by Stacy Gail
The anticipated body count was the reason why Polo had officially concluded his business with Cap Fogelmann’s Private Security International. He liked Cap, and he was well aware the man ran a tight ship. Like Pavel, Polo respected everything the security agency stood for, so that was why he’d needed to cut them loose.
What was going to happen tonight had nothing to do with conventional security. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be clean.
Tonight was all about war, and war was as god-awful messy as it got.
“Not that it’s going to change anything,” Alex muttered in his ear, and Polo could picture his best friend hunkered down in the piece-of-shit, beat-up Sno-Kone van Yuri had magically come up with, “but is Dash okay with this plan?”
“You gossip like an old woman, boy.” When Yuri’s voice broke into the conversation, Polo had to work hard at not snorting out loud. Instead his attention slid over the laptop’s screen to snag on the image of the Sno-Kone van parked on the street where Dash had nearly had her throat slit. “This is because you were raised in America, I think. Free speech and all that bullshit. Free speech translates into a man speaking too freely, about anything and everything. Russia, and the USSR, was better. Had you been raised in Russia, you would have a natural understanding that speaking freely gets you dead.”
“Uh, that’s not better, Pops. That right there is what you call the opposite of better.”
“Dash is more than all right with it, Alex.” To head off the argument he could sense rising between the two Rodins, Polo decided to step in. “In fact, Dash wanted to put this whole thing into motion.”
There was a micro-second of silence. “Really?”
“You don’t think I’m the one who came up with the plan of dangling my woman out there as fucking bait, do you? The only reason I’m playing it this way is because I know Dash. That crazy woman would dive in all on her own and try to pull this shit off without me the moment my back was turned. Working with her to lure Knives out was the only way I could think of to keep some goddamn control over this shit show.”
“And…she understands what’s going to happen? You know, once she lures her brother to the back room?”
“Dash is a gambler, but she’s not stupid. Of course she understands.”
“Damn,” Alex said faintly. “That’s hardcore.”
“Old woman, you talk too much,” rumbled Yuri.
“Tell me you’re not impressed with how hardcore she is,” Alex returned, clearly talking to his father. “It’s just so…Vitaliev, know what I mean? I was always in awe of her father. Borysko came to a new country without knowing the language, made bold moves to take over Chicago, and he built an empire because he had the strongest will around and he wasn’t afraid to risk it all. But not even Borysko did anything as cold and calculating as luring a family member to their end.”
“What the fuck, Alex.” Polo scowled down at the image of the Sno-Kone van, because he couldn’t get to his best friend in person. “You think Dash should just lie down like some weepy victim and take it when Knives tries to kill her? She never would’ve dreamed of bringing harm to her brother if she hadn’t been pushed to this point. She didn’t ask to be stuck in this game of kill-or-be-killed, but she’s stepping up like the badass she is to make sure she lives to see another day. That’s not something you condemn. That’s something you cheer.”
“I am,” came the vehement response. “What I’m saying is that Dash is more of a Vitaliev than even her father, and that’s saying something.”
“Dasha has always taken after Borysko.” To his surprise, Pavel’s gravelly voice joined in the conversation. Polo glanced toward the rear of the gloomily lit warehouse where the older man was stationed by the back door that had been breached by one of Knives’s idiot flunkies a week ago. He couldn’t see the usually taciturn enforcer, but Polo knew Pavel was there waiting for his prey to appear. “Both his children did, until Nizhy became Knives.”
“Funny you should say put it that way,” Polo said absently, scanning the screen without blinking as he searchedfor any hint that it was time to spring their trap. “Dash feels the same way—that her brother Nizhy died when he was fifteen, and Knives is the thing that took her brother’s place.”
Alex made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe she needs to see it that way in order to deal with the fact that her brother wants her dead.”
“Or maybe it’s the truth,” came Pavel’s flat reply. “I only know this—Borysko always believed little Dasha had more heart. Like a lion, you understand? More courage. And I believe he was right about this. This is why she is the way she is—unafraid to take a gamble, while Knives has never taken a gamble in his life. He plots and plans and schemes, but he won’t risk anything. He won’t risk, because in his heart he has nothing but fear. He is a pitiful coward, and as much as I will delight in destroying him to avenge my beautiful son, I will also happily kill him for the sake of my friend and brother, Borysko, God rest his soul. How devastated my friend would be, to see what his utter shit of a son has become. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way, Yuri.”
“The thing we now call Knives is an insult of Borysko’s memory and the name Vitaliev, my brother.” When Yuri spoke his mind for once, Polo couldn’t help but blink in surprise. That had to be a first. “To have that abomination sponged off the face of the earth will be a relief. Knives is no Vitaliev.”
That, Polo knew, was the most condemning thing that could have been said in the eyes of the Vitaliev Bratva’s old guard.
“Not to break up a couple of old women gossiping,” Alex drawled, “but it’s getting close to show time. Maybe we should focus on the business at hand.”
Polo heard Pavel chuckle while Yuri muttered, “I am focused. I’m waiting for Indigo to call to let me know when Dasha is leaving for the meeting. He’s her driver, don’t forget.”
“They should’ve already left by now.” A faint stirring of unease knotted in Polo’s gut as his gaze snapped to the clock in the corner of the laptop’s screen. “In fact, they should’ve left about ten minutes ago.”
Suddenly Alex’s voice was all business. “Call her.”
“Way ahead of you.” He already had his phone out.
“I’ll call Indigo, to see what the hold-up is.” Yuri’s voice was the same as Alex’s—smooth, rock-steady. It only made the knots in Polo’s stomach worse. “He’s always so reliable. If there had been any problem, he would have phoned immediately. Everyone remain calm.”
“Dash isn’t answering. It could be nothing.” But it didn’t feel like nothing. Every instinct was telling him that something was wrong, seriously fucking wrong, and that he should be wherever Dash was, right now. “Yuri? Anything?”
“No.” The one word sounded like the voice of death. “Indigo is a good kid. Always answers, even in the shower, or from a dead sleep.”
“That tears it. We need—” Before Polo could give the order to pull out the majority of their people there, his phone vibrated. Distracted, he looked down only to freeze when he saw Dash’s name. Suspended between a world of hope and dread, he touched the phone’s screen and brought it to his ear. “Dash.”
“’Fraid not, my brother,” came Knives’s happy voice through a curtain of in-and-out static. “If you want to see my sister again, you’ll show up at the estate as soon as you can. And come alone, okay? I want our family reunion to be private.”
Don’t show fear.
Don’t show fear.
Don’t show fear.
The mantra was like a drumbeat inside my head, while adrenaline zipped along my nerve endings and threatened the integrity of my poker face. I clutched my purse—now devoid of the gun I hadn’t even had time to use—and tried to absorb the false calm of being in the house where I grew up. The house, moreover, that my father had built like a fortress to keep his children safe.
If only he’d thought more about keeping one child safe from the other.
Don’t show fear.
G
od help me, the fear was almost strangling me to death.
I was sitting in what my father had called the grand salon, a posh Old World term for what people now called a great room. Beautiful murals of a bucolic French countryside covered the walls, and the thirty-foot high carved ceiling was highlighted in gilt. The floor was gleaming wood and covered almost completely by a genuine Aubusson carpet that had once been in Marie Antoinette’s Versailles refuge, Petit Trianon. The two chandeliers were also from France, though I couldn’t remember from which particular chateau.
I figured I could be forgiven that lapse. After all, I was sitting amongst all that graceful beauty while peppered with the brains and blood of my guard, Andrew the Giant.
In this very room, the gentle giant Andrew had once played a Russian ballad for my father’s birthday on his guitar. It had been so beautiful it brought tears to my father’s eyes. It had always amazed me that such a huge man like Andrew had been able to play so delicately.
I only wished I could have had that as my last memory of Andrew, instead of how he had died doing his damnedest to protect me from my brother.
Don’t show fear…
“Come on now, Dash. Relax.” Tucking my phone into his pocket, Knives sauntered over and sat opposite me on a gilt-edged Louis XV sofa that matched the one I sat on. He was smiling, still buoyant from his victory of killing the driver Polo had arranged for me, Indigo, as well as Andrew the Giant, before he’d snatched me out of the underground garage of my apartment building. “Lean back and take a load off. You’re so stiff you look like a mannequin.”
“I’ve got Andrew’s brains and blood all over me, Knives. I’m minding the silk upholstery.” A wave of relief crashed over me when I heard the rock-solid anger in my voice. I would never have forgiven myself if I had allowed him to know my fear. A fear, moreover, that would probably only fuel his fire.
Knives pursed his lips and seemed to really see me for the first time. “Yeah, you’ve got a point. I mean, wow, look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”
Goddamn him. He had the gall to sound like it was my fault.
“I guess you can’t be all that comfortable, now that I think about it. If you want to take the time to wash up and get changed, feel free, okay? Though I will have to keep an eye on you at all times.” He nodded to the four men stationed at the two entrances into the room, one of whom was the infamous Ollie. “Not to be gross about it since we’re brother and sister, but I can’t just let you wander around on your own. I’m sure a couple of these guys would be happy to volunteer for the job of keeping an eye on you while you get cleaned up.”
I stifled a skin-crawling shudder at the suggestion and refused to give him the satisfaction of even glancing at his men. “Thanks, I’m good.”
“You sure? I think you’ve still got some clothes up in your old room, and you’ve got time. It’s going to be at least half an hour until Polo gets here.” Then he grinned, a full-on, bright-eyed happy grin that stretched all the way across his face. “God, doesn’t that sound amazing, Dash? Wait, let me say it again—it’ll be about half an hour until Polo gets here. Fucking Polo. I can’t get over that he’s still alive. I’m seriously going to make him pay for making me think he was dead.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if Knives had meant for that to sound as ominous as it did.
Chapter Twenty-Three
From my perch on the edge of the sofa I watched Knives while taking care not to move a muscle. That was all I could do in the face of his unpredictability. “You’re pissed off at Polo for playing dead? I can understand that.”
“Can you?” By degrees, Knives’s happy grin faded. I tensed, ready to make a break for it if he so much as twitched in my direction. “See, I don’t think you can, Dash. I get the feeling you were in on his faked death the entire time.”
“Wow, you must really think I’m a great actress.” The words were out before I could stop them. “So great I can vomit on command and nearly grieve myself to death.”
“What the hell else am I supposed to think? You two have been together all this time without me.”
“All this time? I didn’t know Polo was still alive until a week ago, when I was attacked.” An attack that had been orchestrated by the man seated before me. I couldn’t allow myself to forget that, not even for a moment.
Knives’s brows came together. “But you still didn’t think to pick up the phone and tell me he was still alive?”
“Why would I? For that matter, I didn’t tell you about it now, did I? But oddly enough, the moment we got here you took my phone, looked up his number and called him.”
“So?”
By degrees, my temper began to take over my fear, and it was all thanks to his taunting, fuck-you smile. “So, you obviously knew Polo was still alive. That makes me wonder how you knew that. Better yet, how did you know you could reach him through me?”
“Caught that, did you?” His smile had so much smirk in it I would have paid serious money to punch it off his face. “You know I don’t have to answer any of your questions, right?”
“Of course.” I forced myself to smile as well. “But I also know you want to show me how clever you are, and I’ll admit it—you win on this one, pal. You’ve seriously got me stumped. I didn’t know he was alive until he reappeared in my life, so how is it you knew?”
“I suppose I could feed you a load of bullshit that might make people think I’m omnipresent, but you know me too well. I’ll just sum up the answer in two words.”
I refused to fidget. To sweat. To even fucking blink. “I’m waiting.”
Knives’s smile widened. “Martin Schott.”
The bottom of my world dropped out.
Oh God.
Wildly my mind flew to the meeting that had happened the day before. What was talked about in front of Schott? What the hell could he have told my brother?
Everything.
Absolutely everything.
I was going to die tonight.
“Martin Schott?” It took every ounce of will I had not to let my poker face crumble under the force of the wave of terror that hit me. There was no way out on this except maybe to bluff, but even that was just about impossible. “I know that name. Do you mean the dirty motherfucking cop you paid to strip-search me and have me raped in a cell once I was in his custody? Is that the Martin Schott you’re referring to?”
“Such a mouth. You know, swearing like that’s not ladylike.”
“Fuck you. I can’t believe you have the balls to look me in the eye after having planned that for me, your own sister.”
Knives rolled his eyes, like he thought I was being unreasonable. “What are you bitching about? It didn’t happen.”
“Thanks to Polo,” I shot back through furiously gritted teeth, grabbing onto the anger because it chased away the fear. “You know what really gets me, even more than that betrayal? The hideous, unapologetic hypocrisy of you. You know how shattering it is to be violated, yet you schemed to have me go through that exact same torture, you sick fuck.”
In a heartbeat, his relaxed expression dissolved, and the blank look that replaced it turned my blood to ice. “No one talks about that, Dash. I’ve killed people for less.”
“I’m sure you have, and I sure as hell know you won’t treat me any differently because I’m your sister. But then, there’s a problem with you killing me here and now, so you should probably cool your jets, at least for the time being.”
“A problem? Like what?”
“I don’t know how you’re going to convince anyone that my death was a Scorpeone hit when I wind up dead in the middle of your house.”
“Yeah, that would be a problem with the old guard like the Medvedev clan,” he agreed, abruptly changing back to his relaxed, even playful manner. Now that it was too late, I recognized that those impossible mood swings were an indicator of just how unbalanced he was. “I’ll admit that the Medvedevs were a huge consideration for me when I was deciding how to play things out in
the manner that I did—carefully setting up a trail of breadcrumbs that led right to the Scorpeone doorstep. But I’m sorry to say that no one took the bait, not even when I had Konstantin killed. And now, trying to make sure I have the Medvedev clan on my side…well.” He shook his dark head. “That’s pretty much an impossible dream now, isn’t it, Dash? You made sure you put an end to that.”
A dark flash of satisfaction knifed through me. “Gee, I don’t know. Why don’t you interrogate Martin Schott about that?”
“You kidding? I didn’t have to interrogate that asshole about a thing. Dumbass volunteered everything about that meeting you called without me having to say boo to him.”
Silently I cursed Schott with every swear word I knew. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, he volunteered?”
“Believe it or not, that stupid fucker came running to me for protection, apparently right after you cut him loose yesterday. I could be wrong, but I had the impression you went out of your way to scare the shit out of him, Dash. Guess you miscalculated on that one, didn’t you?”
God, God, Martin Schott was an idiot of the first order.
“Please tell me you killed that asshole,” I said, and in that moment I meant every stinking word. Not only had he landed me in the fire, but he’d also exposed Polo to Knives. In my eyes, that was unforgivable. “Stupidity of that magnitude cannot be allowed to exist.”
“Oh yeah, he’s long gone,” Knives said, waving a dismissive hand. “If it wouldn’t land my ass behind bars for life, I swear I’d write that idiot in for a Darwin Award. I mean, how stupid can you be, running to the mafiya boss you betrayed because you want protection from the Medvedevs, the very people you’ve betrayed said mafiya boss to? For a minute I thought he was joking.”
