I listened to the crisp clatter of her keystrokes, the corner of my mouth lifting in an imperceptible curve. She was trying to use this laser focus as camouflage for the madness we'd just shared. Smart, but transparent as hell.
I didn't call her out on the act. I pulled that military-encrypted black phone from my inside pocket, connected to the cabin's satellite Wi-Fi, and typed out a command with one hand.
"Find out everything about the woman in seat 3D on flight AA405. I want her complete file. Before tonight."
Message sent.
The screen went dark. I tossed the phone back in my pocket, closed my eyes, and let that mixture of her sweet vanilla scent and my own gunpowder cologne fill my nostrils.
The plane scraped out an ear-splitting screech as it hit the runway at Washington Dulles.
The second the seatbelt sign dinged off, the woman beside me bolted up like a startled rabbit. She didn't even glance my way—just shoved her laptop in her bag, yanked down that busted wheeled carry-on from the overhead bin, and fled the cabin like her life depended on it.
I stayed put, watching her panicked silhouette disappear down the jetway. I didn't try to stop her.
I don't play chase. If I want something—or someone—she could run to the other side of the planet and I'd still pluck her right back into my palm.
Once the cabin cleared out, I stood, straightened my suit jacket, and walked out into the terminal.
Washington's morning sun was sharp and cold. Outside the VIP corridor, a bulletproof black Escalade SUV was already waiting.
Sasha stood ramrod straight by the door. He wore anondescript black suit, his face—hard as granite and eternally expressionless—hidden behind sunglasses.
As my most loyal lieutenant and former special forces, the lethal aura he carried made ordinary people instinctively give him a wide berth.
"Pakhan." He dipped his head slightly as I approached and pulled open the door.
"What's going on?" I ducked into the spacious back seat, my voice dropping back into the absolute ice that belonged to the head of the Volkov family.
Sasha slid quickly into the driver's seat and started the engine. The SUV merged smoothly into traffic.
"The Vegas pipeline is fully operational. The Italians agreed to give us a thirty percent margin on the arms route." Sasha's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his delivery rapid but crystal clear. "But while you were away, the Marchetti family started testing boundaries on our south side. They hacked the books at two of our clubs."
I let out a cold laugh, my fingers automatically stroking the black onyx crest on my cuff. "Carmine Marchetti, still so impatient. He thinks because I went to Europe, Washington's his playground now?"
"Want me to send someone to knock some sense into them?"
"Not yet. Let the bullet fly a while." I watched the scenery blur past the window, my eyes darkening.
Just as our vehicle was about to merge onto the highway toward downtown, two black Lincoln Navigators suddenly cut in from a side access road, boxing our Escalade against the shoulder in a brazenly dangerous maneuver—one in front, one behind.
The shriek of tires scraping pavement tore through the air.
Sasha's reaction was pure muscle memory. He slammed the brakes, his right hand already flashing to the Glock holstered under his arm, barrel aimed forward. The temperature inside the vehicle plummeted to absolute zero.
The Lincoln's door swung open. Several hulking men in black suits climbed out. Leading them was Yuri—my father's most loyal, most annoying lapdog.
Yuri walked up to my window and rapped his knuckles against the bulletproof glass without ceremony.
Sasha didn't lower the window. Instead, he stared him down with those emotionless eyes, his finger already on the trigger.
"Easy, Sasha," I spoke quietly and pressed the window control.
The bulletproof glass lowered an inch.
"Sir." Yuri's meat-packed face squeezed out a fake smile, even dropping the basic title 'Pakhan.' "Mr. Volkov heard you were returning today. He's very pleased. He hopes you'll come to the estate immediately to see him. The car's already prepared for you."
This wasn't an invitation. This was a naked ambush.
