I check the time.
Four a.m.
Peering at Liliya in the passenger seat, I can tell she’s close to passing out. She could hardly stay awake on the drive to the hospital.
My phone vibrates with a text from Antonio.
Antonio: You good?
When we reach a red light, I reply to him.
Me: All good.
Earlier, before we left the woods, I called to give him a rundown of what had happened on the drive from Aleksy’s. I texted Leo, telling him to have our tow guy pick up the Range Rover and for him to watch over the area.
After we ended our call, my next goal was to find Andre. I called his older brother, Gabriele. While he didn’t know Andre’s whereabouts, he did offer the family jet to get me to Chicago.
I accepted the offer with no hesitation.
Liliya keeps nodding off as I drive to the small condo building. She hasn’t said a word since Andre got in the back seat.
“We’re staying here tonight,” I say as I park.
She doesn’t question me as she slowly unbuckles her seat belt and follows me into the second-floor unit. I flip on the light, noticing it’s just how I left it—cheap furniture, no decor, the bare minimum.
“Emilio,” Liliya says, moving like a zombie across the room before collapsing on the couch. “I need answers.”
Ignoring her, I move to the kitchen and collect a knife.
When I return to the living room, her body stiffens when she notices it. She curls inward, tucking her knees to her chest.
I slam the knife onto the coffee table in front of her.
She flinches, gaping at me before slipping her attention back to the knife.
It stays frozen there for a minute, as if she can’t look away.
I unholster my gun, placing it beside the knife.
“Pick one,” I demand.
Her eyes go wide, fear replacing her sleepiness.
She’s now fully alert.
“Pick one!” I roar, slamming my fist on the table. The knife bounces, and the gun shifts from the force.
“What …” Her voice breaks as she takes deep breaths. “What’s going on?”
I step closer, like the predator I am, until I’m close enough that I can practically breathe in her fear. Hostility burns through my blood.
“Your job is to kill me,guaio,” I say, my tone controlled. “Isn’t that what your brother told you to do?” I gesture to the table. “Go ahead. Pick your weapon.” I lean in close again, my nose brushing hers. “Kill me,Liliya.”
33
“Kill me, Liliya.”
I’m frozen in place—unable to move, to speak, tothink.
