I knew Kirill carried his Walthers as well as his beloved KA-BAR.
We could quickly handle whatever we came across.
We entered the elegant, well-maintained building, barely acknowledging a man who was leaving.
He walked straight past us as if he had no idea he’d just strolled by two of the deadliest men in the city.
After taking the stairs to the top floor, I took out Lucia’s keys. Her apartment number was engraved on one of the set, which certainly came in handy.
I listened at her door for a moment before inserting the key and slowly opening the portal.
We both moved inside silently, and I sensed no presence or threat. Kirill padded off on noiseless treads to scope out the rest of the place.
I locked the door behind me, vigilant at all times. If anyone decided to check up on Lucia while we were here, we’d have fair warning, and they wouldn’t know we were on the premises.
Kirill met me back in the large foyer with a low whistle. “Pricey place.”
“Empty?”
“Da. Not a soul to be seen, not even a cat.”
I ambled through my beautiful captive’s apartment, taking it all in. Every wall covering, every floor treatment, every piece of stylish furniture screamed money, and I wouldn’t have expected anything less.
In a large sitting room, two marble fireplaces flanked several seating areas. I didn’t notice any photos that could imply a significant other, and I did not like the strange note of relief surging through me.
After taking a look around the kitchen, Kirill and I moved through to a master suite.
He blew out another whistle at the gauzy canopied bed. “Are you sure she’s not attached?”
“She better not be,” I muttered.
He pinned me with a surprised stare.
I ignored him and opened the double doors to her closet. Light sensual perfume wafted through the large room, enticing my senses. Perhaps I’d find the bottle of her scent and bring that back too.
No wonder Kirill had given me that look. I shouldn’t be thinking this way over a woman who signified nothing more than leverage to me.
In the back corner of the closet, I located stacks of designer luggage and chose a piece. I carried it to her bed and inspected every square inch of the lining for hidden trackers before I was satisfied the duffel was clean.
“Don’t touch her lingerie.” I glanced at Kirill who’d opened several dresser drawers and was poking around.
“How do you know she has lingerie?”
“As I said before, I’m not a monk.”
He smirked.
I methodically gathered items I thought she might need—blouses, pants, a few dresses from her closet that I’d like to see her in.
I went through the lingerie drawer but didn’t linger on the precisely laid out panties and bras.
Shoes, hairbrushes, undergarments all got added to the leather valise.
“What about pills?” Kirill called out from the bathroom.
I remembered her birth control pack. She probably had more refills. She’d need those if I had my way with her. Unlike Kirill, I wasn’t looking to start a family.
“What kind of pills?”
“Prescriptions.”
Joining him in the bathroom, I pulled up short when I saw an array of orange medicine bottles in the cabinet.
I picked up several, inspecting the labels. The names of the drugs were almost too complicated to pronounce, and I shook the bottle to find them half empty.
Why would a woman who appeared perfectly healthy need all these meds?
A peculiar well of concern hit me from out of nowhere.
Before I could figure out what her medical issues might be, a loud knock banged against the entrance to her apartment.
Maybe Papa Leone had someone looking after his precious daughter after all.
Exiting the bathroom, I tossed those bottles into the luggage, and Kirill and I drifted back into the closet with the tote in hand.
Moments later, the apartment door opened and closed.
Footsteps sounded, and a man called out, “Lucia?”
That had better not be the voice of her boyfriend. Or some scorned lover.
We listened intently while he moved through her place, shouting her name at intervals.
We remained unseen . . . for the moment.
I saw through a small crack when the Guido waltzed into Lucia’s bedroom like he owned the place.
A killing might be in order now.
I gritted my teeth, Kirill bristling right beside me as the Italian glanced at her bed with a smirk on his face.
Da. He would have to die.
“Lucia, mia amata, are you in the bathroom?”
After receiving no reply, he prowled over to her dresser.
I curled my hands into fists when he pulled open the top drawer and lifted a pair of panties out on his fingertip.
I must’ve growled because the slick gold-chained pizda pivoted toward the closet.
Kirill drew his gun just as the man’s phone rang.
He stopped a few feet from the closet, and I motioned to Kirill to hold off.
Answering the call, he said, “Sì.”
There was a pause, and I leaned closer.
“No sign of her. Doesn’t look like the place has been tossed.”
Little did he know.
“Sì. I know, Don Marco.”
Don Marco . . . Lucia’s father.
Who the fuck was this suka stalking around her apartment like he had every right and talking to her papa like he was one of the family?
A growl almost parted my lips as another pregnant pause followed.
“Yes. Sabato flew in today with the rest of the Sicilians.” Lucia’s creeper blew out an exasperated breath. “I know he thinks he’s getting Lucia for a good deal.”
What?
I drew out the boleadoras, tightening the leather lashes within my grasp.
“You should’ve learned how to control your daughter years ago instead of letting her think she could determine her own destiny, Marco.”
I rocked forward, close to bursting through the closet doors so I could strangle this dick-smack.
I was willing to bet Lucia had no idea what her father had planned for her future. Basically the same fate Jo would’ve endured at Bastiano’s hands.
An arrangement—seemingly—for his convenience with a foreign power.
Blyad.
The Godfather wannabe jabbed impatiently at his phone to end the call.
He continued his search in Lucia’s bathroom.
I finally slipped from the closet, Kirill close behind me.
With just a few hand motions, I let him know what I had in mind.
His pat on my shoulder signaled his approval.
I didn’t need his agreement—in the Bratva standings I outranked him and was oldest—but it felt good to have him back me up.
Not that I needed backup either.
I waited, flattened against the wall just outside the bathroom. Kirill, right beside me, did the same.
I listened, growing more and more agitated as the Italian banged drawers open and made a racket among Lucia’s belongings. Eventually, the Guido stepped out of the bathroom and took another pace past me.
Just as he must’ve sensed something wrong—tension lifting his shoulders—I pounced.
I swung the bolas around his neck, wrapping the lengths tight as the stone-filled bags bounced against his back.
“What the fuck—”
His exclamation ended when I tightened my leash. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”