Not even risking the future I’d only just begun to imagine with Ariana.
Chapter Thirteen
Henry
A gentle offshore breeze blew through the cemetery, carrying the faint scent of salt and fresh earth. The sky was turning to dusk, streaks of orange dissolving into violet as the sun dipped low. Despite the bustle of the city beyond these walls, in here it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the seagulls seemed to keep their distance.
I stood beside a stranger’s grave, staring down at the name etched into marble.
Lisa Ames.
I didn’t know who she was. I hadn’t even bothered to look her up. Her stone just happened to offer the perfect line of sight to Alexei Volkov’s final resting place several yards away.
I’d spent the past several days observing Mikhail Volkov. Watching from a distance. Mapping his routine.
If I was going to approach the Pakhan of the Miami Bratva, I had to be smart about it. I couldn’t go guns blazing into his home or any of his places of business, legitimate or otherwise, even with the leverage Blake found.
I needed somewhere Mikhail wouldn’t expect it. Somewhere he wasn’t surrounded by his ever-present security detail.
That didn’t leave me with many options. After narrowing it down between approaching him during early morning church service, his daily trip to the Russian bathhouse, or his evening visit to the cemetery, I chose the cemetery.
It was the only place where my presence wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. Even better, he refused to allow his guards to accompany him, making them wait outside the gates.
It wouldn’t stop them from coming inside if needed, but I couldn’t put this off another day.
I’d already waited long enough.
I needed answers.
Needed to follow the one lead I had left.
And that started with Mikhail Volkov.
I discreetly checked my watch. One minute to six. He’d be here any second now.
As if on cue, the low purr of an engine cut through the silence mere seconds later. I stole a quick glance toward the gates as a black Mercedes rolled to a stop.
Two men stepped out first, scanning the perimeter with mechanical precision before opening the rear door.
Then he emerged.
Mikhail Volkov wasn’t just tall. He was imposing in a way that had nothing to do with his size but because of the power he possessed. He wore black from collar to boots, his suit perfectly tailored to fit his frame. His movements were unhurried. Controlled.
Like a man who had never rushed a single decision in his life.
Smoothing a hand down his jacket, he started up the curved path, his attention focused on his father’s ornate mausoleum that seemed to be the centerpiece of the cemetery.
I shifted my gaze toward the simple gravestone in front of me, pretending to be paying my respects to a loved one. Even when Mikhail reached his father’s grave and bowed his head, I didn’t immediately approach him.
I let him pay his respects. All while I mentally prepared myself for what I was about to do. It was a risk. But it was one I had to take.
So after several moments, I moved toward the walkway. But at the last second, I turned toward him, reaching into my pocket and retrieving one of the many photos Blake pulled from the security feed.
Sensing my approach, Mikhail snapped his head up. The gun was in his hand before I fully registered the motion, the barrel pointed directly at my chest.
