"Is this one of yours?"
The jeweler held it up to the light, his keen eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the ring using a magnifying glass.
"Yes, this is my work," he conceded, his voice cautious. "No doubt about it. Are you looking to get a similar piece?"
Dragon's heart quickened. He leaned forward. "No. Who is the man in the photo?"
The jeweler set the photo aside and shook his head. "I have never seen him a day in my life."
Dragon's mind whirled. If the assassin hadn't bought the ring himself, then someone else had given it to him. A gift, maybe? A token of loyalty?
"Who ordered the ring?"
The jeweler hesitated, fingers drumming nervously against the table. "I have very prominent clients. I can't betray them by giving out names. If word gets out—"
Dragon's voice cut through the air like a blade. "You don't have a choice."
The jeweler's eyes shot up, locking with Dragon's. There was a moment of tense calculation before his shoulders slumped slightly. He drew a breath and spoke in a deeper tone.
"The ring was made for a woman."
Dragon's stomach hardened. That was not what he had been expecting.
Before he could query further, the store window behind them shattered.
Shots cracked out.
The jeweler jerked as bullets tore through his torso, spreading his blood over the gleaming glass countertop. Dragon reacted instinctively, dodging behind a showcase as another bullet zipped through the air—scraping his shoulder.
Pain seared through him, white-hot and sharp, but he shut it down and pulled out his own weapon. He fired twice, causing the attacker to retreat. In a blue shards of glass had been scattered all over the floor, the jeweler's body dropped dead, blood pooling over fine jewelry.
Dragon didn't want to risk a chase not knowing if he was outnumbered. Clutching his hurt shoulder, he ran across the counter, opening the back door behind him, and into the maze of Venetian side streets.
He called Makros as soon as he'd found safety, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. His hand pressed a rag into the wound, blood soaking through the rag.
Makros spoke immediately. "Report."
Dragon leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly through his nose. "The jeweler's dead. Someone shot him before he would tell me who bought the ring."
There was a pause. Then Makros asked, his voice sharpened with worry. "Are you all right?"
Dragon growled with a dry laugh. "I'll make it." He pulled the cloth tight over his wound. "But listen to this—the ring wasn't made for the assassin. It was made for a woman."
Silence.
Then Makros spoke, quieter but more caustic. "A woman?"
Dragon nodded, despite the fact that Makros couldn't see him. "Yeah. And whoever she is, she's someone with eyes, powerful enough to have me shot the moment I got too close to her."
On the other end, Makros straightened his tie in front of a mirror, preparing for Petrov's banquet. His image sneered back, unreadable.
"Find out every woman with the initials E.B and bring it back to me."
"Already on it," Dragon responded. Then, a moment later, he added, "How's Moscow treating you?"
Makros half-ironically smiled. "Well, I'm going to wine and dine."
Dragon let out a low laugh. "Is that so? From burning buildings to breaking bread."
