“What do you plan on doing with him?” Leo walks up to me, holding an obscure metal sculpture in his hand. “It’s clear he doesn’t know anything. Anything that can help us, at least.”
I turn slightly, looking at the man seated on a chair surrounded by glass objects and a broken guitar. The strings are closer to him, gleaming with spots of blood that match the marks around his wrists.
Mickey.
One of Marco’s minor handlers in charge of laundering some of the money he stole from my father, and money he got from using the connections he gained through the Volkov organization.
When I told Isabella I knew she had no idea where her father was, it was because I didn’t have to get feedback from Sergei. Billie Russell had already told me about the vintage shop and a couple others, so I had some men check them out.
If something happened, they were to inform me.
So when Isabella had Sergei stop here, I knew it was a hit point. She unknowingly sold herself out, and the others she visited.
“Any news from the others?” I ask.
Leo shakes his head. “Nothing positive. One of our men was shot, and the handler ran away, but the others had nothing. I’ve distributed the runaway’s description to various places, so we’ll know if he turns up.”
“Thank you,” I mutter.
He sighs and drags a hand across his mouth. “You could ask her.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” I say.
“She could be leading you on, Roman,” he argues, and I hear the frustration simmering in his voice. “She’s his daughter. Marco’s daughter.”
“I know,” I hiss through clenched teeth as a vein throbs at my temple.
He clicks his tongue. “And you think she’s in the dark about his whereabouts?” He scoffs. “You don’t trust her, do you? Remember what your plan was, Roman? To use her to lure him out.”
“I remember the plan,” I bite out, each word clipped and lethal. “I haven’t forgotten why I married her.”
Leo raises his hands slightly, defensive but still pushing. “Then act like it. Don’t start thinking with your dick.”
He knows I’ve slept with her. Of course he knows. We’ve been best friends for so long that hiding anything from him is impossible. But his words make me feel weak and incapable of finishing what I started.
My hands ball into fists at my sides, blood roaring in my ears.
“I was out of line,” he mutters. “I just can’t help but think you might be softening. I know I was against you marrying her in the first place, but we’re past that now. You can’t afford to feel anything for her, Roman. Not even guilt.”
Guilt. The word digs under my skin like a splinter I can’t rip out.
“She’s clueless because he never cared about her,” I say. “He wasn’t going to hand off his role to a woman he didn’t see as his daughter—to him, she was a tool that didn’t serve him well. That’s why he tried pawning her off to the Glazastovs. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had another child outside wedlock. His preferred options, maybe.”
Leo exhales audibly. “Damn. That’s cruel. Does she know about it?”
Yes. I told her the same day I made her my wife. “I know she’s been trying to reach him. I’ve seen the phone she hides under her mattress. If she successfully brings Marco out of hiding, I’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t slip through my fingers.”
“Alright.” He nods. He digs his hands into his pockets, kicking out his foot. “I’ll keep working on the leads we have. Should we let him go?” he asks, gesturing to Mickey.
“I’ll handle him.”
“Fine by me. I’ll see you later.”
The store’s door closes noisily, and I stand, making my way over to the seated man. His face trembles in fright as I get closer, and he drops his head when I stop.
“Look at me,” I order.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know where he is, I promise. He comes, collects the money, and leaves. That’s all, I swear on my life. If I knew anything, I’d tell you. I don’t want to die.”
His voice cracks on the last word, but I stay silent, letting the fear stretch, letting it wrap tighter around him until he’s practically shaking apart at the seams.
Pathetic.
I crouch down, leveling my gaze with his bowed head. “You think begging’s going to save you?” I murmur. “You think swearing on your life means anything to me?”
Slowly, painfully, Mickey lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed and wet. Disgust twists my gut.
Weak men. They’re all the same when the knife is pressed close enough.
“Please…” he rasps, chest heaving. Then he lifts his head and licks his lips nervously. I see the moment the idea creeps into his head. “If you let me go…I’ll tell you when he shows up. I swear it. I’ll even wear a wire and allow you to set up cameras in my store.”
A dry, amused chuckle rolls off my lips. “So fast? You could’ve held out a little longer, Mickey. How do you expect me to trust you when you rolled over like a dog looking for belly rubs?”
Not to mention, he’ll never be able to fool Marco. The second Leo and I walked into his store, he took one look at us and broke into a run. He confessed to working for Marco when Leo collared him and gave up everything else when Leo tied his hands with the guitar strings.
All in fifteen minutes.
“You’re not useful.” I toss aside his offer as I stand, brushing lint off my pants. “But I have one piece of advice for you. Run. As far as you can, because if Marco returns, and he will, he’ll know you sold him out. You’re a dead man already, Mickey.”
His eyes widen in panic and he stands up as I turn. I look over my shoulder, and he falls back on the chair.
“I’ll do anything,” he begs. “Let me work for you.”
Work for me? I have no use for someone like him, but his offer is nothing short of insulting.
I turn fully, letting a slow, mocking smile curl my mouth. “Death at my hands?” I drawl, dragging the words out. “It’s a thousand times worse than death at Marco Ricci’s.”
I laugh under my breath, tilting my head as if genuinely amused by his stupidity. “At least with him, you might get a bullet. With me? You’ll rot so slowly you’ll pray for hell to come quicker.”
Mickey’s mouth opens and shuts like a fish gasping for air. He looks seconds from pissing himself. I give him a lazy wave like I’m brushing off something worthless. “Now, run along before I decide to start practicing.”
He trips over his feet, falls, gets up, and runs out the door, leaving it to slam in his wake. I shake my head, my gaze catching on the cut guitar strings again.
I’m done here.
As I walk out into the lazy afternoon sun, my phone rings. It’s Billie Russell.
“I have something for you,” he says in a hushed whisper.
“I have no idea what possessed you to reach out, Billie, but it’d better be good.”
“Oh—” His whisper carries urgency. “It is. I found out, from a reliable source, where Marco is. I verified it, of course, before calling. I’m not sure how long he’ll be there—”
I cut off his rambling. “Spill.”
My fingers clamp down on the steering wheel as I slice through traffic, weaving recklessly between cars. My knuckles bleach white, my mouth set in a grim line carved by pure rage.
Marco Ricci. Of all places to show his face again—an orphanage. Typical. A coward hiding behind the helpless, hoping the setting would keep the fight from reaching him.
It won’t.
I’m going to walk through those doors and drag him out, bleeding or half dead, to the place where he’ll finally meet the end he deserves. Not even a convent of nuns would be enough to shield him from me.
I weave past a car, almost clipping it as my concentration slips for a moment when my phone rings. I let it go to voicemail as I step on the gas, driving faster and breaking the speed limit. It rings out again, and I groan, digging into my pocket for it.
Leo’s name flashes on the screen, but another car slams on their horn, and the phone falls from my hand, dropping to my feet.
I can’t reach for it. Not now. Leo’s going to have to handle shit on his end. I could’ve told him about my plan, but I didn’t want to play into Marco’s hand…bringing undue violence to the orphanage.
He expects me to bring a group and stir up chaos. But he’s missed one vital thing—I crave revenge. It’s my driving force, and until he’s no longer breathing, I don’t plan on backing down.
As the orphanage compound comes into view, I slow down, stopping a short distance from a small structure.
As I exit the car, my phone rings again, and it’s still Leo.
I swipe up. “Yes?”
“Where are you?”
A nun walks out of the building. “Somewhere. Why?”
“This isn’t the time for vague answers, Roman. I stopped by the store, and you’d left. Where are you?”
I take a step toward the building. “I’ll fill you in later,” I say.
“There’s no later. Isabella just called me.”
“Isabella?” My eyes narrow as I see a man walk out, his eyes immediately trained on me.
I see, before he shows it, the gun tucked into his jacket. Then he points to the nun and makes a motion, putting two fingers to his head and pulling the trigger.
“Wherever you are, leave.” I hear Leo’s voice from far away. “You’re in danger, Roman.”
