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“I’m not sure.”
“Could it be fake?”
“What if it’s not?” I ask. I tap the screen. “According to this, the Salkovs are going to move in to the last of Antonov territory.”
“You need to show this to Mikhail. This could help us turn the tides.”
“Do we have an informant amongst the Salkovs?”
“I have no idea,” Dimitri confesses. “But if this is real, it means Violetta has a traitor in her ranks.”
A tiny spark of hope ignites in my chest. Who could it be? Who within the Salkov Bratva would be willing to risk their life sending us this information? I have an idea who it might be, but the odds seem insurmountable.
Dimitri quickly reaches into his own pocket and pulls out his phone. “Natalya,” Dimitri says. “I need you to close up early. Yes, I know the clinic’s supposed to be open for another two hours, but something’s going down. I need you to go home and take care of the children. Yes, I’ll explain everything, just go straight home.”
He hangs up and gives me a nod.
We both head inside. The winds might finally be blowing in our favor.
Chapter 33
Alina
Itrip into the nearest convenience store, clutching my bloody shoulder.
I thought I made a pretty clean getaway. When I had to pull over to ditch the car at a gas station at the edge of the city, I realized I was wrong. In all the chaos, I didn’t realize that one of their bullets managed to pierce the back window and hit me in the back of the shoulder. I was so hopped up on adrenaline I didn’t realize until at least twenty minutes later when I felt the wet, sticky sensation of my blood soaking into my shirt and dripping down my back.
My vision is getting blurry. My muscles are strained and weak. I’m so hungry and tired and in so much pain I can barely see straight as I stumble into a nearby store. It’s empty in here, soft Russian pop music playing over the speakers. I quickly meander over to the nearest shelf, searching for a bottle of ibuprofen.
“Goodness!” an old woman, one of the employees judging by her green work vest and nametag, gasps when she sees me. She was in the middle of mopping in the next aisle over. Olga, according to her nametag. “Miss, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I rasp. “Pretend you didn’t see me. Sorry for bleeding all over your floors.”
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “No, I’m just grabbing a few things and I’ll get out of your hair.”
Olga bites her lip in concern, her wrinkled face twisting up in worry. “You’re one of them, yes?”
“What?”
“One ofthem.”
I furrow my brows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She presses a finger to her lips. “It’s a secret, I get it.”
“Seriously, lady—”
“There’s a doctor near here. A few blocks that way. She treats your kind, no questions asked.”
Realization dawns. “You think I’m a gangster?”
“You were shot, yes? Can’t get the police involved.”
I swallow, my mouth terribly dry. I’m so delirious at this point I can barely make sense of what she’s saying. Have I accidentally walked into a Bratva’s territory? How else would she know so much?
Olga quickly shrugs off her vest and throws it over my shoulder. “You must go quickly. Lots of violence out there. It’s not safe to be in public.”
