Page 114 of Feral King

I feel dizzy. Somehow, I’ve found myself in the middle of an international criminal empire powerplay. All to get Alex back in charge, even if it means killing his own brother.

“What’s my part in this?”

“You’re leverage,” she says. “If Julian doesn’t cooperate and somehow survives, Alex has you. He’ll call Julian, tell him that you’re alive, and offerterms.”

“And if Julian is already dead?”

“Then I’ll get a message on this phone.” She holds it up for a second, then looks away.

Silence.

“And then what, Sophia? What happens after that?”

“They… they’ll kill you.”

I swallow. I should be scared, but I’m more angry than anything.

Her eyes flash. “But I don’t want that to happen! I’m going to talk to Alex. My thinking is that once Julian’s gone, Alex will be happy and he’ll be, you know, easier to talk to, more willing to work with me. I’ll tell him that you don’t need to die, that you’re pregnant. Maybe he’ll just tell you to go away and never come back.”

“And you believe that.”

“Ihaveto believe that,” she says. “I can’t believe that Alex would really go through with hurting you, especially if you’re pregnant. I won’t let him do it.”

“I think you’re going to find out that you have much less power than you think, Soph.”

She glances aside again. I look at her, this woman I loved like a sister, who I went to college with, shared secrets with, and the woman I thought would be my maid of honor one day.

“You screwed up, Soph. This is going to turn out really, really bad for you.”

“No. Everything is going to work out. Alex and I will be okay, and I’m going to make sure you are, too.”

Part of me wonders if she actually believes what she’s saying—that Alex will just change his mind and let me go.

I know he won’t. I’m a loose end, a liability. He has no reason to let me live.

“It’s going to be fine,” she says.

Fine. God, I hate that word.

She turns away, picks up the phone, and checks it for a message that thankfully hasn’t come yet.

I lie there on the cold concrete with my wrists bound, thinking about Julian and whether or not he’s still alive.

The fluorescent lights buzz and the water drips.

And I wait.

CHAPTER 42

JULIAN

The safe house is a stone Colonial on six acres in Cold Spring Harbor. It’s an old money property, purchased through one of my shell companies. It sits at the end of a gravel road flanked by bare oaks, the Long Island Sound visible through the trees, the nearest neighbor a quarter mile away.

I’ve used it twice in ten years—both times were situations where Manhattan wasn’t safe enough.

Tonight most definitely qualifies.

There are four surviving syndicate heads in my living room. Baranov is in the armchair near the fireplace, a bandage on his arm, where a ricochet caught him. Kuznetsov is pacing the length of the room, phone in hand, calling his people. Semenov is seated at the dining table. He’s silent, his suit coat draped over the back of a chair, an untouched glass of vodka close at hand.