I growl in frustration. This isn’t going well.
My father is peeling back the pig’s skin to reveal the muscles and skeleton. When I first came to the Bratva, I heard a story about him skinning a man who turned rat against him for the FBI. The turn our conversation has taken is no coincidence. My father doesn’t do coincidences. He’s trying to send me a message.
I take off my jacket and pull an apron from the wall. Maybe he needs to see how far I’ll go, too. I hold onto the pig’s front legs as he strips the skin down its back.
“Father, if someone crosses you, I will kill them.”
He clucks. “I don’t want to take a chance. Why not just blow them up? All of them?” He nods and lays the pig’s skin to the side. “Firebombs solve many problems.”
“Too much attention. The investigation could expose us.” I shouldn’t have to tell him that. Maybe he’s testing me, to see if I am as in control of the situation as I say I am. “If Peyton doesn’t deliver, I’ll kill him. But this is our chance to turn the program against the Italians and get back the money they stole from us. Turn the tide of the war.”
He eyes me from beneath narrowed eyes. “You’ll kill them all if I tell you to. The girl, too.”
I keep my face a mask of loyalty. But kill Corinne? I don’t know if I have that in me.
“You have one week.” He picks up the knife and slices off a thin slab of muscle. Then another. Meticulous. Practiced. Precise. “Until Friday, before your wedding. And then Evgeni and Demetri will kill the Italians and blow up the computer building. Kaboom. No more problem, ya?”
I nod. There’s nothing to do but get started and hope Corrie can get the job done before my father tries to have her killed. We don’t have time to spare. As I hang up my bloodstained apron and slip my arms back into my jacket, my father is whistling a tune as if he’s excited about the prospect of mayhem on the horizon.
And as I drive to Sentinel Security, I’m not surprised. The reason he’s a good leader is because he lets no emotion cloud his decisions. Knowing his son is attached to one of the people he’s threatening to kill won’t lessen or minimize the threats. It won’t stop him from ordering me to kill her, her friend, and her boss alike.
When I gave Corinne my mom’s life insurance money to pay for college, I had no idea we would ever see each other again or that I would come to rely on that education.
I just have to hope the money was well spent.
17
Tomas
I pull my SUV into a spot down the block from her building and signal to Evgeni, who’s standing outside. He’s supposed to be with Corinne. I slam the door and slow my stride as I walk around the car.
“Where’s Corinne?” My voice is hard, the tone unmistakable.
“She’s talking to the man at the desk. She asked me to wait out here.” Which is the reason why no one is walking on this side of the street. A man like Evgeni discourages even complete and total strangers from walking anywhere near him.
“I’ve got her now,” I tell him. “I need you for something else.”
I’ve tried twice to call Alek, who would normally take care of these things, but he hasn’t answered or called back. Evgeni is going to have to do.
“I need nine men. Here. And try to find Aleksey. I need to speak to him.” These disappearing acts of his are unacceptable.
He turns, phone already to his ear, as I pull the door open and walk inside.
There she is. My Corrie. And like we’re kids again, seeing her knocks the wind out of me. But it’s that fucking smile that truly goes through me.
“Hey.”
She turns when I speak.
Unspeakably beautiful.
“Hey.” I don’t know what she sees on my face that makes her smile fade, but she’s frowning now. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. We’re ready to get working.”
She nods, solemn, and turns from the information desk. “I arranged for your men to have badges inside the building. I thought …” She shakes her head. “This is so crazy.”
It isn’t until we’re inside the elevator that I touch her, or more that she throws herself into my arms and breathes in deep. She’s trembling.
“Are you alright?”
“I wasn’t nervous until I got here. Now I see strangers everywhere. People who probably just work in the building, but I don’t know them, and for all I do know, they could be Italian Mafia hitmen coming for me.”
I’m glad she’s cautious and, bastard or not, I’m not telling her she’s imagining things. I want her to see danger in every corner and shadow, and I want her to not take unnecessary chances. Fear will make her cautious.
By the time the elevator doors open, she’s pulled herself together and is standing beside me, her hands still, her half-smile serene. She shows me around the office. There are six access points. Two stairwells, an elevator, and three doors from the balcony. And while the balcony would be harder to access directly from the street, there are floors with balconies above and below this one. All it would take is climbing rope, a grapple hook, a collapsible ladder. It’s feasible, if the Italians want to try that route.
I station men at each door. Two outside. One inside.
She smiles and leans in. “I have to get to work.”
Not only does she look like a goddess—flowing blonde hair, those glistening eyes that turn amber or mahogany depending on her mood, a body with curves and planes that I need to touch—but she smells like one, too. So sweet. Flowery.
Corinne’s gaze flits over my shoulder. Her face sours.
I follow where she’s looking to see a cluster of female Sentinel Security employees staring right at me. They’ve been ogling me since the second I entered the building.
I would’ve preferred to clear the office of everyone except for Peyton, Leila, and Corinne, but the conspicuous absence might’ve tipped off the Italians that something was wrong with their operation here. So I’ve had to pretend to ignore that every woman on the floor is picturing me naked.
It’s par for the course in my life. Women like dangerous men. They see it written all over me like it’s tattooed on my face, and they respond in kind. Normally, I just brush it off. I’m used to it.
But Corinne isn’t.
She isn’t glaring or scowling, but neither is she smiling. I’ve known Corinne longer than I haven’t known her and I’ve never seen this expression. Blank but with an underlying hint of … something.
How can she not see that I don’t give a fuck about these anonymous women? They’re nothing to me. She’s my everything. But I can still sense the jealousy bubbling up in her.
Fine. I’ll just show her then.
I grab her by the arm, drag her into a nearby conference room, and slam the door shut. Inside, there’s a long oval table, twenty chairs, and a drink cart with a coffee machine next to a mini-fridge.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is low, but there’s a tone … anger. It’s sexy as fuck and I want to put her up on that table, strip off her panties, and lick her pussy until she’s screaming for me to let her come.