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He frowned. “I just told you Svetlana went to the library.”
I got out of the fighting ring. “So?”
“So? Katya goes into the library around this time of day.”
“I don’t see the problem.”
Viking scoffed. “You don’t see a problem with your recently widowed Bratva ex-mistress walking into your pretty, innocent dove?”
When I’d ordered the ‘accidental death’ for Mikhail, I’d never imagined that his widow would want to rekindle our former relationship. No good deed ever went unpunished. But I’d rather suffer through Svetlana batting her eyelashes at me than let that asshole live after his role in Katya’s attack. I’d already taken care of her other molester, Boris, a year ago. Mikhail’s demise had been more difficult. At the time it happened, I couldn’t touch him, as killing him would have resulted in a war. So I’d bided my time, revenge being best served cold and all. When I could finally exact my revenge, it had turned into a dagger-shaped icicle.
“No, I don’t see a problem with that.” There was no reason for Svetlana to consider Katya a threat. I had never mentioned my ward to Svetlana, let alone shown any fondness toward Katya in public. My soul was a black void most of the time. Other times I was a master at hiding my feelings, especially any lingering fixation I had for Katya. She wasn’t meant for me.
Viking shook his head. “Fine. Live in denial all you want. Just like how you’re denying the girl some freedom. You know what, maybe you should give her some space. I mean, she’s only got about a year left, doesn’t she?"
His expression soured. The big guy had taken a liking to Katya, even though he had tried to keep his distance from her. The problem was, Katya had a knack for getting under your skin.
“Are we going to have that talk again?”
He uttered a heavy sigh. “Like it would change a damn thing. You can’t break a vow to apakhan. We both know that.”
My jaw clenched. I’d promised my mentor Sokolov that he could have Katya in four years’ time. I never broke my promise.
“Oh, one more thing,” Viking continued. “Oscar Bianchi keeps calling. Something about an exclusive offer for you. I wouldn’t connect that worthless sack of shit to anyone, but he insists he has a way to fuck over Gio Detta. The idiot actually believes you two are at each other’s throats over a construction deal. I guess keeping your friendship with Detta on the down low might actually pay off.”
“Oscar never was the smartest tool in the shed.” There was a reason most of the Bianchi Family was behind bars. They were led by a clueless hyena. “Put the call through in here.”
I picked up as soon as Viking had left. “What can I do for you, Bianchi?”
“I’ve got something you want.” He sounded gleeful, which was mistake number one. It was bad form to show your eagerness in this business.
“Doubtful, but I’ll bite. What is it?”
There was a moment of silence. I imagined him gathering his courage. Hyenas operated best in packs, and Oscar was the last Bianchi standing.
“Not over the phone. Let’s just say if you take my deal, you’ll have that fucker Giovanni Detta, who you hate so much, on his knees.”
His voice crackled with rage. Whatever this supposed deal was, to Bianchi, it was personal. Which meant that for Gio, it was too. I could work with that. As it happened, therewassomething I wanted. I owed Gio, who’d apparently had a quarrel with Bianchi. It looked like I might finally get the chance to repay him. I could also use his input on Katya.
Perhaps the raven allowed himself to get locked up because he didn’t want to hurt the shepherd by clawing his eyes out.
Katya’s words rang in my head. I’d always known that one day she would end up hating me. It was inevitable. I just didn’t want it to be over her feeling caged.
“I’m listening.”
***
Viking parked in front of a run-down building near the wharf. Why was it that shady deals were always held at cheap motels?
I got out of the car and shook my head when Viking said he wanted to accompany me. He scowled but stayed put.
I’d already had a digital survey made of the place. We had chambermaids and hotel clerks on our payroll. According to our source, Bianchi was in a room on the first floor. With him were a man and a woman.
I was about to knock on the door when I heard a familiar voice on the other side.
“You called the head of the Russian crime syndicate? Jesus, fuck! Are you insane? That man is a beast. A stone-cold killer.”
I almost preened at the praise. I’d gone through a lot of blood and bones to gain the reputation of being a “stone-cold killer.”
