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“They couldn’t have gotten far,” Samuil points out. “At least now we know who we’re dealing with.”
“Put a reward out,” I say. “No need to go into details. Just circulate this picture amongst our network. Whoever brings these men to us will be paid substantially—”
Before I can get another word out, the angry screech of tires breaks the tension in the air. Through the shop’s front display window, I see a dark SUV racing into our line of sight. The windows are lowered, several guns pointed in our direction.
Shit.
It’s an ambush.
“Get down!” I shout at my brothers just in time for a hail of bullets to burst through the windows.
My brothers and I drop to the floor. Glass shatters all around us, the walls shaking with the violent attack. Dust rises into the air, mixing with pulverized drywall. We’re pinned down, unable to return fire. They don’t give us a chance. I can barely move without being nicked by a stray bullet, shards of glass, broken metal.
It cuts my skin, rings in my eardrums. It doesn’t take a genius to know who our attackers are.
By stealing from us, they’ve guaranteed our ire.
By firing on us, they’ve guaranteed their death sentence.
It feels like a miracle when it finally comes to an end. They’ve either run out of bullets, or they’ve run out of time. In the distance, the pathetic squeal of incoming police sirens. Our attackers drive away in a hurry, leaving skid marks on the pavement outside. The air smells of burning rubber. A quick glance around confirms that my brothers are alright. Understandably rattled, but none of us are hurt.
Fucking amateurs. They should have made sure to finish the job.
Now they face their reckoning.
“Move it,” I snap at my brothers. “We need to tell Andrei and Sandra. It’s open season on Kuznetsov and his sons.”
Chapter 19
Nikita
Ianxiously spin my bracelet around my wrist, thinking about Leo’s answer.
A pawn shop. I was passing by. Saw it in a window. I thought you might like it.
I turn his words over in my mind. What are the chances Dad would hock our jewelry at the same pawn shop Leo just happened to be strolling by? That’s one hell of a coincidence, but I’m not sure what else to believe. The odds are too astronomical, but the thought of Leo being a bold-faced liar doesn’t make sense to me, either. He’s been nothing but courteous and kind. What reason would he have to lie to me? Then I think about the impromptu meeting in his apartment. All of those people in expensive suits and his abrupt dismissal of me. I don’t know what to think, so I try not to think anything.
“Are you okay?” Kseniya asks me. “You look a little pale.”
I snap back to reality, blinking away my confusion. Kseniya and I are seated at the side of the room, preparing for our daily warm up. My mother, as expected, is downright pissed with me. How can I tell? It’s simple, really. She hasn’t bothered to look at me once, nor has she spoken a word. When Inessa gets like this, she freezes me out and makes her disappointment glaringly obvious.
I decide not to let it bother me. I’m not sure which is worse, putting up with her constant criticism or her silence. I guess I can’t have it both ways. It’s unfortunate there doesn’t seem to be a middle ground with her, so for now, I’ll stay in my lane and keep my head down. I have too much on my mind, anyway.
I rifle through my bag, looking for the spare bandages I keep at the bottom to wrap my toes. Every inch of my body is sore from over practice. My feet are in a sorry state of disrepair. I’ve got blisters, my arches ache like you wouldn’t believe and now, to make everything so much worse, I can’t find my things.
“Here,” Kseniya says, handing me a roll of her spare athletic tape, as if reading my mind. “That’s what you need, isn’t it?”
I breathe the sigh of relief. “Thank you. I could have sworn I packed it. My warm-up jacket is missing from my locker, too.” Concern suddenly swirls within me when I connect the dots. Could somebody be stealing my things?
First the threatening notes in my bag. Now my missing things. We never did find out who was behind putting pins and Vanya’s shoes. I can’t fathom their motivations. I’ve never done anything to warrant such treatment. But what if they’re after me now? What if I’ve become their new fixation?
“Alright,” Inessa says clearly to the room. “Everyone, line up. It’s time to practice our jumps.”
Dancers move about the space, getting into position in a hurry. I still have to put on my pointe shoes. I pull them from my gym bag and slip them on—
Only to stop short, something cold flooding my veins.
Something sharp is poking into the base of my foot. Thank goodness I have good reaction time, because when I pull a shoe off and look inside.
