His Perfect Lie (The Gravitch Bratva #3)

Chapter 1

LEV

The leather seat beneath me holds the cold of a St. Petersburg March, and the chill seeps through my trousers and settles into the muscles of my thighs as Yuri drums his fingers against the armrest in the back of his limo.

The partition between us and the driver stays raised, the glass thick enough to swallow any conversation we might have.

"Stubborn prick," Yuri mutters, obviously frustrated by the meeting we've just walked out of. "Five months his sister's been gone and he has no authority. Still, he sits there telling me the routes belong to his family by birthright."

I keep my eyes on the window, watching the storefronts blur past, awnings sagging with wet snow that drips onto the pavement below. Melting slush covers the streets in gray heaps, and the whole city looks bruised under the overcast sky.

"Yaros is scared," I say. "He's holding onto those routes because they're the only thing keeping Kolar at the table. The moment he admits Ana's not coming back, the Balkans walk."

"Then he's a fool." Yuri's jaw tightens, the muscles beneath his stubble flexing as he grinds his teeth. "Kolar's already asking questions. How long before he decides Yaros has been lying to him this whole time?"

"Probably already has." I turn from the window to face my uncle, noting the silver threading through the dark hair at his temples, the calluses on his hands from decades of work that left scars both visible and buried.

"But Kolar needs those routes as much as we do.

He'll wait a little longer before he makes a move. "

"And in the meantime, Yaros sits on his throne pretending his sister's going to walk through the door any day now." Yuri shakes his head while disgust pulls at his features. "The man's a shit liar."

"He doesn't have to be good at it. He's got the routes, and that's all anyone cares about."

"For now." Yuri's fingers resume their drumming against the armrest. "But the Balkan syndicate won't fuck around and find out. Kolar made a deal with Ana, not her little brother. And Ana hasn't shown her face in five months."

"Which means Yaros is running out of time."

"Which means we're all running out of time." Yuri turns to narrow his steel-gray eyes on me. "The southern trade routes aren’t pocket change, Lev. Without them, we grow stagnant."

The limo turns onto Nevsky Prospekt, and the traffic thickens around us as we pass the grand facades of buildings that draw tourists.

I think about Ana Veche, about the rumors that have circulated since her disappearance.

Some say she's dead. Some say she ran. Nobody knows for certain, and Yaros isn't talking.

"We need leverage," Yuri says. "Something that forces his hand. Without it, we're back to square one, begging for scraps while he—"

"Stop the car."

Yuri's hand freezes mid-gesture, his gray eyes narrowing as he studies my face. "What?"

"Stop the fucking car." I lean forward, craning my head as my eyes blink a few times to be sure of what I’m seeing.

He presses the intercom button and relays the order to the driver, and the limo eases toward the curb beside a row of shops with their metal shutters pulled halfway down. My forward lean to get a better look out the window makes me sway as the car stops and the driver puts it in park.

"What is it?" Yuri asks, reaching toward his inner coat pocket where his pistol rests.

"Across the street." I point toward the mouth of an alley where two figures stand arguing beside a food cart. "The woman in the gray coat."

She's got her back to us now, but I know what I saw. Her dark brown hair spills past her shoulders in loose waves that shift as she gestures at a man in a heavy coat and apron. Her coat hangs open despite the cold, and whatever dispute exists between them has brought color to both their faces.

"What about her?" Yuri leans forward, squinting through the glass.

The woman turns, throwing her hands up in frustration, and there's no mistaking her features now. High cheekbones beneath light green eyes. Full lips pressed into a hard line. The resemblance to our missing Veche Donna is incredible. It makes my pulse kick hard against my throat.

"Fuck," Yuri breathes, and his eyes go as wide as I feel mine are. This is incredible.

Ana Veche stares back at us from twenty meters away.

Except Ana Veche's been missing for five months and this woman wears cheap shoes with salt stains around the toes.

Ana Veche is the leader of a criminal syndicate who has never known a day of poverty in her life, but this woman's entire appearance reeks of lower class.

Still, her face is identical, the bone structure a perfect match, but everything else about her screams ordinary.

"That's not possible," Yuri mutters, but he doesn’t stop staring at her. Even he can see the striking resemblance. Perhaps her lips aren't full enough, and maybe her hair is a shade too light—both things that can be rectified with a little help.

It makes my wheels start turning.

"It's not her." I keep my tone flat even as my mind races.

"Look at her shoes. Her coat. The way she carries herself.

Ana Veche never stood on a street corner arguing with anyone who worked for a living…

" No, Ana would have a soldier to do that, and if she deigned to cross paths with someone like this, it would be with disgust.

The woman shoves a handful of rubles at the man and steps back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her chin lifts defiantly, and the angle only makes the resemblance more impressive. She could be Ana's twin, separated at birth and raised in an entirely different world.

"Then who the fuck is she?" Yuri asks.

"Does it matter?" I don't look away from her as I speak, the plan already taking shape. "You wanted leverage. There she is."

Yuri falls silent as his mind begins to wrap around what I'm saying, and the woman turns away from the vendor and pulls her coat tighter around her torso as she waits. She looks frustrated and upset by him, but I can't hear what their argument is about.

"Yaros has spent five months lying," I say, "telling everyone his sister's alive and well. He can't admit she's gone because the moment he does, Kolar walks. But if Ana Veche suddenly reappeared—"

"In our custody," Yuri finishes, his gray eyes sharpening. He nods because he's starting to get the picture.

"With proof that her brother's been lying about her whereabouts.

Yaros would have no choice but to negotiate with us or face the wrath of Kolar and his entire army of men.

" The idea begins to settle in my chest like a lead weight.

Ana Veche's sudden reappearance would force Yaros to produce his real sister or would inevitably allow the cracks that have formed under his alliances to become visible as he has to admit something's happened to her.

"She's not Ana," Yuri growls, but I can see how close he is to giving in to my idea.

"She doesn't have to be. She has to look enough like Ana that Kolar believes it long enough for us to squeeze Yaros into a corner. By the time anyone figures out the truth, we'll have the routes and the leverage to keep them."

"It could backfire badly," he says, rubbing his jaw and glowering at me. He's not a man to take huge risks, and with his losses in the past six months, I don't blame him. His son was murdered in cold blood and he nearly lost his wife to a murder charge.

"Or it could swing in our favor…" I'm not foolish enough to believe that we can pull this off without any hiccups, but if all it does is bring situational awareness to Luka Kolar and his band of misfits who for whatever reason chose to align with the Veche family and not us, it'll be worth it.

"Then it's your plan. I have too many irons in the fire to babysit something like this." He turns from the window and relaxes in his seat, and I know I have the go-ahead.

If that woman looks as much like Ana Veche up close as she does from a distance, I'll have no problem taunting Yaros and convincing Kolar to eat right out of my hand.

And there'll be no one around to stop me, because my gut tells me the real Ana Veche is dead somewhere and perhaps her own family had something to do with it.