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His jaw twitches. “You know the answer to that.”
“Okay, so because she’s your daughter, we should save her. But strangers we shouldn’t care about.” I throw my hands into the air and pace in front of the couch, careful to avoid the shards of glass housekeeping didn’t get a chance to vacuum up from my tirade yesterday afternoon.
“Val, you know it’s more complicated than that.” Boris’s voice is strained and tired when he finally speaks. My brow furrows at the deep lines etched into his worn face. His eyes are heavy, the bags under them stained a faint shade of purple. He doesn’t look like he’s been in retirement and out of the game, but then again, who ever really retires from bratva life? You either go out in a coffin or… um…
Yeah. A coffin.
“You got sidetracked because of your unresolved guilt about Charly and it impaired your judgment. Now we’re stuck with a plan that will definitely fail because you blew your cover.” Alek runs a hand through his hair and walks over to the minibar. He grabs a glass, twists off the top of a bottle of vodka, and pours himself a double.
No ice. He’s hardcore like that.
He tilts his head back and drains the liquid from the glass. When he turns back to look at me, I see disappointment in his hardened gaze. There’s anger for sure, but it’s the disappointment that shines through, like a thin stream of sunlight peeking through a deep gray cloud.
You can’t miss it or shield your eyes from it.
“Take it from me,” Boris says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “That guilt will never be erased, no matter what you do. Things might make you feel better for a short while, but in the long run? Nothing can change the past or erase it. And the guilt will eat you alive if you let it.”
I take a deep breath. “Alek, I will figure this out. Please give me another chance. There must be some way to get inside—”
“We had a way.” His tone is flat. “And now we don’t.”
“I can fix this. Stop being so damn stubborn and just agree that we can work through it.”
“Why should I?” He takes another drink, the silence in the room rattling my eardrums. “You’ve betrayed my trust, Valentina. You really shocked me with this one. I never in a million years would have thought you’d have jeopardized this plan.”
Alek nods his head toward the balcony. I glance at Quinn, his long, muscular body sprawled over the lounge chair, his head bent over his phone. His fingers work the screen, his dark hair hanging over the sides of his stubbled face. A shiver slithers over my skin as I reminisce about how delicious the scrape of his scruff felt against my most sensitive areas… how delicious every bit of him felt in my mouth, in my hand, in my pussy.
My belly does a weird flippy thing while I watch him out there, the same weird flippy thing it’s done every time Quinn looks at me, smiles at me, makes a sarcastic comment… pretty much anything Quinn-related.
I clench my fists, pressing them tight to my sides.
God help me.
Alek walks back over to us and snaps his fingers in front of my face, jolting me from the fantasy highlight reel looping through my mind. “Quinn Mulligan is expendable.” His tight voice drops. “You are not. So anything involving only you at this point is too risky to execute.”
My chest tightens. “Wait, so you included him in this plan knowing that he might—?”
Alek holds up a hand, not waiting for me to finish my thought. “Don’t turn me into the villain here. He made his own bed when he went up against El Azul like a fucking moron. The pieces fell into place when we figured out the connection to Luis Navarro. I chose Quinn because I knew he could play his part. He didn’t need to be a mastermind, just someone along for the ride, someone to give you entry to the place where Branko is hiding.”
His lips twist and he glares at Quinn through the sliding glass door. “Patrick sent him out here knowing full well that his time was limited. He got him out of the city to prolong his life, but we all know that the cartel will eventually find him. In the meantime, why not use him?”
My jaw is on the floor right now. “Do you even realize how cold that sounds? Are you seriously that ruthless?”
Alek lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve known me for years. I’ll assume that was a rhetorical question.”
Blood bubbles in my chest. “And you claim Patrick knows about what we had planned, how Quinn might become collateral damage in the process. Is that even true? Or is that your perception of the situation? I’ll bet Heaven would never have agreed to using him under those circumstances.”
“I gave him an out,” Alek growls. “I made the offer and Patrick took it.”
“Yeah, Patrick. But what about Quinn?”
“Oh, so now that you’re so close, you give a shit about what happens to your fake husband?” Alek leans closer, sparks of ire shooting from his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about Quinn. I give a fuck about saving Red Ladro and finding Branko Ivanova.”
Boris clears his throat. “I think we need to take some time, Alek. Let’s work through our contacts and see what we might be able to come up with.” His lips lift in a faint smile. “We will fix this, Valentina.”
I brush my fingers against his arm and return the smile, although my lips fight it. I don’t feel like I have anything to smile about or any shred of hope to cling to.
I may have used poor judgment, but then again, didn’t the guys who saved me from that sex den in Miami do the same thing? What if they’d seen me struggling against those men in the parking garage at the arena and turned the other cheek?
