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That we haven’t found anything. That whoever is after Aly covered their tracks well.
A ripple of unease slides under my skin. I’ve had Dima and his hackers working on this since the moment Matis called me. But even the sharpest black hats have yet to bring me anything useful, which may be the most alarming part of this.
“Jeez, what crawled up your ass? Oh wait, I know. Is Aly giving you a hard time?” Daniil’s smug tone irritates the fuck out of me. Probably because he’s right.
He’s the only one who knows that Aly and I were together the summer she turned eighteen. He doesn’t know how serious it was, that I was ready to leave the brotherhood behind. That was our secret, but he knows our story runs deeper than others believe. He’s somehow managed to keep that fact to himself.
I credit some of his good sense to marrying Bianca over a year ago. Daniil finally seems to have mellowed out. Though their union started off rocky—an arranged marriage between our family and the Colombians— now that the dust has settled, it’s clear they’re a perfect match.
It’s cool to see my brothers and Yulian happy and in love, but it is also a painful reminder of everything I lost when I pushed Aly away. Because there’s no one else for me. She’s it, but since I can’t undo the past, I’ll remain alone.
“It’s not about Aly,” I grumble, swallowing the lie. “I don’t like being blindsided. Not knowing which direction the threat is coming from.”
My jaw tightens. I’m in charge of intel for this brotherhood; I’m the one with the network of contacts and hackers around the world. The fact that I haven’t been able to deliver any useful information weighs heavily on me.
I grab the files Dima pulled together about Aly’s abduction off my desk. “Here is what we know so far. The kidnapper was Russian, but we can’t pin him to any specific bratva. He was sent to abduct her and bring her somewhere, alive. He wasn’t working alone. Security cameras show a getaway car outside of Alyona’s flat, but whoever was waiting, bolted at the first sign of trouble.” I let out a heavy sigh and slump back in my chair, buried in a mountain of worthless paper. “My hackers are trying to get an ID on the car and license plate. But they sure as shit didn’t rent the vehicle from the local Avis. The car is untraceable.” Although I’ve refused to accept that as an answer. I’ve told my men not to sleep until we have a hit on the car. Along with the dead mudak, it’s our only lead.
Daniil scoffs. “What I don’t get is why they’d hire an amateur to go after a high-value target. Aly took him down with a pocketknife.”
I clear my throat, a swell of pride filling my chest. “She actually has skills. I taught her to fight.”
“Oh, did you now?” Daniil sounds way too amused. “And when was that?”
“Before…” Before she hated me. Before I took her virginity. Before I tore out her heart and walked away. “Before shit got weird between us.”
“Do you ever plan on telling me what really happened between you two?” His tone is light, but behind those words is real concern.
I steady my voice and keep to the script I’ve recited a million times. “There’s nothing to tell. She wanted more, and I couldn’t give her what she wanted.” That’s only part of the truth. The rest of it will be buried with me.
When we were younger, Andrei and Daniil could never understand the resentment I had towards our father, but I had decided never to tell them—or anyone—the full story. Not only because they would be forced to take sides, but because if it ever got back to Yulian, the fallout would be devastating. It would start a civil war. It’s why I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years. To protect the people I love.
That and the shame. Because even if my hand was forced, I let her down. I let myself down.
Daniil is quiet on the other end of the line. He may not entirely believe me, but at least he has the good sense to drop it. “The one thing we know for sure is that the source is connected to Russia. So that’s where we start. Andrei and I talked about it last night. He’s tied up, but I’ll fly to Moscow and see what intel I can gather on the ground.”
Daniil and I were born in the US, but with Russian-born parents, our roots run deep. Beyond the business interests that my father maintained in Russia, we also spent time there training and visiting relations on my mother’s side. She died when I was a boy, and after her death, Russia felt like the one true connection I had to her.
We still maintain ties to the bratvas in Russia, so it’s a good place to start.
“I’ll start making discreet inquiries with contacts,” Daniil continues. “Anyhow, it’ll give me an excuse to send Bianca to live at the estate in East Hampton. It’s safer than the penthouse until we figure out what’s going on.”
“I’m sure Georgia will be thrilled for the company.” My sister-in-law has taken this year off her teaching job to be at home with Anya. I’ve never been one for babies, but my niece, with her mother’s dark hair and gray eyes and Andrei’s fiery personality, has me wrapped around her little finger.
As Daniil talks of his plans for Moscow, I pull back the blinds and peek out of the window. What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment. What I see has my teeth on edge. Aly’s arm is linked with Jack’s, they’re talking like old friends as they head towards the yacht’s interior. At the very last moment, Aly looks up, catches my eye and smirks.
Hot irritation flares beneath my collar. That woman knows exactly what she’s doing.
Has she realized I’ve been watching her like a lovestruck schoolboy for the last hour?
Correction. For the last seven years.
Something tells me if she did know the depth of my obsession, I would not still possess both of my testicles.
* * *
I don’t leavethe office all afternoon while I try—and fail—to catch up on work. I need to follow up on what’s happening with our Swiss accounts now that Gerhart is out of the picture, get an update from Matis, as well as look into a triad boss that we hope to work with in Shanghai, but so far all I’ve managed to accomplish is pacing the ridiculous nautical-themed office and staring out the window for any sign of Alyona… or Jack for that matter. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way. Sure, it could be that I don’t like the way he looks at her—like she’s an ice-cold drink and he’s parched.
My gaze wanders out the window towards the sun setting in the distance. It casts a soft pink glow across the sky—a reminder that it’s nearing the dinner hour. As an engaged couple, we’ll be expected to dine together. They may not think anything of a rich American businessman spending his vacation working—the French think we’re heathens as it is—but no one is going to buy our cover story unless we’re seen spending some time together.
