Page 26 of Shadow Of Sin

EVA

Dmitri wants me to meet him at a parking garage off Atlantic Avenue.

Level three, ten o’clock sharp.

Parking garages are bad. There are too many blind spots, lots of concrete, and not enough ways out. I check the knife in my jacket pocket before I get out of the car.

Still there. Always there.

It’s been almost a week since I started working both sides, and so far, nobody’s dead, which I’m choosing to count as a win.

He’s already there when I arrive. Leaning against a black sedan that costs more than my apartment building, scrolling through his phone like a man with no cares in the world other than what to eat for lunch. He’s wearing a different coat this time. It’s darker, longer. It makes him look taller and more menacing.

How perfect.

“Eva.” He pockets his phone and smiles. “Thank you for being prompt.”

“What’s the job?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at me…really looks, the way a person studies something they own. His eyes move from my face to my hands to the bag on my shoulder and back to my face. The whole time he has a smug-ass smile plastered across his lips like this is a friendly interaction.

It’s not. And we both know it.

“Hargrove and Associates,” he says. “It’s a property management company in the Financial District. I need their tenant list, any emails between them and city officials, and their financial records for the past year.”

Simple enough. Same shape as every other job.

Then he adds something else, which makes my skin prickle under my clothes. “I also need their security system. Camera footage, door logs, who comes and goes.”

I keep my face still. “Why?”

He tilts his head. Just slightly. His eyes narrow. “Because I asked for it,” he says. His voice doesn’t change. His smile doesn’t move. But something behind his eyes goes flat and cold, and for a second, I see the thing he usually keeps hidden…the part of him that doesn’t care whether I’m alive or dead as long as I’m useful.

The air between us gets very thin and suddenly, it’s hard for me to draw in a breath.

“Fine,” I manage. “I’ll have it by Tuesday.”

“Monday.”

“Monday, then.”

He straightens up from the car and takes a step toward me. It’s not an aggressive move. Just one step, closing the distance between us enough that I can smell his cologne. It’s expensive and makes my stomach turn.

“How’s Sal?” he asks.

There it is. Every single time. My God, I fucking hate the way he says my brother’s name. Like every time we meet, he needs to remind me who’s got a target on the back of his head. My insides freeze.

Fucking bastard.

My spine stiffens. “He’s fine.”

“Good.” He reaches out and brushes something off the shoulder of my jacket. A piece of lint, maybe. Maybe nothing at all. His fingers are on my jacket for less than a second, but the message is clear:

I can touch you whenever I want, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“The restaurant is busy, I hear,” he says, pulling his hand back. “Saturday nights especially. Sal works hard.”

He knows Sal’s schedule. He knows when the restaurant is busy. He’s telling me he knows, and he’s telling me in a casual way, the way you’d tell someone you like their shoes.