“That’s a big jump to make.”

  “But we’re not dealing with a normal mole. This one is smart.”

  “Okay,” Mila says, her game face on. “We have a location. But whose location?”

  “Has to be Celine’s,” I say confidently.

  “Okay, so we have her location.” Dima paces back and forth. “Can we assume this note means that the old man is dead?”

  “It’s blood,” Mila points out. “Not a body. He could still be alive.”

  “We’re not assuming anything,” I say firmly.

  “We have to assume some things,” she retorts. “Especially if we’re going to bust in and get Celine back. Assuming that’s who these coordinates are for.” She stops short when she sees the look on my face. “You think this might be a trap?”

  “It’s possible.” I’m running through all possible scenarios in my head and yes, a trap lying in wait for us is definitely at the top of the list. I’m picturing kicking down a door and swallowing a bullet for my troubles.

  Mila and Dima exchange a look. He clears his throat. “What are you thinking?”

  I glance out the window for a moment, a dozen different possibilities rattling around in my head. I don’t have long to dwell on any of them. The location I’ve been given could be legitimate, which means it could also change at any moment. There’s no guarantee that Benedict will keep a precious commodity like Celine in the same place for long.

  “If that note was forged by Benedict, then we’re walking straight into a trap,” I muse out loud.

  “The alternative is ignoring the note altogether,” Dima suggests.

  “No,” I growl. “Ignoring it is not an option.”

  “But if Benedict did forge—”

  “Even if he did, ignoring it implies weakness. As far as the underworld is concerned, Celine is my fiancée. If I don’t make a show of trying to get her back, my strength will be called into question. I can’t lead a Bratva if my reputation starts to suffer.”

  “So we have to go in.” Dima folds his arms as he leans against the wall. The look on his face tells me he’s got his own list of scenarios swirling around—and none of them are any better than mine. “But be prepared for the worst.”

  “Wait!” Mila holds up a hand as she takes her turn to pace around the room. “Let’s take a moment here. There has to be another way. Something we aren’t thinking of.”

  “Like what?” Dima asks. “Short of sending in someone undercover? That kind of mission takes years of prep. We don’t have that luxury.”

  Both of them glance at me with uncertainty. I wonder if they can sense that something’s off. It’s strange that chaos makes me calm. I’m never quite as clear-minded as when there’s a plan of action to piece together and a thousand obstacles to maneuver around.

  Usually.

  But this time, it’s different.

  This time, it’s personal.

  “We don’t need to plant someone,” Mila says. She pauses, then sighs. “Send me in.”

  Dima snorts with laughter. When my sister turns her glare on him, his mouth drops open with incredulity. “You’re not serious.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she demands.

  “Because it’s ludicrous!” he growls. “Tell her, Ilarion. Tell her she’s fuckin’ crazy.”

  “He’s right,” I agree. “There’s no way I’m sending you in.”

  “Why? Because I’m a woman? Or because I’m your sister?”

  “Either. Both.” I offer a not-so-apologetic shrug. “But mostly the second.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I ignore that. “We go in, guns blazing,” I decide, turning to Dima. “We have to be prepared for a full-scale attack. It might all be for nothing. Celine might not even be there, but—”

  Mila steps up to me before I can finish, pushing herself into my face. “I can get in undetected,” she hisses. “I can scope out the place, see if I can get a read on where Celine is being held. If she’s not on the property, I get out before you risk yourself and your men on a wild goose chase.”

  I stare down at her, reminded of how stubborn she is and always has been. The fire and brimstone was there even as a little girl. She used to follow me to the shooting range when she was barely old enough to hold a pistol level. I told her no once and she snuck into the back of my car to hitch a ride there.

  If she was a boy, our father might have been proud. As it stood, he beat her so badly that she couldn’t sit for a month.

  Now, I go back and forth. She’s not wrong; it would be very easy for her to sneak in, assess the situation, and leave without getting caught. But I don’t know if catering to her pride is the best thing for her. Ultimately, it’s the same question I always ask and never quite manage to answer: did her childhood mold her…or break her?

  “I’m not risking your life to sate your pride, Mila.”

  “Right, of course not,” she says bitterly. “Because your pride is the only thing that matters, isn’t that right? Your pride, Dima’s pride… Father’s pride. A man’s pride is worth so much more than a woman’s.”

  “Don’t make this about something it’s not.”

  She scoffs bitterly. “Don’t deny it’s anything but.”

  “This isn’t a question of your ability.” I grimace and rub my temples. “My job is to protect you.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be protected!”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not giving you the choice.”

  “I’m not Taylor!” she snaps, gnashing her teeth. “I was born into this world, same as you. I can handle myself in it. I’m not some scared wallflower that you need to pamper.”

  My sister is a smart woman. She’s also an observant one. And she knows exactly what she’s doing. Taylor has fast become a trigger for me, and if Mila wants shit to go boom, all she needs to do is squeeze.

  I’d be quietly amused if I wasn’t busy being fucking furious.

  I grab Mila’s hand and haul her around to pin her against the nearest wall. It’s a wordless reminder that I know her triggers, too.

  “Let me go,” she snarls, even as fear flits across her eyes while I loom over her.

  “I will when you start listening. You’re not going into Bellasio territory on your own. Is that clear?”

  Tension flares. Peaks. Then subsides. Gritting her teeth, Mila snatches her wrist from underneath my fingers, leaving faint nail marks on her smooth skin. “Da, Pakhan Zakharov.”

  I stare into her eyes for another long moment before I’m satisfied that I’ve made my point. Only then do I let her go.

  She rips herself free and stomps away to the other side of the room.

  “I could go,” Dima suggests with a casual shrug from behind me.

  Mila laughs humorlessly. “Fuck you both.” She’s eyeing the door like she wants nothing more than to be rid of us. She doesn’t leave the room, though. Her pride won’t let her.

  “No.” I turn to Dima. “You’d be recognized. No—this is an all-or-nothing situation. No half-measures. Whether I choose to believe the authenticity of that note or not, we have to commit to a course of action.” I nod toward the door. “Go get the men ready. Make sure they know this isn’t just a rescue mission; we’re making a statement.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Dima slinks toward the door while Mila turns to me, resentment still burning in her eyes. “I hate that you still see me as a victim.”

  I sigh. Here we go. “I don’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she hisses. “I see the way you look at me sometimes. Like I’m the same girl you found crying on her bed all those years ago.”

  “Mila—”

  “If you remember, I fought back. I stood up to him. I did that.”

  “I remember.”

  I’ll always fucking remember. It was the worst day of my life. Of both our lives.

  “Then stop treating me like I’m not as much a part of this Bratva as Dima is.”

  “I’m not trying to exclude you, Mila.”

  “Good. Because I’m coming with you.” She squares her shoulders. “I’m not playing babysitter to your baby mama.”

  I’ve seen that look on her face before, and I decide to pick my battles by letting her pick her own. “Fine.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Fine?”

  I nod. “You can have your own team.”

  She gives me a tentative smile. They’re rare and fleeting these days. Like snowflakes that dissolve as soon as they hit the ground. “I won’t let you down.”

  “You’ve never let me down, Mila,” I tell her as she’s moving toward the door. “You are not the one I’m underestimating. You are not the one I’m disappointed in.”

  Her scowl softens. “It’s all behind us now, Ilarion.”

  But it’s not. I know it’s not. I’m pretty sure she knows, too.

  This is only just beginning.

  40

  TAYLOR

  My heartbeat is physically painful as it thrums against my chest. It hurts even when I swallow.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Taylor!” I hiss under my breath.

  But now that the panic has taken hold, it’s not as easy to push off. I’ve spent the last few minutes in the broom closet opposite the den where Ilarion, Dima, and Mira were just arguing.

  I had to take cover when Dima left the room, which means I have no idea what they’ve decided. Is Mila going with them? Is Ilarion serious about getting Celine back? Who wrote the note with the location?

  There’s only one thing I know for certain anymore, and that’s that I do not trust Ilarion. All my worst instincts about him turned out to be accurate.

  I need to make a show of strength.

  And in order to do that, I have to get Celine back.

  As far as the world is concerned, she’s my woman.

  ‘As far as the world is concerned’? Screw that! What about Celine? What about where she’s concerned?

  As much as my sister may keep from me, there are some things she just would not do. And marrying a man who’s using her as a prop rather than a person is at the top of that list.

  I hear someone leave again and I press my ear to the closet door. The footsteps are lighter than Dima’s, which means they’re probably Mila’s.

  Then I hear a second pair of footsteps, this one heavier. Has to be Ilarion.

  “Mila?”

  I freeze, waiting anxiously.

  “Yes?” she responds.

  “Where’s Taylor?”

  The sound of my name sends goosebumps rushing over my skin.

  “I just left her in the garden. Pretty sure she went up to her bedroom.”

  “Check on her before we leave. Don’t give anything away.”

  Mila doesn’t respond, so I’m assuming she nodded. I wait until the footsteps recede, then I risk opening the door and peeking out. The corridor is clear, but there are windows on one side further down the corridor that could give me away if I’m not careful.

  I sneak out of the broom closet and inch my way past closed doors, staying hunched low so no one sees me through the window panes. I make it to the foyer, but I still need to get to my room before Mila does.

  A few men are gathering in the courtyard, but none of them are looking toward the house. I steer myself in the direction of the gardens and re-route from there. I bump into two maids on my way up to the room, but I’m pretty sure no one saw where I came from and they wouldn’t think anything of it if they did.

  By the time I get upstairs, I realize that Mila has beaten me there. She’s standing in the center of the space, looking around in bewilderment when I walk in. I swallow hard and wipe my expression clean. I don’t have a firm plan yet, but there’s one beginning to take shape. And I can’t afford to screw it up before I’ve got momentum.

  “Hey,” I say, trying my best to sound casual. “What are you doing up here?”

  Mila turns to me. Her face is carefully devoid of emotion. “Just…checking on you. I thought you’d already be up here.”

  I shrug and meander over to the window seat. “I decided to walk around the gardens a little more. It was nice being outside.”

  Mila nods, but her eyes stay narrowed suspiciously. “Did you see the rose bushes on the west side?”

  “I didn’t go that far. Just down by the walkway with all the baby’s breath on the sides. It’s really pretty down there.” I know the game she’s playing, and I can play it just as well. “So what did Dima want?”

  She doesn’t give anything away. She doesn’t even flinch. Even her shoulders are relaxed. “Just following a lead about your sister. He thinks he might have some new information that could be helpful.”

  “Have you found her?” I feign anxiety and hope.

  “No, not yet. But we will. It might take a few days, though.”

  “And what about Dad?”

  “We’re doing our best, Taylor. Just sit tight, okay? Sometimes, these things take longer than we expect.” Then she turns to the door. “I’m stepping out for a bit, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I say with a harsh laugh. “It’s not like I can go anywhere.”

  She leaves, and I watch as the door clicks shut. I count to fifty, then slip back outside into the broad hallway. It’s open enough that it wouldn’t be hard to spot me from the staircase, but I inch closer anyway. I’m counting on the fact that everyone’s going to be too focused on the mission to pay attention to anything else.

  I manage to get all the way downstairs before I hear voices approaching. I glance around and hide behind the first door I find. Turns out to be a bar of sorts—leatherbound stools, a luxuriously long counter, shelves upon shelves of opaque glass bottles, and everything an insanely wealthy crime boss could want in his personal liquor stash.

  I keep the door ajar so I can see what’s happening on the outside. Through the crack, I catch sight of Dima. He’s changed clothes into tight-fitting, all-black tactical gear. Two holsters hang from his hips, a pistol handle oiled and gleaming in each of them.

  Ilarion joins him a moment later. They exchange what look like small walkie-talkies. Static crackles as they test the channels. The two men exchange a few muttered words and then stomp outside to the driveway.

  Seconds later, Mila skirts past my line of vision. She stops at the entrance and looks back over her shoulder. “Disen?” she says to someone I can’t see.

  “We’re just loading up the last of the Hummers,” says a man with a raspy voice and a thick mop of dirty blond hair. “We should be able to leave in three.”

  The panic is making me miss things, so I bite down on my tongue until the pain washes out all the extra noise. I have to do this. Fear be damned.

  “Tell Ilarion and Dima to move out,” Mila orders. “We’ll catch up to them on the road.”

  I push the door open a little bit more and watch as Disen goes outside. Mila is polishing her gun against the leg of her jeans. When she’s done, she reaches around back and pushes it into a holster positioned over her rear.

  Perfect.

  The hard part is going to be sneaking up on her before she notices.

  She leans against the threshold of the doorway. When her back is all I can see, I decide it’s now or never. And if one of her men or one of the maids decide to make an appearance in the next ten seconds, I’m screwed.

  But for once, I choose not to think about all the things that could go wrong. I choose to focus on things going my way for a change.

  I tell myself I can do this, and the more I repeat it, the easier it is to believe. There’s a thin line between confidence and delusion.

  The commotion of tires and clacking guns outside masks my footsteps and labored breathing as I inch closer.

  And closer.

  And closer.

  Mila is three steps away, then two, then one. Then she’s within reach. I take a big inhale…

  Then I make my move.

  41

  TAYLOR

  By the time Mila has whipped around, I’m aiming her own gun directly in her face. She’s surprised, but even now, she isn’t afraid. I’ll have to ask her how she does that—once this is all over, of course.

  “What are you doing, Taylor?” she asks calmly.

  “Holding you at g-gunpoint.”

  “I can see that,” she chuckles with a nod. “What I don’t know is why.”

  “You really think I’m going to leave it up to your brother to get my father and sister back?” I scoff. “I don’t think so.”

  It’s insulting how relaxed she looks right now. Her hands aren’t even up in the air like I expected them to be. It’s making me wonder if she sees something I don’t know about.

  “Ilarion is—”

  “Ilarion is using my sister!” I yell, earning myself some attention from the men outside in the courtyard. A few of them pull out their guns, but I ignore that and focus instead on Mila. “I heard everything! I know that whatever Ilarion’s reasons for marrying Celine are, and it sure as hell is not because he cares about her.”

  Mila nods again with understanding spreading across her face. “You didn’t stay in the garden.”

  “I appreciated our little heart-to-heart, I really did, but screw you if you think you can manipulate me with that shit. Contrary to what you believe, I’m not some pathetic little wallflower who needs to be saved.”

  Her eyes widen when she realizes just how much of their conversation I overheard. Then she drops her gaze to the gun in my hands.”

  “You’re going to hurt yourself, Taylor,” she says quietly. “Put the gun down.”

  “Let me say it again: screw you.”

  Her men have slowly surrounded us. Ten of them, armed to the teeth, fanned out in a ragged semi-circle. They’re looking back and forth between Mila and me, ready to make their move as soon as she gives the word.

  It doesn’t matter. I’m not about to lower my gun.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Mila raises her brow. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. I have no faith that any of you are going to do everything you can to bring back Celine or Dad. So I’m coming with you to make sure you do.”