“Good. Anyway, I want you to focus on finding the leak—pull phone records, financials, security cameras. Someone knew; someone told Kolya.”
“You want my opinion?”
“That’s what I pay you for.”
“Alexei. Comes out of the woodwork, sets this whole thing up. You said he has no interest in running the show, in taking over the Fetisov holdings, right?”
“According to him, at least.”
“Well, I call bullshit. Think about it. He pulls Max out of hiding, then puts him in a position where he can take both of you out while Thea’s completely defenseless. She’d be easy pickings. He could strongarm her into supporting his claim or?—”
She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. It’s a strong case. Alexei coming into this all of a sudden is a little convenient.
“Could very well be the case. But either way, the next move is to get back home and speak to Thea. I have a damn good feeling that whatever’s going to happen, it’s all going to come to a head soon.”
Amanda nods. “Finally. For once during this conversation, we’re in agreement.”
I turn my attention to the passing city.
Max Federov is dead. His coalition is temporarily leaderless. My own captains are restless. Kolya has not only accomplished a major goal, but he’s sent me a clear message about how far he’s willing to go.
And somewhere in my inner circle, someone is feeding information to the enemy.
According to Max, the old-guard loyalists aren’t just scattered survivors waiting for a leader. They’re organized. Max spent years building that network. And that doesn’t die with one man.
Not to mention that the other Bratva leaders will put two and two together with regard to Max’s death. Apakhanmurdered in broad daylight in Manhattan? Such things will not stand.
I’m in a fragile position; Amanda is right about that. But so is Kolya. What he just pulled will pit every otherpakhanagainst him. He’s hoping to go to war with the entire goddamn city and win.
I watch Amanda out of the corner of my eye, typing with those quick, precise fingers.
I say nothing. But I’m watching.
CHAPTER 40
THEA
Iset down the Byzantine history book I wasn’t really reading and move to the window.
I watch as Gabriel’s black sedan comes to a stop and three doors open. Dante, the driver, steps out first, scanning the grounds in the way he always does.
Then Amanda emerges, her phone pressed to her ear, heels striking the stone steps loud enough to be heard inside of the house.
Gabriel finally steps out of the car, and I can tell by the look on his face that something is wrong.
His expression is tight and focused, and he moves with long, purposeful strides. There’s a tightness to his shoulders, a set to his jaw that I’ve only seen once before—the night he brought me here from the auction.
I meet them in the foyer.
Amanda sees me first. Her eyes flick to mine, and then something crosses her face—it’s fast, unreadable, and gonebefore I can name it. It’s not hostility, not exactly. More like assessment, like she’s doing a quick calculation.
“Thea,” she says with a slight nod. Then she turns to Gabriel. “I’ll be in the study if you need me. I have to make some calls.”
With that, she disappears down the hall without waiting for a response. Her heels echo on the marble and fade around the corner.
I look at Gabriel.
“Hey,” I say, my tone careful.