The drive to the Vetrov estate takes forty minutes through morning traffic. The guards at the gate nod as I pass and pull mycar up to the front door. Inside, the house is already buzzing with activity. Rolan's men are moving through his house, and at this hour it means something is going on. Even if that "something" is simply my brother being impatient with them. He wants blood.
I find my brother in his office, standing behind his desk with his hands braced on the surface. Maps cover the wood, marked with red pins and black lines. He looks up when I enter with a grim expression.
"You're late," he says.
"It was my wedding night, Rolan. I was up late."
"Sit." He gestures to the chair across from his desk. I remain standing. "Tell me about yesterday."
"Damir showed up after the ceremony. He was waiting in the parking lot." I ease myself into one of the chairs beside his desk and rub a hand over my face.
"And?"
"He made his feelings clear. About the marriage, about me staying away from his sister." I recount what actually happened, how Damir almost got the drop on me. I wasn't going soft, but returning to my new bride soaked in her brother's blood didn't seem optimal at the time. I thought my men were chasing him and I'd join the hunt. I had no idea he'd be in the garage.
Rolan's eyes narrow. "Did you kill him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
I could tell him the truth—that Damir caught me off guard, that the confrontation happened too quickly, that there were too many witnesses. But those are excuses, and Rolan doesn't accept excuses.
"It wasn't the right time," I say instead.
"The right time?" His voice rises. "Alexei is dead, Maksim. Our cousin is in the ground because of that bastard, and you're worried about timing?"
"I'm worried about exposure. Killing him in a public parking lot after my wedding would have brought unwanted attention."
"So would letting him walk away."
I cross my arms, meet his stare. "It's only a matter of time. I saw the way he looked at me, Rolan. He's unraveling. Making mistakes. When he surfaces again, I'll be ready."
"When he surfaces again, he might have backup. The Karpin crew isn't going to let one of their assets disappear without a fight." He pushes the hair off his forehead and sits in his chair.
"Then we make sure he surfaces alone."
Rolan leans back, studying me. "How?"
"We leak the wedding photos to contacts known to pass information to the Karpin crew. Let them know Zoya is now family. It'll draw out Damir's allies, force them to make a move."
"And if they come for her?" he asks, and the thought of anyone laying hands on Zoya makes my chest tight, my hands curl into fists. "Because Grisha says you're too close to this."
"They won't get close enough." My hands curl into fists. Grisha needs to learn his place.
"You sound certain."
"I am certain."
Rolan nods slowly. "Do it. Get the photos out by noon. I want this finished, Maksim. No more delays." I nod and turn to leave, but his voice stops me at the door. "And Maksim? Don't let personal feelings complicate this. The girl is useful, but she's not worth losing sight of the mission."
I don't answer—can't answer. Because the truth is, I'm not sure where the mission ends and my feelings begin anymore.
The gym is in the basement of the estate, a concrete room filled with weights and heavy bags. I change into workout clothes and start with the weights, pushing iron until my muscles burn. It's not enough. The anger is still there, coiled tight in my chest.
Grisha finds me twenty minutes later, already sweating from his own workout. He tugs on a pair of boxing gloves, bouncing on his toes near the heavy bag.
"You look like shit," he says by way of greeting.
