Chapter 39: Devil’s Lair: Chapter 39

I casually wipe my hands on a paper towel and drop it in the trash. In the process, I scan my enemy for any visible weapons. None are in sight, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could have a gun strapped to his ankle or tucked into the back of his jeans. And there’s definitely a knife or two in his biker boots.

Alexei Leonov is known for his appetite for violence.

“Coincidence is a funny thing,” I say calmly, preparing to reach for the Glock strapped to my chest under my jacket. “What brings you to Dushanbe?”

He grins sharply. “Same thing as you, I imagine.” Uncrossing his arms, he pushes away from the door and approaches me. Stopping in front of me, he asks, “How’s life in… where is it you are these days? Thailand? The Philippines?” Even up close, his dark brown eyes look almost black, matching the hue of his hair.

“Life’s great. How’s your old man?” If he thinks I’m going to blurt out my location after all the trouble Konstantin’s gone through to hide it, he’s got another thing coming. “Still alive and kicking?”

His smile is all teeth. “You know how these old men are. Practically indestructible. You have to really try to get them to croak.”

I don’t take this bait either. “Say hello to him for me. And to your brother.”

His eyes glint harshly. “Not my sister? Oh, yeah, she’s fucking dead.”

It takes everything I have to keep a poker face. “I’ve heard. I’m sorry.” It’s a lie—Ksenia deserves to rot with the worms—but anything more than the most neutral response may tip my hand, and he already seems to harbor some suspicions.

His savage grin returns. “Speaking of sisters… how’smy intended?”

Now this I can’t let slide. I hold his gaze, letting him see the ice in my eyes. “Alina’s not yours. Never was, never will be.”

“That’s not what our betrothal contract says.”

“That contract was voided by my father’s death, and you know it.”

“Do I?” He leans in until we’re almost nose to nose. No hint of humor remains on his face, stamping his hard features with an unmistakable patina of cruelty. In a lethally soft tone, he says, “Tell Alina it’s time. I’m done being patient.”

And stepping back, he exits through the door.

Red-hot fury still burns in my chest when Konstantin’s Tesla pulls up to the plane.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, climbing out. “I figured it’d be better to give this to you in person.” He hands me a flash drive.

“Chloe?”

He nods. “It’s a doozy. You were right to have me dig deeper. The girl isn’t who she seems.”

Fuck. “Mafia?”

“Maybe. Watch the video. My guys are doing their best to learn more.”

Motherfucker. I want to demand all the answers, now, but the plane is ready to depart, and I need to fill him in on my encounter with Alexei. Swiftly, I do so, and when I get to the part about Alina, I see the same fury reflected on his face.

“I’ll kill him if he so much as breathes her way,” Konstantin says savagely. “If he thinks we’re going to honor that fucking medieval contract, made when our sister was barely fifteen, he’s—”

“I doubt he was serious. Most likely, he was trying to provoke me as payback for the explosion at their plant. Either way, he doesn’t know for sure she’s with me. He was shooting in the dark.”

Konstantin takes a breath, visibly composing himself. Of the three of us, he’s closest to Alina, having spent time babysitting her during school holidays and summer breaks. I never had that luxury; our father had decided early on that I was the son best suited to assume the mantle of leadership in our organization, and all of my childhood and teenage years were spent learning the family business.

“You’re right,” he says in a calmer tone. “He’s pissed, and he wants to piss us off. Just in case, though, tell Alina to be on her guard.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s been… having some trouble the last couple of days.”

His eyebrows pull together. “The headaches are back?”

I nod grimly. “Lyudmila says she’s been hitting the medications pretty hard while I’ve been gone. Pot, too.”

Alina thinks I don’t know about that last part, but I do—and I’ve asked Lyudmila to keep her company whenever she wants to smoke. I’m not a fan of mind-altering substances, but I know why my sister needs it, and weed is preferable to some of the prescriptions in her bedside drawer.

Konstantin’s frown deepens. “She’s spiraling again.”

“Let’s hope not.” But if she is, that’s another reason for me to hurry back. Though Alina and I barely get along, something about my presence keeps her on an even keel—maybe even the friction that exists between us. It gives her an external focus, a distraction from her inner turmoil.

With me, she has a clear and present target instead of the shadows lurking in her mind.

“Listen,” I tell Konstantin, “I have to go. I’ll let you know how she is when I see her in person. Just tell your team to keep doing what they’re doing—Alexei can’t find out where we are.”

His jaw tightens. “Don’t worry. He won’t.”

“Thanks.”

With one last glance at my brother, I board the plane.

Pavel is waiting for me on the couch in the jet’s main cabin, a laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. Wordlessly, I take a seat next to him and stick the flash drive into the computer.

There are two files on it, one titled “Updated report” and the other “Store camera, Boise, July 14.”

My heart rate picks up as tension pervades my body.

That’s the same day she applied to be Slava’s tutor.

I click on the video.

The grainy recording shows a nondescript street with a few stores, a coffee shop, some parked cars, and occasional pedestrians. The time stamp in the corner tells me it’s just after ten in the morning.

At first, it seems like nothing is going on, but after about thirty seconds, I catch sight of a familiar slender figure. Dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, Chloe is walking briskly down the street.

She’s passing by a clothing boutique when it happens.

With a sharp pop, the display window to her left explodes.

Pavel emits a startled expletive, but I ignore him, all my attention on Chloe’s small, frozen figure. Every muscle in my body is locked tight, fear and fury pulsing through me in sickening waves. Even on the blurry video, I can see the shock on her face as her wide eyes scan the street uncomprehendingly. Then screams about gunshots and 911 begin, and she lurches into a sprint—just as another pop! rings out and more glass around her goes flying.

Within seconds, she’s gone from view, and the video cuts off.

“Motherfucker,” Pavel mutters, but I’m already opening the other file.

The updated report.