"Then find out," Boris snaps. "The primary inventory has to be relocated. They’ll use a secondary warehouse or a private estate. I want the address, Irina. And I want the security codes for the new site."
"No," I say, my voice trembling. "I won't do it. If they find out, Mikhail will kill me."
"He won't kill you if he doesn't know," Boris says. "And he won't know unless you tell him. But if you don't give me the location of those guns by tomorrow night, I’ll call him myself and tell him everything and make sure he knows exactly what kind of snake he’s been keeping in his bed."
"You're a monster," I choke out, a tear finally escaping and tracking down my cheek.
"Don't be dramatic. Don’t make me wait long for the information or the next explosion won't be at a factory."
The line goes dead.
I slide down the wall of the bathroom, my chest heaving as I try to breathe.He’s threateninghim. He’s telling me that if I don't help him destroy the Morozovs, he’ll hurthim.
I can’t do this.
I press my face into my hands, the taste of salt and fear hot in my mouth. But what other choice do I have?
I wipe my face with a paper towel, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red, but I try my best to slip my mask into place. I can't break down now. Not here.
I walk back out towards the suite. Mikhail is already standing by the door, his jacket on, looking like he’s ready to leave. He looks at me, his eyes narrowing as he tracks the slight flush on my cheeks.
"Where were you?" he asks, his voice low.
"The bathroom," I say, my voice steady.
"We're leaving," he says, grabbing my arm firmly, but softly. "I have a meeting."
My heart feels heavy and I feel tears threaten to start again.
I can’t do this… I need to tell him.
We get into the Aston Martin, the drive back to the estate quiet and very tense. I watch his hands on the wheel—his knuckles are bruised, the skin raw from yesterday. I want to touch them, but I don't dare.
I can’t, the guilt of it all is eating me alive and I don’t know if I can survive it.
"Where is this meeting?" I ask as we pull onto the highway.
"A private game," Mikhail says, not looking at me. "In Brooklyn. Some smaller players who want to talk business."
"A casino?" My ears perk up.A casino. That means people are talking. That means there’s information."I’m coming with you."
Mikhail lets out a dry, irritated laugh. "No, you aren't. It’s a closed game, Irina. I don't need you in a room where they’ll be watching you more than they listen to me."
"They'll be watching me because I'm beautiful," I snap, rolling my eyes as I try to fight the smile threatening to spread on my face. "And that's exactly why you need me. Men in those rooms are stupid, Mikhail. They see a pretty face, and they think the brain behind it is made of cotton candy. They speak more freely when a woman is in the room."
"I don't need your help to read a room," he growls, his grip on the wheel tightening.
"Yes, you do. You're the Madman. People look at you and they expect a fight. They're guarded. But me? I'm the Petrov bride. I know how to play poker, Mikhail. I’ve been sitting at my father's tables since I was eighteen. I can read a bluff before the cards are even dealt."
"I said no, Irina."
"And I'm saying you're being stupidly prideful," I push back, leaning toward him. "Wives and companions talk. While you're at the table flexing your muscles, I'll be in the lounge listening. I can find out who is backing these 'ambitious' players. I can find out if any of them are whispering to Boris."
Mikhail shifts gears, the car surging forward with a violent growl. He’s silent for a long beat, his chest expanding in a ragged breath. I can see the battle behind his eyes—the grumpy enforcer fighting the man who likes having me on his hip.
I like seeing him like this, it makes my heart skip.
"If you come," he says, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register, "you stay close to me. You don't talk to anyone unless I tell you to. And you don't play unless I give you the buy-in."
