Page 14 of Bratva Sacrifice

Maybe I should. And, really, even if I only count the tips Alexei has left today—even if that last almost-hundred will be split three ways—I’ve still made enough to almost double my pay for the day. Why shouldn’t I take off a few hours early? Especially since Darren offered.

Alexei’s fingers squeeze my wrist. “Three,” he says, like a promise. And his hand releases my wrist. He lifts his coffee cup from the counter and turns to go with a sort of confidence I can’t help but envy. Like the whole of the world bends to his wishes.

The way I just did.

Chapter Seven

Alexei

Anatoli’s call comes in at eight. “She’s back,” he says in brusque Russian.

Good. Back to her shitty motel, he means. Koshechka takes public transportation, which turns a ten-minute drive into nearly an hour-long production. But I don’t like that she does this, so Anatoli follows her. At a discreet distance, of course.

“She’s late today,” I say. She gets off work at six. That leaves an hour unaccounted for. “What did she do?”

“Walked around the city. Looked at dresses through store windows.”

Ah. Katya was window-shopping. It’s understandable. She left her apartment in Chicago in such a hurry that probably she had not packed much. The place was a mess; clothing and belongings strewn around. A suitcase, I think, was missing from the set of three that there ought to have been, and not even the biggest one. So that is what her life is reduced to now—whatever she could fit inside it.

Probably a woman on the run is not packing for dates.

But I am curious. “Did she buy anything?”

“Nyet,” he says. “Nothing.”

I don’t care what she wears anyway, but I like that she gave a thought to how she would look for me. For our date. Still, it is smart of her not to waste her money. She does not have much of it to spare. A little extra now today, of course, but it is wisest not to spend if she does not have to do this.

“She didn’t notice you?” I ask.

“Nyet,” Anatoli says again.

It is possible that she will, eventually. Anatoli does not stand out like I do, but Katya is cautious. Wary, still. If she is frightened into running again, she will be doubly careful. Might ditch her burner phone just to be safe.

Beep.

I fish Nicola’s phone from my pocket and glance at the glowing screen.

I have a date tomorrow, Katya writes to her dead brother. Papa would be furious.

Little does she know, Papa would be thrilled. It means she has done the only thing she is good for in the eyes of the Russo family—placated the beast at their doors. Still, I intend to hold what I know over their heads. I will enjoy Katya for a time, but I have not forgotten that Russo has not, in fact, fulfilled the terms of our deal. He was careless with what was promised to me.

Another beep. I’m nervous, she writes. I’ve never gone on a date. Papa would never let me.

Of course he would not allow this. Even his bastard daughter has value, and the Italians are oddly obsessed with virginity. They want their wives pure, their daughters chaste. Only their mistresses are exempt from this.

I don’t care about virginity, and still I find myself pleased with this confirmation that Katya is so ignorant of such things. It means her expectations will be low, that I don’t have to concern myself with too many proprieties. She will not know any better.

Beep.

She is chatty this evening. Probably she is laying on her hard little motel mattress, wondering what tomorrow will bring to her.

I wish you were still alive, she writes. I really think we could have been friends eventually.

A snort slips out my nose. Not fucking likely. And if she had known him only a little better, she would have reconsidered this sentimental wish.

“Follow her to work tomorrow,” I tell Anatoli through the phone. “And then take the night off. I’m taking Catalina on a date.”

“A date.” I can hear his scowl in the words. He does not understand why I have not just taken her. Why we are wasting so many days doing nothing in Minneapolis. But Anatoli is accustomed to action, and he is bored here. He likes the thrill of the sort of work we don’t have to do any longer, dislikes the monotony of running an empire.