
The GPS tracker broadcasts our location to anyone watching, showing that we’re heading back into town.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, I shoot off a quick text, alerting Igor Pisarev, Roman’s cousin and second-in-command, that we have a compromised safe house. Cranking up the speed, I thread between a semi and a minivan.
Paige white-knuckles the door handle. “This is insane. They’re going to chase us.”
“Which is the point.” I check the mirrors, clocking every car, every face, every plate. No obvious tails, though I don’t lower my guard. “We’ll lead them to where I want them to go.”
Buildings start to crowd in as I take an exit for downtown. To force anyone tracking us to really work for it, I weave down random streets and then double back.
Paige goes silent, maybe giving up on arguing, maybe just bracing herself and hoping I don’t kill us both.
After twenty minutes of driving like an asshole, I find what I’ve been hunting for.
A garbage truck.
Moves nonstop, hits all the streets, and doesn’t follow an easy-to-track public route like buses do.
The perfect distraction.
I blow through a red light, ignoring the horns screaming after us, and pull up beside the truck. The driver glances over, probably wondering who’s nuts enough to drag race a garbage truck in a black sedan.
I swerve, scraping the curb as I reach out the window.
With a quick toss, the tracker goes airborne before the magnet does its work and snaps onto the side of the truck.
The splatters and smears already crusted over the paint immediately camouflage the device.
The vehicle will carry our signal all over the city.
“Let them chase the trash.”
Paige smiles for the first time all day as she watches the garbage truck drive away.
Not the forced, tight-lipped thing she does at work. Not the cautious one she gave me at the library.
A genuine smile that shows in her eyes.
And it changes her. Smooths out the worry lines, softens her harsh angles, and removes that pinched look at her lips. For just a moment, she seems younger. A little reckless. Like the wild kid she’s tried to suffocate for so long.
Beautiful.
The thought lands before I can sidestep it, and hell, I don’t even want to.
The urge to park the car, tug her close, cup her face, and kiss the worry from her mouth until she forgets all the rules she’s written for herself hits like a wave.
White-hot desire races through me.
She stares back. Her warm blue eyes shimmer with a hint of green in the autumn sunlight. So like the Caribbean that I can almost feel the water lapping at my legs, and my shoulders relax a little from just envisioning paradise.
Then she glances away, and the moment’s gone.
Frigid Chicago air blows in through the window, reminding me of my place. Alone and doing my damn job for the Bratva that claimed me.
I take the next side road, knowing exactly where I’m going.
An old long-term parking garage, three blocks over.
Taking the ticket, I pull in and drive up to the third level.
“Now we walk.” I pocket the keys and climb out. I’ll have someone collect the car later once the heat is off.
For a second, I think Paige might actually do what I say without question. She gets out of the Mazda and circles around it to join me.
Three paces away from the vehicle, though, she asks, “Where are we walking to?”
“Anywhere that isn’t here.” I reach for her without thought, but I catch myself in time and let my hand hang instead.