I look at him, the weight of the threat pressing down on my chest. If I help Boris, I betray Mikhail. If I don't help Boris, I lose the only lead I have, and Mikhail finds out I’ve been lying to him anyway.
"He'll kill you for this," I whisper.
"He'll have to find out first," Boris says. "And you’re going to make sure he doesn't. What do you want, Irina? The truth, or a life on the street? Because I’m the only one who can give you the address you want. And I’m the only one who can keep Mikhail from finding out the truth about you."
I look out at the water, my mind racing. I’m cornered. There’s no way out of this that doesn't end in blood or betrayal.
"What do you want?" I ask, my voice sounding like it’s coming from someone else.
Boris’s eyes light up with a cold, triumphant spark. "First, the payroll records for the dock guards. I want to know who is on the take and who isn't. Don't make me wait."
"I hate you," I say, the words feeling small and useless.
"I know," Boris says, turning back to the SUV. "But you'll do it. Because you’re a Petrov. And we always protect what belongs to us. Get in the car."
The drive back to the estate is a blur. I sit in the back, staring at my reflection in the dark window. I look the same, but I feel like I’ve been hollowed out. I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from my father’s strings, only to find out he’s been weaving a web around me since the day I was born.
How am I supposed to look Mikhail in the eye? How am I supposed to let him touch me tonight knowing that I’ve already agreed to go behind his back?
At the house, I head straight for the suite. Mikhail isn't back yet. I walk to the window and look out at the gardens. I feel like a ghost in my own life. I don't want to help my father. I don't want to be the reason Artyom falls. I don't want to be the traitor in Mikhail’s bed.
I think about the stars in Mikhail’s childhood room. I think about the way he took care of me this morning. I think about the secret I’m still holding on to.
I'm trapped,I think, a single tear finally escaping.I'm in the middle of a war I never wanted, and I'm the only one who's going to get caught in the crossfire.
I hear the sound of the front door opening downstairs. Mikhail is home.
I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to pull the mask back into place. I need to be sharp. I need to be sassy. I need to be the woman he thinks he knows.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MIKHAIL
I’m standing on the loading dock of the Queens processing plant, and all I can think about is the way Irina looked this morning when the sun hit her hair. I should be focused. I should be thinking about the shipment logs or the traitorous whispers in the North Docks, but my head is full of the scent of roses and the memory of her skin under my hands.
I'm getting soft. Artyom was fucking right.
I check my watch. My brother is ten minutes late. He is never late. He lives his life by a clock that is more precise than a Swiss movement. If he’s not here, it’s because something went wrong.
"Lev," I bark, not looking back.
"Boss?" Lev steps out from the shadows of the warehouse door, his hand already moving toward the holster under his jacket. Hecan sense it, too. The air here is too still. The usual hum of the machinery is dampened by the sound of the river, and there isn't a single worker in sight.
The fuck?
"Where is my brother?"
"He texted five minutes ago. Said he was entering the perimeter. He should have been at the gate by now."
I look toward the chain-link fence that surrounds the property. It’s an old factory, a relic of the days when the Morozovs only dealt in steel. Now it’s a transit point—a place where things disappear before they officially exist.
I see movement near the edge of the brickwork of the primary silo. It’s subtle—a flicker of shadow that doesn't match the angle of the sun. My pulse starts to pick up, that jagged, familiar adrenaline finally drowning out the thoughts of Irina. I reach for my piece, the cold weight of the grip a comfort against my palm.
"Lev, get the car started. Now."
"Mikhail?"
"Do it!"
