Page 164 of Ruthless Sin
Uno. Due. Tre.
Papa’s count. The count he gave me the night Mama died and I could not sleep. The count I translated into Russian for Mila on the rug beside her bed.
The count does not work in a concrete room in a Bratva safehouse with Oksana on the other side of the wall.
The watch is still on my right wrist. Papa’s. They missed it or didn’t know what it was, and either way it’s there, and I tilt the face and the bezel is unmarked and the crown is intact. Good.
My shoulder is torn where the boot caught the seam. Two ribs bruised, maybe cracked — I breathe through the test and the left side catches sharp. Cuts on the forearm from the window glass, dried now. Boots still on, laces cut. Two zip-ties at each wrist, doubled. The same setup as Moscow.
The same setup I got out of in Moscow.
I know how to get out of this.
Stop. This is not Moscow. This is now.
The door opens.
The man who walks in is in Izzy’s file. I know his face from her screen. Yuri Sokolov. Velikov wet-work specialist. Retired the year I came home from Moscow. Landed in Houston on a Canadian passport last month. The third man Izzy has been hunting. Came back for me.
Wet-work specialists do not get sent for negotiation.
He sees me looking. Cold-precise.
“Nakonets-to. Nico Santoro.” At last. Nico Santoro.
He crosses the room. Stops three feet from the chair. Crouches the way Alexei crouched three years ago. The same crouch. Same angle. Same patience.
“Tvoy brat khochet znat’, gde my tebya derzhim. My ne speshim emu skazat’.” Your brother wants to know where we are holding you. We are in no hurry to tell him.
The voice comes out even.
“Moy brat naydet vas. K utru.” My brother will find you. By morning.
Sokolov tilts his head. Interested.
“Ty uveren v etom.” You are sure of this.
“Da. Ya uveren.” Yes. I am sure.
He smiles. The same smile. Teeth.
“We did not come for her. We came for the Zakharova. We took the woman so the Zakharova would come for her.”
My chest goes through the floor.
They came for Mila. They came for Mila and they missed. I lock my chest down. I lock my jaw. I lock every muscle I have because if I let one thing move it will all move and he is watching for the face and he will not get it.
My face does not move.
“Vy proshli mimo.” You missed.
“Da. Proshli. No my vzyali to, chto bylo.” Yes. We did. But we took what was there.
“Zakharova ne pridet odna.” The Zakharova will not come alone.
“My eto znayem.” We know that.
He stands.
