Page 63 of Blood Code

Eventually, her attention returned to my computer, where Damon was busy stamping out my malware. He'd nearly destroyed it, and the best part was that he thought he'd won.

But he didn’t know the rules of the game.

He’d just lost.

“Funny,” Neeve said, her voice growing dark.

“What?”

“You’ll tear the world apart to find one girl, but you won’t help me find the Embroiderer.”

Dread sank into my stomach, and I closed my eyes for a moment. Not this argument again.

“I know how to find this girl, and if I can find her soon, I will save her life.” I shook my head. “I have no idea how to hunt the Embroiderer. I’m not the FBI, and I don’t have their resources or knowledge.”

“Women will die because you’re doing nothing.”

I brought up the girl's livestream on another monitor. “She will die if I do nothing.” I swallowed hard. “She matters too, Neeve.”

Neeve rubbed her temples and turned away from me. “I don’t understand why you do nothing. I get that the Order matters and killing them matters, but this serial killer strikes almost every month. That’s so many more girls than the Order. At least the Order keeps them alive for a long time.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I asked, my temper rising. “The Order keeps them alive as sex dolls with human flesh. That’s what we were to them. Sex dolls. If you care so much, then find the Embroiderer yourself. You have all my tools and all my men at your disposal. ”

I was so over this argument.

Chapter Seventeen

Severin Volkov

Age 36

Present

On the second Sunday of every month, the Bratva hosted a garden party after church.

It was a good day for it, too—a beautiful, sunny Sunday in September, with hardly a cloud marring the sky and sunlight glittering across the estate’s majestic gardens.

My great-grandmother had wanted a garden to rival all others, so she’d built an oasis of flowers on the west side of the estate.

On the south side lay the lake and my garden full of heads—which I greatly preferred, but who was asking?

A banquet had been set up on the grounds, with four times the usual serving staff. It was an event.

But the beauty of the day stood in stark contrast to the guests.

A den of vipers, and not a single person here could be trusted.

My power in the Bratva still hung in the balance, and all around me stood men and their gossip-cloaked wives, each wanting my crown.

For the wives of the Bratva, this was their moment to shine. Their party, their rules, their fucked-up puppet show.

Thankfully, I wasn’t alone for the charade. Keira Callahan was on my arm, proving to be a surprisingly capable partner in crime.

Keira glinted like the edge of a silver knife catching the light. Stunning, poised, and perfectly put together—too perfectly, if you asked me. Because damn if I could focus on anything but the way that green sundress clung to her curves. Her scarlet waves fell softly around her shoulders, a striking contrast against the fabric.

She was the ideal companion for a mafia boss, playing her part almost too well. Conversation came easily to her, every smile and charming remark delivered with practiced ease.

Maybe too practiced.