Just so she wouldn’t be in the dark anymore.
It wasn’t much longer before Christophe came back out. “When’s the best time to go there?” he asked looking at her, as though they hadn’t had a moment back in his room.
“As far as I remember, Feliks sent someone to check in at three and seven like clockwork. The few times he’d brought me along with him, only a handful of men were there at any time.”
“We’ll use the south approach, cover the exits, and try to be out before any alarms are tripped.”
“There’s a door you have to be buzzed through first,” Mariya said. “It’s the only way inside. I doubt if you’re wearing masks they’re going to let you through.”
“We could use her to get in,” Thanatos suggested. “It will probably throw them off long enough for us to get in.
“We’re not using her as bait.”
“I can handle it,” she said quickly. If they were willing to risk their lives for her, she could at least try to make their jobs easier.
Even if what they were about to do made her feel ill.
Feliks wasn’t the only one betraying the family. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was doing the same even if she rationalized it as doing it for the greater good.
Not to mention, she was putting her trust in a man that still wasn’t being completely honest with her.
Christophe didn’t look like he liked that idea very much, but he knew as she did that this was the easiest route. “You’ll need to follow my lead,” he said as he smoothed his hair back, lifting a bag up onto the table. “If there are as many as you’ve said, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
From the bag, he pulled his mask. As his brothers followed suit, she didn’t just watch them put on protective gear before donning their masks.
She watched them transform.
There were two sides to Christophe.
There was the side of him she saw daily, the almost playful one that made her smile and laugh—the one that made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
Then there was Fang.
She’d never truly experienced this side of him, though she had seen hints of it, like at the bar when he’d slammed the man’s head onto the bar top, and when he bantered with his brothers.
But those instances were nothing compared to this.
It was Fang now standing at her back. Wearing more black than she had ever seen him in, he had a bulletproof vest strapped across his chest with his mask in place. Had she not watched him pull it on, she would have doubted it was him wearing it.
It was eerie, the blacked-out eyes, the way the paint seemed to be melting right off, giving it all a grim edge. The mask was a thing of nightmares, and she’d mistakenly thought he used it for something as innocent as paintball.
Before they entered the alley where they now stood, he had eased a zip-tie around her wrists, looping it just tight enough that it looked as though she were their prisoner, but loose enough that she could slip her hand free if needed.
Mariya stood directly in front of the door, in the path of the camera, but Christophe and the others stayed out of view, deathly still though it took everything in her not to fidget.
As she raised her hands to ring the buzzer, she chanced a glance in Christophe’s direction. In the long pause before someone spoke over the intercom, he offered her a nod—one that told her not to worry about anything.
They had it under control.
She had no choice but to believe that looking at them now.
It wasn’t just the masks or the guns they carried. It was the way they stood, the intimidation that bled from them as they waited.
She could almost sense the adrenaline coursing beneath the surface. While she might not have been the target of their aggression, she still felt nervous.
An audible ring sounded for several seconds before a voice came over the speaker.
“Da?”
“Mariya Kuznetsov,” she said, taking a step forward so she was closer to the camera, ensuring her bound wrists remained undetected.
A light glowed red a moment before she could hear a man’s audible curse then the click of locks and tumblers coming undone.
Christophe made a two-fingered gesture, and without the slightest shift of the gravel beneath their feet, Invictus and Thanatos moved simultaneously, positioning themselves where they would have the clearest shot.
Mariya only had a second to take a breath and prepare herself before the heavy metal door was swinging wide, and Boris, one of the men under Feliks, stood in the doorway with a scowl on his face.
“Feliks is going—”
He never got to finish that statement. He realized too late that she wasn’t alone, but before he could utter a noise, Thanatos sent the butt of his rifle into the man’s face, blood and teeth exploding from Boris’ mouth.
A surprised gasp escaped her, but she could only watch as he crumpled to the ground before a gloved hand was gripping her shoulder and leading her into the building.
She had known what to expect—Christophe had warned her the night before—but nothing could prepare her for the way he moved her as though she really were his prisoner.
It was for the cameras positioned in the high corners of the room, so when the video was watched later, there wouldn’t be any question she had been a victim in it all, but it still felt real.
Seconds was all it had taken before they had control of the room.
Alexey’s brodyaga—soldiers—could shoot well enough, but there was no proper training. They just pointed in a general direction and fired, but they weren’t this.
They didn’t move as if they were one without any direction. They didn’t raise and lower their weapons with synchronized precision that proved they knew how to use them.
The Wild Bunch—the name was appropriate.
Invictus dragged Boris back inside, unfazed by his muttered curses, the words tapering off to groans of pain as he cupped his bleeding nose.
The other two guards Boris had counting money looked up in surprise, fumbling for their own guns, but before they could even get their hands wrapped around them, Tăcut executed them. Blood and brain matter splattered the wall behind them before dripping down onto the bundles of cash on the table in front.
The coppery scent coated the air, but before it could overwhelm her senses, the electronic voice she’d heard back at the loft sounded.
“Keep your hands where we can see them, and you will not be harmed.”
Of the three remaining men, only one tried once more to fight for his life, but when a bullet was put into his head, the others wisely raised their hands in the air.
She should have felt some loyalty to the men in this room. They were Bratva after all, but she couldn’t muster any sympathy for men who had stood idly by as Feliks terrorized her.
“Open the vault,” the recording said next, even as Tăcut grabbed one of them by the scruff of his neck and bodily moved him from the chair he sat in down the darkened back hallway.
His hand still clamped over her shoulder, Christophe guided her behind them, Invictus and Thanatos staying in the main room.
Downstairs, Tăcut forced the man to his knees in front of the vault’s security keypad, and with a tap of his gun against it, he silently ordered him to open it. They now understood why Feliks had bought the building behind it. The basement was converted to resemble that of a bank vault.
Shakily, it took him three attempts before he finally entered the correct code and the metal bars snapped open with an audible clang.
Bright light spilled from inside the room, making the safe deposit boxes inside gleam brighter, but they were only interested in getting one open. As Tăcut kept the guard outside with his back to the vault, she pointed at the box they needed—104.
Heart racing, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Christophe used a special tool to pop the lock and pull the box free.
Before he even had it on the table, she flipped the top open and
rifled through it. While she pulled everything out, he broke into the other boxes.
She didn’t care about the bundles of cash, the brilliant sapphire necklace she had never seen before, or the gun she was pretty sure she shouldn’t have touched.
What she did care about was the small black book at the bottom of it all.
Frantically flipping through the pages, she tried to make reason of the code Feliks wrote in, but it all looked like gibberish to her.
A sliver of unease hit her as she contemplated whether this would be good enough, because it was the last thing in this box, and she doubted they had time to raid the others.
Christophe finished packing a third bag full of any bundles of cash he found, tossing all three by the vault door.
He took the notebook from her, slipping it into a pocket on his vest before stepping around her. Nearly behind the man on his knees outside the vault, Christophe took his rifle in his hands and snapped it forward.
Tăcut pulled a zip-tie from his pocket and bound his wrists then dragged the man into the vault where he lay unconscious.
Between the two of them, they lifted the bags over their shoulders and started for the stairs with Mariya between them.
The rest of the vory upstairs were bound by their hands and feet, two knocked out cold. Boris was still awake and glaring, but a cloth had been stuffed in his mouth to keep him from speaking.
On their way to the door, Tăcut grabbed his speaker.
Invictus had the door open a second later, but as Thanatos started through, a gunshot sounded making him lurch back.
Boris screamed behind his gag, Mariya’s gaze snapping down to him, but as Christophe jerked her behind him, using his body as a shield, Boris’ expression changed.
His anger was now focused on her. She couldn’t hear the curses he lobbed her way, but she could guess what he was saying and the question he was probably asking himself.
If she were truly a means to an end, why was the Romanian protecting her?
She’d betrayed the Bratva, her own family, and as quickly as he’d wanted to protect her moments ago—or take her back only to give her over to Feliks—the only thing his expression said now was that he would kill her the second he was able.
But that murder in his eyes died a quick death as he was shot twice in the heart. While she had been paying attention to him, Tăcut had been watching them.
Once the first round of bullets stopped flying, Mariya was able to finally take a much-needed breath, but before she could speak a word, Christophe’s finger fell over her lips.
“You won’t walk out of here alive,” a guttural voice called from the alleyway. “Whoever you are—you and your friends are dead.”
Akim?
Mariya started for the door before Christophe snatched her back, and if she could have seen his face beneath the mask, he was probably looking at her as though she were insane.
“My sister’s husband,” she whispered to him.
He didn’t budge.
“He won’t hurt me, not if it means hurting her.” Even with the vow he had taken to the Bratva, Klara was always first to him.
With great reluctance, Christophe lowered his arm, but he didn’t do as she expected. Instead of letting her walk past, he tore at the straps on his chest until his vest loosened, revealing the simple black shirt he wore beneath.
“What are you doing?” she asked, starting to think he was the crazy one. No matter how amazing he thought he was, he couldn’t stop a bullet from tearing through him.
She got her answer soon enough though as he jerked her closer and jerked the thing over her head, fastening it into place.
“No, Fang, you can’t.”
Because they would be trying to kill him, not her. If he gave her his vest, there was a greater chance he wouldn’t be walking away from this unscathed.
When she attempted to remove it, he gripped her hands hard, waiting until she looked up at him before nodding once.
On this, he wouldn’t bend.
She might have hated him for it, but she reluctantly nodded back.
His brothers were staring in their direction, waiting for their next move, and it only took Christophe moving his rifle to his back and pulling out the familiar handgun for them to get what his plan was.
This time, Christophe’s hand slipped beneath her hair and held her there before he put his gun to her head and walked them out.
She heard the click of guns, her eyes squeezing shut as she feared the worst, waiting for one with an itchy trigger finger to shoot, but none came.
“Wait.”
Akim’s voice echoed in the damp alley, and once she was looking at him, she couldn’t mistake the relief she saw in his face.
He was glad she was alive, but the thought was short lived as his gaze moved to Christophe.
She wished she could have told him there was no need to fear for her, that she was safer with him than she was with anyone, but she still had to play her part.
“Give me the girl, and I won’t kill you in this alley.”
But there was no way he could get to him without going through her unless he wanted to go through her.
Her sudden thought was reflected in his eyes.
There was no reason for her to be wearing the vest if Christophe meant her harm.
Akim wasn’t stupid—he could spot what they wanted him to see, but he didn’t voice it.
Instead, he stood firmly in place, making sure no one raised their weapon.
Christophe moved them backward and out of the alley until they were nearing the truck they came in. And before any of Akim or the men could do anything about it, they were speeding away.
Mariya didn’t breathe easy until they were well out of the city.
Chapter 14
July 29-30
If she didn’t know something was bothering him before, Mariya definitely knew now.
While the others were celebrating a job well done, Christophe didn’t seem nearly as thrilled about it all, and she knew it had very little to do with his concern about Feliks.
She’d never gotten her answer from him earlier, and with the way it felt like he was studiously avoiding her, she didn’t think she would. Now, she only had her own thoughts to figure out just who Aidra was.
Something more than a friend, surely. His reaction to the bear and note told her that.
She couldn’t have been his sister. He’d told her of his family’s death, and the orphanage in which he’d been sent had been an all-boys school.
From what she knew about Christophe, he didn’t seem like the type of man to have a wife and stray, but that was the only relationship that made sense.
Or maybe they had been lovers at one time.
He obviously still cared for her. It was written all over his face.
She just wanted to know the truth.
Once again, Mariya found herself alone with Winter. Thanatos and Invictus had disappeared off somewhere together, and Tăcut was probably with Christophe—but as the rest of her caught up with the thought, she realized this was her opportunity.
The loyalty of Christophe’s brothers was to him alone, so she doubted she would get any straight answers from them, but maybe Winter might divulge something that would help give her a clue.
“Tăcut is obviously the best,” Winter said after she asked about them. “I thought Fang would be pretty cool until now that I’ve finally met him. Hate to break it to you, but he’s a dick. I mean, I get he’s a little testy because he lost Aidra, so I’m allowing this grace period of grief.”
She hadn’t even needed to find an excuse to bring her up—Winter had done all the work for her. “Right,” she said softly, the only answer she could think to give that wouldn’t make her sound too eager for whatever she was about to say, or too clueless as to their relationship.
“I was in the city with them that day. I mean, I didn’t really know Aidra, but she seemed nice, and one of my good friends thought of her like family, so I ca
n safely assume she was good people.” She gingerly began undoing one of her thick braids, running her ringed fingers through silver-dyed hair. “Tăcut said she’d meant everything to Fang—the love of his life and all that. It was sad he lost her.”
Mariya nearly knocked over the glass on the coffee table as she digested her words and the answers she hadn’t understood before all began flooding in.
His weird behavior back at the other loft. The reason he’d acted so strange about her seeing the note and bear left for him.
He did understand loss as he’d told her once before, but his experience was something far different than hers.
“When did—” She cleared the hoarseness from her throat. “When did she die?”
There was no way for her to pretend she knew anything about it now, and Winter saw that. Paling, her eyes widened as she spoke. “You … you didn’t know about Aidra?”
Before yesterday, she hadn’t even known her name, but it all made sense now, why he had walked away from everything he seemed to love.
Because he had lost something he loved more.
“I’m so sorry,” Winter said quickly, her eyes darting around the room as though it might have an answer as to how she could fix this.
But there was nothing to fix.
She had needed to know this, even if it hurt to find out from someone other than Christophe.
And like their conversation had drawn him from whatever room he’d been in, Christophe came strolling into the living room with Tăcut not far behind, his hands tucked away in his pockets. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I, uh, I didn’t realize …” Winter trailed off, mumbling words Mariya couldn’t understand.
But Christophe found his answer when he looked at her. The shock she couldn’t quite hide.
“Mariya—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
It was the only thing she could think to say. She tried to think back over everything he’d ever shared with her, trying to remember if he had ever mentioned Aidra before, but she drew a blank.
The love of his life, yet he had never spoken one word.
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