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Chapter 24
We move to the manor’s expansive dining room, where the heavy atmosphere should lessen somewhat. However, when Sergei claims the head of the table, his stern expression reveals that this setting is yet another battlefield.
This line of fighting is a lot simpler, however.
A vote.
“Do we take our chance now?” he wonders, glancing around the table brimming with guests. “Or squander it?”
He looks to Mischa, but for once, the younger man seems reluctant to take the reins of the conversation. He sits sideways on the chair beside mine, his hand on his chin.
“I vote yes,” another man pitches in from Sergei’s end of the table. “I say we put an end to this now.”
“Agreed,” another man says.
“Fine.” Mischa looks up, meeting Sergei’s gaze directly. “I may have the final say, but old Sergei…he would never lead us astray.”
“Then it’s settled. We move out tonight.”
“Tonight?” The question comes from Somodorov. “Launch a full-scale operation on Winthorp with just a few hours’ notice? That seems hasty, Sergei.”
“Or intuitive, he will be returning from his meeting,” the other man corrects. “As Mischa stated, would I suggest a plan I didn’t think would work?”
“I guess,” Somodorov says, “but still. I think we—”
“We should vote,” Mischa says over him. He lifts his hand, displaying the callused palm. “I say yes.”
I bite my lip to disguise my shock. Has he changed his opinion so soon? Around the table, various sounds of agreement or dissent are voiced, but within minutes, a consensus is clear.
“Then it’s settled,” Sergei says. “We strike tonight. A small contingent. My men and Mischa’s—”
“What about mine?” Alexi interjects.
“I think a smaller team is better,” Sergei says. “We can be discreet until it’s time to strike.”
The men on his side of the table grumble in affirmation of that plan.
“Fine.” Mischa stands and heads for the doorway. “We’ll leave at midnight.” Before he exits the room, his eyes cut to mine, brimming with a silent invitation to follow.
When I finally track him down, he’s in the upstairs sitting room with his back to me. From another room, giggles erupt and I marvel at the innocent contrast to the grim discussion that took place below. Mouse and Eli are in their own universe, blissfully unaware of the danger brewing around them.
And I’d give my soul to keep them there.
“I don’t trust it,” Mischa admits as I advance on his position. “And I know you don’t, either.” He reaches out, grasping my hand. “But you can’t show it. Not to him and not now.”
“This doesn’t sound like you.” Cocking my head, I place my hands on my hips. “Mischa Stepanov, biding his time?”
His lips quirk almost too quickly to catch. “Maybe your pretty little words are stuck in my brain,” he counters. “Peace. Fighting Sergei out in the open certainly won’t achieve that. It would split themafiyaright down the fucking middle and start an even bloodier war than the one with Winthorp. If he is a fucking liar, I need him to prove it on his own.”
Even if waiting kills him.
“You’re right.” I brush my hand along his shoulder, feeling the muscle flex at my touch. “There is a lot I don’t know about you.”
And maybe it’s not a bad thing.
“But,” I add, “if you don’t confront him now, then when?”
He looks away, eyeing the world beyond the windows. “When the timing is right.”
