Page 63 of Lord of the Underworld

"And to you, au revoir," she says sadly.

Staring unseeingly out the glass window of the office, I fight my racing heartbeat, thudding angrily against my chest. I've seen Yvette enraged, determined, vindictive, even mean when it's called for. I've never heard that despair in her voice.

Four hours later, Vadim drives me home. We've both been awake for around thirty-six hours now, but my mind is racing, refusing to let me rest.

"Tell me about this Black Kynigós Group," I ask, watching the sunrise slowly illuminate the city.

"They aren't an organized crime family," he says. "It's more of a religious order. They have claimed their catch and kill rate is one hundred percent. I don't believe that, but it is close."

"They've made a religion around hunting down and murdering people?" I ask.

"Something like that." Vadim reaches out, taking my hand. I'm learning that he likes that, touching me, or my hands on him. This remote man who regards everyone else's touch with distaste, craves mine.

I want to ask him about the charity, about the women we help disappear, if he would help us. It's larger than just us, I know. This would mean putting the entire Turgenev Bratva in the line of fire.

Especially if this group catches me. I shudder, and he glances over before turning up the heat until it's blasting through the vents.

"Better?"

"Much better, thank you." I find a smile for my lovely husband and lace my fingers with his.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

In which there is girl talk and ghost guns. Both are deeply satisfying.

Oksana…

"I can't take this anymore," Anka says. "I'm either coming back to Chicago, or you're returning to Moscow. Because there is no one here for me. Do you hear me?" Her tone is desperate, a little strident and I completely understand why. "Jesus Christ, one of the other girls asked me if I'd had my interview with the Broker yet, and I almost wet myself in fear."

Brachnyy posrednik may be the old ghoul's official title, but for those of us whose lives could be destroyed by her, she's known as the Broker. She spawns nearly every arranged marriage in Bratva society. I'm still not sure how Vadim and I escaped her.

I'm balancing on one foot, trying to haul my high heeled boots on. "Oh, I don't blame you," I agree fervently. "When Mother told me that she'd spoken to the Broker? I've never known what they meant by the phrase, 'my blood ran cold' until that second. I thought my blood had congealed in my veins, and I was about to have a stroke.

"Yeah, "Anka says crossly. "I hate it here."

"Your father doesn't seem all that obsessed with marrying you off," I say, trying to sound supportive. "Kirill's coming home after overseeing your South African diamond mines, right?"

"True," Anka says, her tone brightening. "He should keep Dad busy for a while. The mine's output doubled under Kirill's watch. Polina's been walking with a stoop, she can barely keep her neck up."

"Your stepmother?" I ask. "Why?"

"She's weighed down by an enormous diamond necklace and earring set," she chuckles. "I swear it weighs more than your average toddler."

"Speaking of which," I say, "weren't they going to have more kids? I thought Polina was all excited to experience the joys of motherhood for herself."

"Not after she discovered the joys of shopping. Flying to exciting international cities, and seeing nothing but the inside of every luxury goods shop," Anka says cynically. "I don't hold it against her. Father can afford it. She's enjoying herself. And I don't have to compete with extra children. It's a win-win."

"That's very noble of you," I say.

"I know, right?" she preens. "Hey, speaking of Kirill, did you see that weird-ass moment he had with your cousin Rose at the wedding reception?"

"I wasn't really mentally present during most of the wedding reception," I admit. "So, my memory is somewhat spotty. Why?"

"Well, half a dozen of Bratva's finest unattached males tried to get her to dance, and she refused," she says happily. Anka loves gossip only slightly less than espresso martinis. "Then, I turned around and she was on the dance floor with Kirill, and he's whispering something in her ear. She slapped him. I mean, it was a crack you could hear halfway across the room, and then she stormed off."

"Really?" I'm a little shocked. "I thought your brother was a gentleman. That sounds like pretty douchey behavior."

"You know, he's been gone for so long, first at Cambridge University, and then down in South Africa, that I've rarely seen him in action," she says thoughtfully. "Maybe he's just turned into an asshole in his old age."