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“I’m not sure I like this plan,” I told Thierry and Sadie, hours later. I nodded meaningfully to Brent, who was seated at a dining chair. “It doesn’t seem fair to use him as bait.”

“Of course it is,” Sadie said serenely.

“Don’t worry,” Thierry said. “There’s an excellent—or, well, good—chance that our little mafia prince will survive the night. And you must admit that we’ve chosen the perfect stage for this little adventure.”

He meant the abandoned restaurant we’d picked in South Seattle, just past SODO, which was the warehouse and manufacturing district. It had, unsurprisingly, gone out of business three months ago, about two months after it had opened. What the owners had been thinking, putting an adorable, cozy little Italian restaurant—complete with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and candles in genuine crystal on the tables—in a neighborhood that mostly closed down when the blue-collar workers clocked out in the afternoon, except for the seedier element of the city, which came out at night, I’d never understand.

“It’s an Italian restaurant,” Thierry added proudly. Then, when we all stared at him, he frowned and said, “Wait. Have none of you ever seen The Godfather?”

“My family isn’t Italian,” Brent put in. He sounded remarkably calm, given the circumstances. “They’re Russian.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?” Thierry demanded crossly, sighing.

Brent shrugged, giving him a sheepish look. What was going through his head, I had no idea.

But then, I never had, had I?

It’s how I’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

Strange, how he looked the same, but so different. A stranger. I’d thought I’d loved him once, but it was nothing—nothing at all—compared to how I felt about Quinn. A sputtering candle flame beside a roaring inferno.

And for the first time, I couldn’t even regret a thing. If I’d never met Brent—as awful as the outcome of that had been—I never would’ve met Quinn.

And the idea of that was too awful to even contemplate.

“Um. So, it’s my brothers,” Brent said slowly, looking back and forth between Thierry, Sadie, and Simone. “And they probably have orders to kill Allen—” He broke off and glanced at me. “Er—Derek.”

“What a lovely family,” Sadie remarked.

“I know. But can you guys please not kill them?” Brent replied. “They’re still my brothers.”

Sadie frowned at him. “How on earth did a family of criminals produce someone like you? You don’t seem to have a malicious bone in your body. It makes this whole hostage thing very annoying.”

“Sorry,” Brent said. “Um, if it makes you feel better, I’ve been a hostage before—lots—but you guys are definitely the scariest kidnappers I’ve ever had.”

Sadie sniffed, but something in her expression softened fractionally at his words.

“Enough,” Simone said. “We should make the call.”

The plan was very simple: Brent was going to call his brothers from his phone and say that he had Derek. Then give them a location. Brent had assured us that they would know it was a trap, but that they’d come anyway, confident in their ability to paint the town red at a moment’s notice. They were apparently both very efficient killers.

Sadie pursed her lips, giving Thierry a meaningful look.

He turned to me and said, “Derek, you ought to leave. You and Quinn both. The situation is about to become much more dangerous.”

“No way,” I said immediately. “I’m staying. I need to make sure Brent stays safe.”

Thierry looked like he was about to argue with me.

I cut him off with, “I’m done running.”

He sighed. Then he nodded. “I understand. Perhaps better than you think. Stay in the kitchen, then. And for the love of everything holy, stay down.”

Sadie frowned at that, but didn’t argue.

Tobias and Bryan had already left, shortly after Bryan had pulled Quinn outside. Apparently, they’d decided that three powerful vampires—and Quinn—was more than enough to deal with a couple of armed thugs.

They were probably right.