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Then she turns tail and runs.
Fuck. I stand there long after she’s gone. Her scent lingers. As does the heat surging through my veins.
Finally, I growl in disgust, head into my office, and lock the door behind me. Then I call Pavel, because the only thing that will get this energy out of my body is channeling it into work. Into keeping Wren safe—whether she likes it or not.
“Well?”
“I’ve had eyes on Cian O’Gadhra since the hospital attack, boss, as per your orders,” Pavel reports. “But so far, nothing suspicious. He moves between his homes, his clubs, and his businesses. Everything looks aboveboard.”
“Nothing with that blonde prick is aboveboard,” I snarl. “I need you to step up surveillance. Just because it looks like he’s uninvolved doesn’t mean he is. Get some men into his clubs. I want inside intel.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
After he hangs up, I turn on my computer and pull open a file that I haven’t looked through in a long time. Years, maybe.
Years. Is that even possible? There are some days when I wake up and, in those few oblivious moments before consciousness hits, I’m sure that if I turn over, I’ll find Elena right there, breathing softly and sweetly.
I open it and stare at the first few pictures taken from the crash site. Elena’s beautiful body, broken in a hundred different directions. Her eyes, staring unseeingly up at the sky. Her smile, frozen forever at twenty-eight.
I scroll down quickly before I end up punching right through the screen. But I’m no better off, because now I’m staring at his face.
Cian O’Gadhra.
His chilling blue eyes stare smugly back at me, taunting me with their indifference. He’s the reason I decided to get in bed with the Zanettis. With Vittorio’s assets under my banner, I’d have twice the manpower, twice the might, twice the power to annihilate the Irish scum.
Whatever it took to wipe Cian O’Gadhra and everything he loved from the planet, I’d do it. The world would one day thank me for clearing up that bit of pollution.
Except that I haven’t. Not yet, anyway.
But his day of reckoning will come.
27
WREN
After checking the hallway yet again to make sure I’m alone, I give the elevator keypad my surliest frown. “Cooperate, you little skank,” I hiss at it.
No response. I can see only my own scowling face reflected back at me in the polished chrome.
I’m fairly sure I have the first handful of digits of the access code memorized from spying on Bee and Dmitri coming and going over the last few days. But the final two are a little fuzzy. Either three-four. Or four-three.
I think.
hope.
I punch in the first six numbers, then stand there and try to guess which sequence to go for. “It’s three first, then four. Gotta be. I’m one hundred percent positive. This is it. This is?—”
“Access denied.”
I could swear the robot has a little bit of sass in her voice, too.
“Bitch.”
“Having a little argument with the elevator, are you?”
I whirl around to find Aleksandr standing at the left archway. He’s chomping on a sandwich and grinning smugly at me.
Apparently, Dmitri has a brother. That was news to me. I met him this morning when he strolled in to see Dmitri about something he refused to specify. That was over an hour ago now and he’s still hanging around like he owns the place.
