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Can you locate the cemetery where Ivanovich’s wife and child were buried?
Probably. You’re not going grave robbing, are you? That’s extreme, even for me.
No, nothing like that. I figured that if I can find their graves, I can track Ivanovich’s contact information through the cemetery groundskeeper.
Sit tight. I’ll ask my uncle to do some digging.
Easier said than done, but I have no other choice.
I pour over my map of the city, its detailed roads and twisting rivers sprawled out over my kitchen table. It’s covered in red cross marks, entire districts drawn out as I’ve ruled them out as possible hiding places. He’s not in the north, east, or south, which only leaves the center and west of Moscow. The war between our Bratvas is paused for now, but there’s no telling how long that will last. All it would take is a mild confrontation, a misheard order—and then we’ll be right back at square one, tearing each other apart just like the detective wanted.
A soft, timid knock sounds at my door. It can’t be one of my brothers popping by for a visit because they’re far more likely to barge on in. Curious, I rise and make my way to the front of my apartment and peer through the peep hole. I’m surprised as hell.
“Sandra,” I breathe. “What are you…”
I trail off, unnerved by the woman standing before me. Something’s off about her. She has Sandra’s red hair and the same blue eyes, but the way she stands is different. Her very essence is wrong. Where my Sandra is fierce and brave and confident, this woman is mild, sweet, and skittish.
“Charlotte,” she says. “My name’s Charlotte. Remember me? You’re well acquainted with my twin sister.”
There’s an edge to her tone. An unease. I’m not sure whether I’m in for an argument, or if she’s two seconds away from running away. I glance over her shoulder. It doesn’t look like she’s brought any guards with her, which only heightens my suspicions.
“We need to talk,” she says, pushing me aside to barge into my apartment.
“Come on in,” I say dryly.
I observe Charlotte as she looks around my home, clutching the strap of her purse thrown over her shoulder. This whole thing is incredibly weird to me. I find Sandra sexy. Irresistible. And even though they’re identical twins, I feel absolutely nothing for Charlotte.
“You said you came to talk, so talk.”
She holds my gaze. It doesn’t send sparks leaping through my chest the same way it does with Sandra. I don’t hold my breath, eager to hear the next thing she has to say like her sister. I’m honestly not sure what to make of it.
“What are your intentions with my sister?” she asks bluntly.
Her question surprises me. Of all the things she could have asked, she asks methis? “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I saw the way you two were looking at each other a few nights ago. Don’t try and deny it. She told me about you. About the hotel and your late-night visits.”
I grind my teeth. Going to the Antonovs to see Sandra was a risk. I’m glad I was able to get in contact with her, but I hadn’t expected her sister to be in the room. The fact that Mikhail Antonov hasn’t already dumped my body in a ditch somewhere must mean Charlotte hasn’t told anybody our secret yet.
“I love my sister very much,” she continues. “I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
“How am I supposed to take you at your word?” Charlotte shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, staring me down like a tiger ready to pounce. “You kidnapped her. Held her hostage. What sort of Stockholm Syndrome bullshit did you pull on her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
“You honestly expect me to believe—”
“I don’t care what you believe, Charlotte. What Sandra and I have… It’s real.”
“Real? Wait, does this mean you love her?”
I pause at her use of the word. Do I love Sandra? No. No, that can’t be. Things between us are much too new and fragile, balanced on the edge of a knife. All it would take is a single misstep from either of us and the results could be catastrophic. But Idocare for her. Probably more than I care to admit. More than I ever realized possible. I’m not sure when it happened, or how—only that it’s the truth.
When I don’t answer fast enough, Charlotte continues. “The way I see it, this can only end in two ways: heartbreak or death. And I swear to God, if you end up getting my sister killed, there won’t be a corner of this world where I won’t hunt you down and make you pay.”
Huh. Maybe there’s a little bit of a Bratva princess in her, after all.
