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“You son of a bitch,” I grumble harshly under my breath.
“Pardon?” Mikhail says, his tone a warning.
“To be fair, our mother really is a top-tier bitch,” Dimitri pipes up, laughing at his own comment.
I have my wireless headphones in so I can join the conference call unencumbered. I’ve still got lots of work to do. My computer is working overtime, my four-screen setup adjusted exactly how I like. Two front and center, one mounted vertically just to my left to run code, and one just above my desk playing a live feed of my brother’s internal security cameras.
I check them from time to time to make sure they’re safe. There have been instances in the past where our enemies were able to pull right up to their front doors. When I see my nieces and nephews playing in the backyard… It terrifies me to think something could happen to them. My eyes and ears are the first line of defense.
“How can you trust this information?” I ask, leaning back in my custom office chair. It’s designed with lumbar support befitting a king. Given how many hours I spend in front of my computer, it makes sense to invest in a throne that will protect my back. “Are you seriously telling me you’ve planted a mole within the FBI?”
“No,” Mikhail says. “But I do have an informant within the Russian police force. There’s apparently a joint operation in the works.”
I whistle. “Wow,” I say dryly. “Now the Feds are breathing down our necks? You’re really an overachiever, Misha.”
I can’t see him, but I can practicallyfeelhis glare in the tense silence that follows.
A heavy sigh rushes out of my lungs. “What’s his name?”
“Her,” Mikhail corrects. “The woman heading this joint operation is Daniella Harper.”
My fingers are already flying over my keyboard, entering her name into Google. Most people might be surprised how much information a simple search can pull up. They don’t think twice when they post an aesthetically pleasing picture of whatever they had for lunch on Instagram and geotag the exact restaurant they visited. They think they’re helping support a local business, when in reality, they’re a stalker’s wet dream.
Daniella Harper: 1,832,000 results found.
I squint at my screen. I’ll have to get more specific. There are a couple of LinkedIn, Facebook, and Instagram profiles with an exact name match, but something tells me the woman I’m looking for isn’t a seventy-year-old woman from South Africa.
“We only want you to keep tabs on her,” Dimitri says, as if it’s a consolation and not the giant pain in my ass it actually is.
I try typing her name again, this time a different variation. Maybe she goes by a nickname?
Ella Harper: 2,945,560 results found.
Dani Harper: 1,945,771 results found.Did you meanDanny Harper?
I grit my teeth. “Tell your informant I need way more information. How am I supposed to keep tabs on a ghost?”
“Does this mean you’ll do it?” Pyotr asks. He’s been quiet for the majority of the call, which doesn’t come as a surprise. He’s always been a man of few words.
I choose my next words carefully. “What’s in it for me?”
Dimitri chuckles. “Your family’s love and appreciation?”
“I’m being serious. You’re asking me to keep tabs on the fuckingFBI. If I get caught—”
“Don’t get caught,” Mikhail interrupts.
“Well, slap my ass and call me Suzy, problem fucking solved! You’re absolutely right. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“We figured this would be a cake walk for you,” Dimitri says, not unkindly. “We know you’re a genius when it comes to this hacking stuff. You break into local Russian networks all the time.”
I want to roll my eyes. “Yes, because weallknow how technologically advanced Mother Russia became after the Cold War. The FBI is a whole different beast. It’s not that easy.”
“We just need to know what they know so we can stay ahead of them,” Mikhail says firmly. “Dimitri and I are locking everything down. We just need a couple of months to move the remainder of our operation underground. Now that we have full control of Moscow, we can move to a more hands-off approach and operate from the shadows. We just need some time to pull it off.”
I open and close my mouth, listening to my jaw pop. I’m not sure when it started, but I’ve had issues with TMJ for ages. I’m pretty sure all my teeth grinding since my two oldest brothers took over the family business in Russia hasn’t helped in the slightest.
I want to tell my brothers to shove it, but I can’t find the courage or the words. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, and I think they know it. It’s just that I’m tired. Every time they make a request of me, my neck is on the chopping block. All this Bratva business… I never wanted to be a part of it in the first place.
