“Lemme guess. You still don’t know where we are.”
“Even if I did, Miss Keller, I couldn’t tell you.”
She says it kindly, but her expression conveys in no uncertain terms that her job would be at risk if she blabbed.
Or maybe something more important than her job…like her life.
Or maybe that’s the two bottles of champagne talking.
When she disappears down the aisle, I slide up the window covering and peer out. Above are clear blue skies. Below are rolling green hills. Off in the distance, a long strip of blue water shimmers in the afternoon sun.
It’s an ocean. The Atlantic? The Pacific? The Gulf of Mexico, perhaps?
The plane starts to descend for landing. It appears we’re headed for an island off the coast.
Watching the ground rise up to meet us, I have a dark, powerful premonition that wherever I’m headed, there’s no going back.
Later, I’ll remember that feeling and marvel at its accuracy.
2
Kage
The man standing across from my desk is tall, hulking, and silent.
Dressed entirely in black, including a heavy wool overcoat beaded with the evening rain, he stares at me with an emotionless look that somehow also conveys a capacity for extreme violence.
Or maybe I only think that because of his reputation. This is the first time we’ve met, but the man is a legend in the Bratva.
Almost as legendary as I am.
In Russian, I say, “Take a seat, Malek.” I gesture to the chair beside him.
He shakes his head in refusal, which irritates me.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
His green eyes flash. A muscle slides in his jaw. His big hands form fists briefly then flex open again, as if he needs to smash something. But he controls his anger quickly and sits.
Apparently, he likes being issued orders as little as I do.
We gaze at each other in silence for a while. The clock ticks ominously on the wall like the countdown to an explosion.
He offers no polite greeting. There’s no pleasant small talk, no effort to get acquainted. He merely sits and waits, patient and mute as a sphinx.
I sense we could go on like this forever, so I start. “My condolences for your loss. Your brother was a good man.”
He replies in English. “I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to tell me where I can find the man who killed Mikhail.”
I’m surprised that he doesn’t have a trace of an accent. His voice is low and even, as emotionless as his eyes. Only the pulse pounding in the side of his neck gives any evidence of humanity.
I’m even more surprised that he’d dare to speak to me with such flat disregard.
Few people are that stupid.
My voice as cold as my stare, I say, “If you want permission to operate on my soil, I advise you to show me respect.”
“I don’t need your permission. I don’t show respect unless it’s earned. And I’m only here because I was told you’re the one with the information I need. If that’s incorrect, stop wasting my time and say so.”
Bristling, I grind my molars and consider him.
I’d normally shoot a man for that kind of disrespect. But I’ve already got too many enemies. The last thing I need is an army of Bratva from Moscow descending on Manhattan with the intent of separating my head from my body because I buried the vicious Hangman who serves their king.
Not that they could. Even this enormous bearded asshole sitting across from me is no match for my skills. If I decided to kill him, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Plus, if he does take out Declan O’Donnell, head of the Irish Mob and a man I’d very much like to see dead, Malek will be doing me a solid.
But still.
My house, my rules.
And rule number one is show me respect or bleed out on the rug, motherfucker.
My voice deadly soft, I hold his gaze and say, “The Irish murdered my parents and both my sisters. So when I say I know how you feel, I’m not talking out my ass. But if you continue acting like a mannerless cunt, I’ll send you back to Moscow in a thousand bloody pieces.”
A brief silence follows. “You know what would happen if you did that.”
“Yes. Ask me how many fucks I give.”
He examines my expression. Weighs my words. A hint of warmth surfaces in his eyes, but dies a quick death, smothered by darkness.
Solemn, he nods. “My apologies. Mikhail was my only brother. The only family I had left.”
He turns his head, looks out the window to the rainy night, swallows. When he glances back at me, his jaw is clenched, and his gaze is murderous. His voice turns rough. “Now, all I have left is vengeance.”