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God, I hope I’m not inhaling spores.
Thoughts of getting sick fade from my mind as I observe the hallway.
Something feels off today.
I don’t hear the television blasting the early morning news from my apartment. My brother’s truck-driver snores aren’t seeping into the hallway. Even the neighbors in 5D aren’t screaming at each other as is customary when I arrive home this early in the morning.
Apprehension smacks me in the face when I find the door to my apartment ajar.
Not now. Please. Not a robbery on top of everything else.
“Jonas?”
My voice sounds like it’s swimming through a void. I push on the door, not even registering the way it squeals like the hinges of an old rusty vault. The empty living room feels like a liminal space frozen in time. Even the couch seems to sag with a weird tension from not housing my sleeping brother.
This is bad. Where the hell is Jonas?
White noise buzzes in my ears while I shuffle into the living room and turn to step into the kitchen. The tension fizzles out when I see my brother at the table.
“Jesus, Jonas! When you didn’t answer, I thought—”
A few rough-looking men step into view. A vise grips my heart as I stare at them, recognition springing to the surface. Names float into the forefront of my mind.Volodya. Kostya.
Nope. Not real. I fell asleep on the subway. I must have.
I gulp.
Please tell me I’m dreaming right now.
I blink rapidly, trying to cling to reality. There’s no way the guys from the bar are standing here right now. Not a chance in hell that the sexy Russian badass I just fucked is standing in my kitchen right this second while twirling a coin over his knuckles.
He flicks the coin into the air and catches it when he sees me.
I tremble while forcing myself to ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Shut up,” Jonas snaps at me.
Something is definitelynotright.
The weighted silence hanging around us thickens with apprehension—myapprehension. I take my time switching faces, absorbing each one, trying to find the answer in whoever will bother to look at me.
Which seems to be no one else except Pavel.
My brother doesn’t seem concerned. He looks almost…happy.
Like he just won the damn lottery.
“No more scraps, Liya. No more groveling,” Jonas explains while folding his hands on the table. “No more running from where I belong.”
I want to say something. I want to ask. But I know better than to talk back when Jonas talks to me about where he belongs. The last time I did that, he beat me to a bloody pulp.
His gaze lashes me from across the room and he adds, “I’m getting my position back. And it all starts with you.”
Now I’mreallyscared.
“The Suvorov Bratva has agreed to an alliance,” he explains. “The Citta Nostra Mafia will be mine like it was supposed to be when our father was murdered by that bastard.”
“Felix Cardona.”
