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Are we headed toward another meeting? Another dark, sordid trade? Perhaps, even now, he still plans to sell me, a task made much easier if I don’t have full use of my legs.
The twisted scenarios form unabated in my head. My breath is baited by the time the vehicle finally slows to a stop. When I look out the window, all I feel is…
Confusion. “Where are we?” The question slips out before I can remind myself who I’m with.
We’re near a secluded building. A home maybe? It’s not as grand as Nicolai, the drug supplier’s, but it’s not small, either. It’s perhaps the size of the guest house at Winthorp Manor. In the darkness, I can make out two men standing guard on a short set of stone steps leading to a door. Orange light illuminates square windows, but I can’t make out any hint of what might lurk within.
“Get out.” Mischa shoulders the door open on his end and renders his command moot when he reaches for me. Before I can protest, I’m in his arms. “Don’t worry, Little Rose,” he grunts as he heads for the front of the building. “I’ll release you soon enough.”
The reassurance rings more like a threat as we near the two men who eye me warily before nodding in deference to Mischa.
One of them opens the door, allowing us inside. A narrow foyer decorated in shades of black and gold greets us, a much chicer interior than I would have expected. Mischa enters boldly and turns through a nearby archway, entering a wide, simple sitting room. A man dominates a leather couch in one corner of the room. I stiffen the second his eyes connect with mine.
I don’t even register grabbing Mischa’s forearm until he shrugs, testing my grip. “What—”
“He was there with Nikolaus,” I say. “The night he attacked me.”
“Pakhan,” the man greets, his tone soft. “How kind of you to join me.”
“It seems you’ve been busy, Gabriel,” Mischa replies. He sets me down on an armchair positioned slightly beyond the circle of couches. Turning his back to me, he claims a seat directly opposite the other man. At a glance, I can’t tell if he believed me or not, but then—as if he read my mind—his hand goes to the bulging pocket of his fatigues. “Care to explain yourself?”
“Can you blame me for assisting an old friend?”
“Maybe…Ifyou have the information you promised,” Mischa counters, “I suggest you make it good.”
“Yes…” The man shifts, unfurling his long limbs. He places his hands on either knee, and a ring on his left hand draws my eye. Thick. Silver. It looks similar to a Winthorp insignia ring, but different. Older. “You’ve been busy yourself, Mischa,” the man says. “But Robert Winthorp? Well, he’s been busier.”
“Cut to the chase, Gabriel,” Mischa scoffs, crossing his arms. Then his eyes cut in my direction before flicking away. “I’m listening.”
“He’s consolidating,” Gabriel declares. “Everything that bastard could inherit from his father, he’s already pried from the man’s cold, dead hands. The docks. The ports. All of it.”
My skin runs cold at the mention of Robert. Still alive. Still fighting back. Without his father, I can only imagine how far the depths of his greed might extend.
“I’m not worried about the Winthorps and their toys,” Mischa says.
“Ha!” Gabriel throws back his head for a guttural laugh. When he meets Mischa’s gaze again, he isn’t smiling. “You should be. With the power at his control, he could crush you in a matter of weeks. With or without themafiya. And if he’s bold enough to come after you directly, all it would be is catching you off guard. Not to mention your little rift with Sergei…”
“A matter of weeks, you say?” Mischa strokes his chin, seemingly unconcerned—but I can see through the act. His eyes are molten, swirling with dark conspiracies.
“He’s been busy, Pakhan. Making alliances. Scurrying in your shadow. You think you have a good grip on your men. Maybe you do—but don’t doubt for a second that Winthorp isn’t in the background, sniffing around for any hint of weakness. If I could plant a man among your ranks, just imagine what he could do?”
Interest crosses Mischa’s expression. “So what do you suggest?”
Gabriel eyes me again, a slight smile shaping his lips. “Well, if you had someinsightinto who his allies are, that might help.”
“That’s what you’re for, if you haven’t forgotten,” Mischa says coldly. “Unless I need to find another man whose palms require grease. Preferably one who won’t scurry around with my fucking enemies—”
“Relax, Pakhan. Nikolaus was a cousin of mine, you understand.” His gaze turns distant for a brief second. Then he shakes his head. “Rumor has it that Winthorp’s moves are a bit too bold. He’s more confident than he’s ever been, but why? Or maybe it’s self-preservation. His father had several businessmen who might think they have a claim to what the old man left behind. Robert’s consolidating power quickly. They might be willing to whisper to any man who could guarantee their safety.”
“And I assume you have someone in mind?” Mischa wonders.
“That I do. I’ll pass on his information to you, but there’s more.”
“Oh?”
Gabriel nods, suddenly serious. “There are more rumors, a bit more outlandish, but I think you might want to consider them nonetheless. One is regarding Winthorp’s sister. Her wedding’s been mysteriously called off. The whereabouts of her fiancé are unknown—”
I must have made a noise, because the man breaks off, turning his attention to me.
