Chapter 33
Vanya
I kill the headlights during the approach. The engine purrs, and the tires hiss on wet pavement. Through sheets of rain, the library looms ahead.
The place should be dark and silent. Instead, every window blazes with light.
Fuck.
Easing my foot off the gas, I slow the car to a crawl.
Paige didn’t mention any kind of party tonight, not that I’d asked.
Lightning splits the sky, turning the whole street white for half a heartbeat.
In that flash, I can discern the vehicles in the parking lot.
Mercedes. BMW. A Bentley that costs more than most people earn in five years.
At least twenty cars, maybe more, all clustered near the entrance.
I also spy catering vans, along with a herd of Toyotas, Hondas, and Fords.
The staff is pushed to the edges so the big brass can have the prime spots.
The thunder that follows shakes my car’s chassis.
While I absorb my surroundings, suspicion and doubt coil in my gut. As a fixer, though, I can adapt.
This must be a donor event. The kind of thing Dr. Abernathy would organize to kiss the asses of wealthy patrons and secure funding for another year. Since the man has little-to-no imagination, he likely uses the same type of reception for new donors as well.
I considered using an event just like this to buy my way in before Roman shot that idea down.
Even if this isn’t my party, that doesn’t mean I can’t use the shindig the way I originally imagined. I’m here, and even better, I know my objective.
The Snow Maiden and Other Lost Tales.
The key to whatever the hell has been happening. To MJ’s death. The diamonds. This mission will end tonight because I refuse to leave without the book.
I maneuver my car into a space three rows back, far enough away to not draw attention from the doors, close enough to bolt if I need to.
The rain eases slightly, and I take that as my cue to venture in.
Despite the storm, the front doors stay propped open. A woman stands just inside, greeting arrivals. She’s wearing a black dress that shows off a lot of cleavage and features a slit that goes all the way up to her thigh. She smiles with the schmoozy warmth of an experienced host.
Rebecca.
One of Paige’s underlings. The type of person who believes the best of everyone until proven otherwise. An easy mark.
I smooth my suit jacket and slip on one of my personas.
Rebecca spots me as I approach. Her smile brightens, and recognition shines in her eyes. “Professor Orlov! What a wonderful surprise. We’ve missed you around here.” She shifts to let me through. “I don’t think you’re on tonight’s guest list, but I’m sure Dr. Abernathy would be delighted—”
“I was in the neighborhood.” I give her my best self-deprecating grin, the one that says, I know I’m being presumptuous, but surely, we can make an exception?
“Ms. Kisner was kind enough to help me finish my research. I was about to head back home when I heard there was an event. And to be quite honest, I couldn’t resist coming.
Can’t leave town without saying my goodbyes.
” Grasping her hand, I lift her fingers to my lips and brush a kiss against them.
My stomach twists at the realization that the only woman I want to kiss is Paige.
Rebecca flashes a genuine smile. “Yes, of course. Please, come in out of the rain.” She’s already waving me inside. A blush rises on her cheeks, her eyes sparkling with interest. All over a tiny, fake gesture.
She’s no Paige.
Doesn’t even come close.
But she does welcome me in without question.
Passing through the vestibule, I scan the space. Usually filled with tables for reading, people in cocktail dresses and suits litter the main walkway. In the balconies above, a string quartet plays soft music.
Poster boards declaring a new donation, with blips about how much the library costs to run and other useless things, cover the desk where Paige normally sits.
The smell of bodies, alcohol, and food nearly masks the scent of paper and dust. Different colognes and perfumes permeate the air, tickling my nose.
The atmosphere’s still as bright as ever, but instead of silence, the air buzzes with the low murmur of polite conversation. Maybe forty people gather in scattered groups. The kind of crowd that throws around phrases like “tax write-off” and “acquisition” between sips of expensive booze.
I mentally prepare myself for the performance I’m about to give. Stepping into the role is as easy as donning an old coat.
I pluck a champagne flute from a nearby server. Not to sip, though I do lift the flute to my lips. The drink’s a prop, like everything and everyone else in this room.
It keeps my hand busy while I wander around as if I’m just checking out the other attendees. Or possibly appreciating the books, though no one seems to be paying them any attention.
If the guests are wrapped up in conversation with each other, I might have an easier time slipping into the back areas where my target surely lies. That’s what I should concentrate on.
Then I see him.
In the middle of the main hall, standing next to Dr. Abernathy and five older men, a man holds court while wearing last season’s colors. I have to admit that the mossy green complements his dark hair and olive skin, as much as I hate to give him any credit at all.
Salvatore Giovanni Harrison Falcone.
Fucking Gio.
Admirers swarm him, hanging on his every word as he plays the part of the library’s esteemed new benefactor like he was born for the role.
Our gazes meet through the cluster of guests, the ambient lighting, and the careful performance of the crowd. Gio’s dark brown eyes mock me.
Everything stops. The room. My breath. My heart.
His smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens and becomes predatory.
Gio raises his glass in an unspoken salute.
Welcome to my party. I’ve been waiting for you.
This can’t be a coincidence. Not tonight of all nights. Not with this whole thing thrown together at the last minute. Paige couldn’t have known about it because this entire event is staged.
A trap with authentic Champagne, spotlights, and wealthy witnesses to provide cover.
I return the glass salute. I can’t let him believe he’s rattled me, so I add a tiny, cocky grin. The slight hesitation in his movements indicates he’s in pain.
The asshole’s still hurting after we dropped that burning warehouse on him last month. Bastard should have had the decency to die then and there.
His eyes narrow slightly, but Dr. Abernathy draws his attention.
I use the chance to disappear, putting other guests between him and me. Hiding in plain sight. Gio can’t be the threat here. Not when he’s the primary focus.
I remind myself to maintain my mask even as my brain starts working through all the problems. There are two main doors, both marked by red exit signs. Next to each, I spy caterers who aren’t circulating. They watch the room instead of serving guests and all wear earbuds.
My pulse quickens. They’re not servers. They’re mercenaries.
I count four of them, with more possibly blending in with the crowd. All positioned to slice the pie. If guns come out, they have the entire area covered.
One of the mercs separates from his position near the entrance and starts navigating through the crowd.
He’s heading my way and has more backup than I can see.
My odds aren’t great.
Shit.
I could beeline for the door. Call out to Rebecca and force their hands, but that would only initiate the fight sooner.
I could lurk among the stacks and wipe out Gio’s men one by one, as quietly as possible.
Drawing my gun and firing now would just result in a warrant for my arrest, if I even manage to survive. Rich people hate getting involved in violence they didn’t plan for.
From the corner of my eye, I spy a man pushing dark hair out of his face. I’d know that gesture anywhere.
Max?
What the hell is he—
The lights flicker and go out.
Every single one. The chandeliers. The spotlights. Only the battery-operated emergency exit signs stay on.
I drop to a crouch, waiting for the shots to start.
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. A woman screams.
“Everyone, please, remain calm.” Dr. Abernathy’s warm voice booms over the party. “I’m sure it’s just the storm. The generator will kick on in a moment.” Thunder cracks directly overhead, backing up the soothing words.
A hand clamps down on my forearm, but I don’t flinch because I know that touch.
Paige.
Her voice is a low, urgent whisper right in my ear. “There’s no time to explain. We have to get out of here. Gio laid a trap for you.”
“Yeah, I’d figured that out already.” Unable to stop myself, I place my hand over hers. “He’s in the center, with your boss.”
People call out to each other as their glowing phone screens create tiny islands of light. In the confusion, bodies shuffle all around us and press close to each other.
“Ex-boss.” Her hand tightens on my forearm, tugging for me to follow her.
Amid the scattered shuffling, the steady tread of shoes zeroes in on our location.
Instinct takes over.
I spin, putting myself between Paige and the potential threat. Shielding her with my body, I reach for the Makarov at my back.
Paige surprises me by grabbing my shoulder and spinning me. Her hand slides down to grip my wrist. “Trust me. I know where I’m going.”
I follow her lead, because what else can I do? She’s here. She’s real. And she’s pulling me into the darkness between the stacks like she owns the building.
She practically does. With her memory, she has a pretty accurate map in her mind.
More importantly, I want to accompany her. I want to face any danger by her side, where I can keep an eye on her and guarantee she’s safe.
Behind us, a ruckus spreads through the room.
Lightning flashes through the tall windows, painting the chaos in stark white relief.
Three mercenaries sweep into the space and converge where I was standing.
Past them, I can pick out the two fake servers lingering by the front doors. An arm snakes around one’s throat while someone tackles him from behind. The other pivots to face the assailant sneaking up on him.
Then the darkness swallows the room, and Paige pulls me deeper into the stacks.
I know those men.
They’re Kozlovs.
My men.
But that’s impossible. I didn’t call them. To avoid a leak, I didn’t even tell anyone I was coming here. After all, we still don’t know how the car Max left for me at Banya got tagged.
Very few of the guests notice the fighting as the library board members usher them toward the side exit.
Calm voices cut through the panic.
“This way, please.”
“Just a power outage.”
“Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Watch your step.”
Paige hauls me through the suffocating blackness without hesitation. She takes turns I barely see coming, through sections I’ve never visited.
Behind us, the audible chaos fades, muffled by distance and the walls of books.
We’re in a different world now. More intimate. My traitorous mind jumps back to the last time I was with her in these stacks. She finally stops at a junction between two sections, her hand still wrapped around my wrist. I can feel her fast but steady pulse through her skin.
“Paige—”
“No. You don’t get to apologize or explain. Not yet.” She leads us to a door in the gloom and enters a code into the still-lit panel. “Let’s get out before Gio’s people regroup.”
“Why?” The question rips out of me. “Why save me? After what I did. After I left you. Why come here?”
She pins me with her gaze, her face lit by the green light of the coded lock. For a moment, her fury shows in her pinched lips and the stormy blue of her eyes. “Because you’re an idiot, and someone has to keep you alive long enough for you to figure that out.”
Without waiting for a response, she’s on the move again, and I follow.
At this point, I’d follow her into hell.