Calina stands up from her chair, her arms crossed over her chest, a harsh, angry grin touching her lips. "I’ve always hated your father, Irina. But this? This is disgusting. I hope Mikhail lets me watch when he takes his head off."
"Calina," Milana murmurs, though her own eyes are bright with tears as she looks at me. "I’m so sorry, Irina. You should have told us sooner."
"I was afraid," I admit, my throat dry.
"Fear is a waste of time," Konstantin says, stepping away from the window. His unreadable face doesn't show any emotion, but his eyes are fixed on the map on the coffee table. "We have the location narrowed down to three estates under Verona Holdings. We’ll have the exact house by tonight. But we need Boris’s men out of Jersey before we move."
"How?" I ask.
"I have to make the call for the fake weapons relocation," I say, my stomach turning at the prospect.
"You have to make him believe it," Mikhail says, his hand tightening on my waist. "He has to think you’re terrified enough to actually betray us. He has to think he’s won."
I look at the burner phone in my hand. "I’ll make him believe it."
I walk to the far corner of the room, near the window, and dial the number. The phone rings three times before the line clicks open.
"Irina," Boris’s voice is a smooth, oily purr that makes the hair on my arms stand up. "I assume you have the information I requested. I don't like being kept waiting."
"I have it," I say, my voice shaking with a practiced, frantic panic. I lean into the fear from the car chase, letting the ragged edges of my breath show through the line. "Papa... Mikhail is going crazy. A car hit us on the way to Artyom’s. I’m terrified. If he finds out I’m doing this..."
"He won't find out if you do your job," Boris says, his tone dismissive. "Where are they moving the Queens inventory?"
"Newark," I say, swallowing hard. "There’s an old warehouse near the ironbound district. On Ferry Street. They’re moving the crates tonight at midnight. Mikhail said the guard shift rotates at exactly twelve-fifteen. There’s a ten-minute window where the back gate is unmonitored."
"The security codes?"
I read him the fake codes Konstantin wrote down for me, my voice trembling on the numbers. "Please, Papa. You have to promise me. Once you have the warehouse, you let me see Oleg. You tell me where he is."
Boris let out a dry, satisfied chuckle. "You’ve done well, Irina. Don't worry about the boy. He’s safe. For now."
"Papa—"
"I’ll contact you when the inventory is cleared," he says, his voice cold and final. "Don't do anything stupid."
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down on the windowsill, my chest rising and falling in a long, shaky breath. He believed me. He believed me because that’s exactly what he’s always thought I was—a broken, compliant daughter who would sell her soul to save her child.
I turn back to the room. Mikhail is watching me, his blue eyes dark and burning with a pride that makes my throat tight.
"He’s taking the bait," I say.
"Then the war is on," Mikhail says, his voice a low, terrifying whisper.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Thin morning light cuts through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom floor.
I wake slowly, my body warm and heavy, tangled in the silk sheets under the massive weight of Mikhail’s arm. He’s still asleep, his breathing a deep, rhythmic rumble against the back of my neck. I stay still, enjoying the quiet. For once, the morning doesn't feel like waking into hell; the knot in my stomach is softer, eased by the memory of his hands and his promise.
I shift slightly, trying to pull the duvet higher.
The arm around my waist instantly tightens, pulling me back until my spine is pressed flush against his chest.
"Stop moving," Mikhail grumbles into my hair, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.
"I'm cold," I say, my voice a quiet murmur. "And you’re heavy. It’s like being pinned by a sleeping bear."
