I’m about to stand and grab my backpack from the overhead storage compartment where I stashed it when the man behind me speaks.
The white-haired man and woman across the aisle glance over, likely curious about the flurry of Italian.
Me? I’m frozen, his threat—“Make a scene, and I’ll kill them all”—echoing in my ears.
It makes sense they sent men I wouldn’t recognize. I didn’t think Leo or Enzo would be the ones chasing me across Europe. But it’s so unfair—that the hungry, clean-shaven businessman behind me is who I should have been wary of.
Was there more than one car tailing us? What were the unfortunate odds he ended up on this same shuttle?
I’m scared. Angry. But mostly? Ashamed. It feels like I failed Lev.
Everything he did for me?
Gone.
LOOKING FOR KNIVES
Iturn the piece of plastic over in my palm, like a different angle might magically illuminate the contents.
I returned to Serebryanovo yesterday. After debriefing a disappointed Igor and smug Aleksandr, I plugged the drive from Carina into a laptop. The contents are encrypted. I’m not sure how complex the security is, but it surpasses my abilities. Misha would have more success—I’ve yet to see an encryption he couldn’t crack—but that would require trusting him to a degree I’m not sure I can.
I’m notpakhan. I don’t have the authority to require that Misha keep whatever he might find to himself or to shield him from any consequences if it was revealed that he did.
The contents are probably drug routes and a list of suppliers. Interesting information, but nothing especially important.
Except … Carina appeared convinced that it was. That her taking this was part of why she was being chased so tenaciously. What if this is my way of making up for letting her go? What if they know about Andrea and that’s on here? We would have a chance to warn him.
A knock sounds on my door. I hide the drive back behind a row of books, finish buttoning my shirt, and open it. Elena stands on the other side.
“Have you seen Maksim?” she asks.
“Not since I’ve been back.”
My mother frowns, then sighs. “Aleksandr will be here any minute.”
I don’t mention that’s likely why Maksim is missing. If I could arrive late to these monthly family dinners, I would.
“I’m sure he’ll show up.”
Another sigh. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
I nod, then shut the door and do something I never do before these meals—pour myself a drink.
I failed on purpose. But Igor doesn’t know that. Between returning empty-handed and requesting he send someone else to handle Chicago, I feel aimless. Paired with the caged sensation of being stuck back here after the rapid pace of the few days with Carina, I’m in no mood to go downstairs and indulge my family.
Igor will antagonize. Elena will observe. Aleksandr will sulk. Maksim will show up drunk, then drink even more. Victoria will sit, excluded, and I’ll be the family member she wants to talk to least.
I toss the rest of the vodka back, debate a refill, then realize I’m already two minutes late. Igor likes to eat at seven exactly.
I head into the hallway, pausing to lock the door behind me. Something I rarely do, but I’m paranoid about someone finding the drive. Having it in my possession is proof I found Carina and lied that I hadn’t.
Downstairs, everyone—with the exception of Maksim—is already seated around the massive dining table. It stretches far enough to seat two dozen people but doesn’t often.
I take my assigned seat silently. Apologies irritate my father. He believes everything—including mistakes—should be done with conviction.
Surprisingly, Aleksandr is smiling, appearing to be in a scarce good mood. I imagine my returning unsuccessful has made his week, but something else must have happened to make him so cheerful. He has one arm splayed possessively across the back of Victoria’s chair. A gaudy necklace I’ve never noticed before hangs around her neck, diamonds twinkling in the light cast by the crystal chandelier that hangs over the center of the table. It reminds me I never asked Carina about the new one she was wearing, never looked closely enough to tell what it signified.
One of many things I regret never saying to her.
