When I wake up, I’m in a dark, enclosed space. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the trunk of a car. A car that’s moving — I can hear the distinct rumble of tires against the road beneath me. Where we’re headed, I have no idea.
Probably straight to Alexei Petrov, if I had to guess.
I try to scream, but there’s a piece of duct tape covering my mouth. I try to struggle, but the zip-tie binding my hands together makes that virtually impossible.
I suppose there’s a lesson to be learned in all of this about opening the door for strangers… but my head is pounding too hard to discern what it is. Probably due to the golfball-sized welt on my left cheekbone, swelling more with each passing moment.
Ow.
Lefty really clocked me.
I try to slow my breathing rate, dragging air in and out of my nose as I take stock of my situation. There’s nothing in the trunk that can help me escape. And, even if there were, I probably couldn’t reach it in my current predicament.
I’m barefoot, wearing nothing but a thin pair of yoga pants and one of Conor’s baggy t-shirts. It still smells like him, which might be a comfort if I knew whether he was alive or dead, right now. I’m relatively certain nothing in the world will be able to soothe me until I know the answer to that question.
So help me god, if the Evanoffs laid so much as a hand on him… I will make them pay.
Brave words for a girl tied up in a car trunk.
If I knew how long I was unconscious, I’d have a much better idea of where we might be headed. As it is, I’m cut adrift without any sense of time or place.
Minutes? Hours? Days?
If the latter, I could be anywhere in the world by now. Hell, I could pop out of this trunk and find myself in Moscow. (Okay, so, it’s more likely I’ll pop out and find myself somewhere like Malden or Medford… but the point remains the same.)
My head feels like it’s been detached from my body, put inside a dryer, and set to a sixty-minute tumble cycle. Everything is jumbled up. I try to focus on finding a way to escape, but it’s not an easy task. Between the blow to my face and the not-so-minor fact that, for all I know, the man I adore is lying somewhere in a pool of his own blood… my thoughts are one great sloshing wave of panic, ebbing and receding with each passing moment.
He is not dead, I tell myself over and over as the car rolls onward to destinations unknown. I refuse to even contemplate that possibility.
I spend the remainder of the ride screaming in vain against the duct tape while attempting to kick out the tail lights of the vehicle, hoping I might catch the attention of a passing driver at a stoplight or intersection. All I succeed in doing is wearing out my vocal chords and bashing my bare toes until they’re bruised and bleeding.
After a small eternity the brakes finally engage, slowing the vehicle to a stop. I flinch as I hear the sound of car doors opening, the crunch of boots on gravel as the Evanoffs make their way to the rear of the sedan. The trunk lid springs open and my eyes are immediately flooded by brilliant light from the sun blazing directly overhead. I blink away sunspots as I’m hauled out with all the gentleness of a farmhand tossing a bale of hay and slammed into a vertical position, the soles of my feet jolting hard against hot pavement.
My head is spinning and I’ve barely found my footing when a hand slams into the base of my spine. I careen forward like a rag doll, nearly face-planting onto the ground but catching myself at the last minute. For a second, I remain bent over as the world tilts around me — head bowed low, bound hands hanging by my knees. Hauling breaths through my nose in desperate puffs.
“Let’s go,” Lefty sneers, grabbing hold of my shirt collar and dragging me back into an upright position. “Now.”
“If you can’t walk, I’d be happy to drag you by your restraints,” Righty offers. I notice his accent is slightly thicker than his brother’s. Less polished. I wonder absently if he’s Viktor or Vladimir before a voice from the back of my befuddled brain reminds me it doesn’t matter.
They’re about to kill you, crazy pants. Who gives a crap what their names are?
They drag me away from the car, across the scorching hot pavement. I squint my eyes, trying to see where we are, but every time my head lifts one of them shoves me from behind again, sending me stumbling. I lose track of how many times I almost crash onto my face. They chuckle every time this happens, enjoying themselves quite a bit at my expense.
The little I can make out about my surroundings isn’t very helpful in narrowing down my location. I’m up on some kind of roof, judging by the flat expanse of poured concrete all around me.
The top level of a parking garage, perhaps?
No, that can’t be right. We’re not nearly high up enough for that. And there are no other cars anywhere in sight.
Where the hell are they taking me?
I’d ask, if not for the tape over my mouth. We reach a set of stairs and, evidently, even sociopaths have their limits when it comes to humiliation, because the Evanoffs stop playing their little Shove-the-Shelby game long enough for me to hobble down the steps. I keep my eyes on my feet to avoid falling face first down the flight, noticing belatedly that I’m leaving bloody footprints behind on the cement with each unsteady tread.
Funny. I can’t feel any pain at all.
At the bottom of the stairs we come to a shaded space, completely out of the hot sunshine. It takes me a moment to realize we’re now underground, standing in what appears to be the foundation of a large industrial building site. A project in the early stages of production, from the looks of it. Construction materials are littered everywhere, from cement mixers to excavation machinery to blasting explosives.
I guess this explains where they found the ingredients for their bomb…
Heavy steel beams lay in neat horizontal stacks, the bones of a building’s future skeleton. Fifty feet away, a half-poured elevator shaft rises upward out of the earth. I can’t help thinking it’s the picture perfect place to commit a murder.
No one around to hear your victim scream, and a pre-dug grave so deep no one will ever find the body.
A sudden sound from my left sends my head swiveling around— the sharp rap of approaching footsteps, echoing in the vast space like gunshots. My eyes drag from the source of the sound — a pair of ultra-shiny black shoes — up the navy suit, all the way to the heavily-bearded face of a man whose picture I have studied in so many case file photographs and FBI mugshots, I could probably draw it from memory.
He’s older than his pictures. His beard has gone gray, his dark eyes are slightly sunken in to his shrewd face. But it’s him. Of that, I have absolutely no doubt.
At my back, I hear both Evanoff brothers shifting on their feet, standing a bit straighter as their boss comes to a stop about ten feet away. His eyes are locked on my face, full of cold curiosity.
“Niece,” Alexei Petrov says in an empty voice.
I begin to shiver despite the hundred degree day. Of all the things I expected him to say to me, ‘niece’ was not one of them. Hell, it wouldn’t rank even in the top hundred things I expected him to say. (Mostly because I figured he’d pull out his gun and put a bullet in my head without saying anything, but also because, last I checked, he wasn’t too pleased with either me or his nephew.)
His eyes move past me to the men standing at my back. “Why is she injured, Viktor?”
“Alexei…” Lefty sounds nervous. It freaks me out. I didn’t even think it was possible for someone like him to get nervous. “We knew she would struggle when we removed her from the safe house. Rather than draw unnecessary attention… I thought it best we keep her silent for the journey.”
Alexei says nothing for a long time. He merely stares at Lefty — Viktor — as his nostrils flare with rage, until the man is practically squirming by my side. He physically flinches when Alexei takes a step forward.
“She is married to a Petrov,” he says in a searingly chilly voice. “You do not spill family blood without my permission.”
“I’m sorry, boss. After the beating you had us give her husband, I didn’t think you’d care if we roughed her up a bit…”
“My nephew is a separate matter. He stepped out of line and needed to be punished accordingly. However, I do not punish the innocent without cause.” Alexei’s eyes slide to mine. “I am not a monster.”
I could laugh.
I don’t, since I value my life… But I could.
Because Alexei Petrov telling me he’s not a monster is like hearing a fire-breathing dragon who’s just roasted a whole village alive swoop down on the destruction he’s unleashed and tell the sole survivor that he’s innocent of any wrongdoing… before eating him in one bite.
A thousand images flash through my mind — all the horrendous crime scenes he’s had a hand in, every mob-hit this man has ordered. Every awful thing he’s done over his four-decade reign of terror. All the lives he’s ruined, whether directly through his actions or indirectly, through the sale of illegal arms, drugs, and trafficking victims.
I suppose it’s par for the course: true monsters never see themselves as such.
Alexei takes a few more steps until only a handful of feet separate us. At this proximity, his dark eyes are even more expressionless.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks lowly.
I hesitate a beat, then nod.
“Good.”
At that, he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a switchblade. I start to panic, backpedaling straight into an Evanoff-shaped wall. They clamp down on my shoulders, holding me still with viciously tight grips that halt my struggles. Subdued, all I can do is watch with wide, terrified eyes as that knife swipes out toward me…
And slices cleanly through the zip-tie around my wrists.
I’m so stunned to be, well, breathing, I barely have time to brace myself as Alexei reaches up and rips the duct-tape off my mouth in a harsh tug that makes me gasp in pain. Tears spring to my eyes. It takes all my strength to keep them from falling; to straighten my spine and shake off the bruising grip on my shoulders.
When our eyes meet again, Alexei nods his approval. “Now, then. We have much to discuss.”
I simply stare at him, unsure of what — if anything — he expects me to say.
Hey, nice to meet you! Thanks for having your thugs kidnap me, dragging me to this creepy murder site, and generally just scaring the shit out of me. Bygones!
“You’ve been married to my nephew for nearly a decade,” Alexei says. “Is that correct?”
I nod.
“And, during that time, were you aware of his connection to the Petrov family?”
I shake my head.
“And are you INCAPABLE OF SPEECH?”
His sudden switch from murmur to roar makes me flinch along with both Evanoffs. The scream strikes the air like a thunderclap, hits the far walls, then echoes back at us like a shout from a disembodied ghost.
“N-no, sir,” I force myself to say, doing my best not to cower. Or cry. “Quite capable.”
“Good.” He’s back to normal volume, as though the outburst never occurred. “Now. Do you know why you are here?”
My mind spins as I consider how much I should reveal. Honestly, I never expected to live this long if confronted with Alexei Petrov. Thus, I’ve never before considered what I’d say or do if I someday found myself in his — it must be said — super freaking intimidating presence.
Given the fact that even Righty and Lefty are damn close to peeing their pants every time he glances their way, I decide it’s best to keep things as vague as humanly possible. The less I say, the lower the odds of pissing him off.
I think.
Maybe.
“My patience is expiring rapidly,” he informs me. “If you are honest with me, you have nothing to fear.”
Nothing to fear except literally everything about this situation.
I take a steadying breath. “I know Paul has gotten himself into trouble at work. But until a few days ago, I didn’t even know he’d left his job at the consulting firm.”
“You weren’t aware he was working for me?”
“Forgive me, but… I didn’t even know who you were until a few days ago. Paul didn’t tell me about his family connections.”
Alexei ponders that for a while, seemingly weighing my words for truth. “Paul was not raised as a Petrov. My sister took him from Russia when he was a small child. If he had been raised in Moscow, I would’ve reared him in my own image. He would be a man. He would run the family business by my side.” His eyes narrow a shade. “Instead, he was raised here. And so he is still a boy. Soft. Weak. Spineless.” He spits on the ground to emphasize his point. “And yet, the Petrov blood runs in his veins. I have no sons of my own. So when he reached out to me several years ago and confided about his money problems, I was happy to offer him a position working for the family.”
“That was…” I search for something safe to say. “Very gracious of you.”
“Yes, it was.” His lips flatten into a harsh line. “But my nephew did not repay my kindness with loyalty. After only a year, he told me he no longer wanted any part in the family business. That he wanted to be a better man. Do you know why that is?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
His eyes sharpen like knives. “For you.”
I suck in a breath.
“You say you had no knowledge of the Petrov family. And yet, despite your ignorance, it seems you still managed to convince my nephew to abandon his obligations to it.” He pauses heavily. “I find that… curious.”
With effort, I keep my voice steady. “I assure you, I view family as the most important thing in this world. I would never encourage my husband to cut off communication with you, or anyone in his family.”
“His mother assured me of the same thing many years ago… just before she fled Russia with her young son.” Alexei’s eyes are very, very cold. “Perhaps, if I’d trusted my instincts about Ekaterina, all this may’ve been prevented.”
Oh, boy.
This isn’t going very well.
This isn’t going very well at all.
“During my nephew’s last trip to Russia, your husband stole something from my estate. Something very precious to me. I believe he smuggled it back on my private jet and brought it home with him. Home to you, niece.” There’s a pregnant pause. “Do you happen to know what object I’m referring to?”
And this is where it gets tricky…
Do I lie and tell him I know nothing?
If I do… he’ll have no further use for me. He’ll most likely kill me and dump my body down the elevator shaft for the construction workers to find whenever work on this building resumes.
Do I tell him I know exactly where his precious Egg is hidden?
If I do… he’ll probably be so angry, he’ll kill me on the spot and dump my body inside one of the cement mixing vats for a wacky take on Han Solo in Carbonite.
Shelby Hunt in Cement!
Neither option sounds particularly appealing to me. In fact, they sound about as appealing as walking through a field of unexploded mines. Blindfolded. In six-inch heels. While drunk.
“Well?” Alexei prompts.
I make a split-second decision, praying it doesn’t get me killed. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but… Paul and I have been having some marital problems. He was traveling frequently, working all the time, and… well… it put a strain on our relationship.” I let tears glisten in my eyes, praying they appear convincing. “We haven’t been spending much time together lately. So, if he did steal something from you… I’m afraid I’d be the last person he would confide in.” I swallow hard, trying to make my voice upbeat. Innocent. Not like I’m lying my face off. “But I have hope things can get better between us. For the past few months, he’s been giving me the most beautiful gifts — trying to make up for his absence.”
There’s a long, silent beat. “What kind of gifts?”
“Oh! Flowers and chocolate, of course. Some lovely pieces of jewelry. And the prettiest little paperweight to keep on my desk in the study.”
“This paperweight.” His eyes gleam with interest. “Could you describe it for me?”
Yes. Take the bait, you bastard.
I tilt my head, as though recalling distant information. “It’s gold and oval-shaped, with lots of little gemstones all over it. Really beautiful. I don’t know where he bought it, but I’d love to find another one someday.”
Alexei’s eyes shift to the Evanoff brothers. “I thought you searched the house.”
“We did!”
“And?”
“I swear, boss — we looked but we didn’t find it.” Righty sounds like he’s about to shit himself. “She’s lying. She’s stashed it somewhere.”
I flinch. “Lying about what?”
“You know exactly what, you manipulative bitch!” Lefty lurches at me. “Where did you stash it? Tell us!”
“Why would she lie?” Alexei asks softly. “She may not know the value of a good paperweight. However… the two of you do.”
“Wait… are you saying… you think my paperweight is stolen property?” I keep my brows high, as though I have no idea what’s happening. As if I don’t know precisely where his precious Egg is — somewhere very far from my study desk, that’s for damn sure.
“It’s possible,” Alexei says noncommittally. His gaze moves back to the brothers, growing scarier by the second. “You assured me you searched the house from top to bottom. You expect me to believe you overlooked the Nécessaire when it was sitting out on a desk in plain view?”
“No, Alexei. It wasn’t there!”
Alexei doesn’t respond. He’s looking very displeased with his minions.
Excellent.
Maybe they’ll all kill each other and you can walk out of here scot-free.
HA!
A girl can dream.
“I assure you, Alexei. If the Nécessaire was there, we would’ve found it.” He pauses, his voice growing less confident. “Unless… Unless we somehow missed it… though I thought we were thorough…”
Alexei’s eyes narrow. “Or… perhaps you recognized its value and decided to keep it for yourselves.”
“No, Alexei.” Lefty falls to his knees, head bowed in subservience. His brother soon follows suit. “We would never betray you. On our honor, we are faithful to you and to the Bratva.”
Alexei lets them sweat it out on their knees for a long time, saying nothing. “Viktor, I see two possible scenarios, here. Neither is agreeable. Either you are incompetent, or you are a liar. I can afford to keep neither in my service.”
“Please. Give us another chance. Let us go back. We’ll search the house again. We’ll rip up every floorboard, if we have to.”
“And how will you do that, with the FBI watching our every move? They are monitoring everything in this cursed city. They’ve already discovered your hideout at the deli. They have my nephew in custody, thanks to your sloppiness!”
So Paul is safe, then.
Safe… and likely in handcuffs…
But I suppose handcuffs are still preferable to death.
“The FBI is stretched thin. They can’t cover every location at once,” Lefty says.
“And yet, they have driven us to do business out here—” Alexei gestures around at the construction site. “—like common thugs. It is an affront to the Petrov pride.”
Ah.
So that explains the creepy locale. No street cameras or surveillance.
Somewhere far overhead, I sincerely hope Evelson is watching via satellite. Like a bald guardian angel in a kevlar vest.
“Alexei, you have seen us operate in the past. We can get back into the Hunt house without detection.”
“Getting in isn’t the issue. It’s getting out again that will require a magic trick. The FBI will surround you within moments.” He pauses. “I myself am worried about accessing my jet. They will be staked out at the airport, as well.”
“It’s true enough that they’ll surround the house. But all we need is a suitable distraction. Something to occupy the FBI while we grab the Egg… and something to use as leverage for our extraction.”
“A distraction,” Alexei murmurs, interest peaked. “I assume you mean something similar to the Belarus incident last spring?”
“Exactly,” Lefty says, sounding pleased with himself. “And we already have all the supplies we need to build it right here. Just waiting to be put to good use.”
To build what, exactly?
Alexei’s eyes flicker to me. Goosebumps break out on my arms as his lips curl into an eerie smile. “That is… an intriguing idea, Viktor.”
“It will work. The FBI always prioritizes saving civilian life over anything else — even a criminal pursuit.” His words are intent, almost frenzied. “Give us this chance to prove our loyalty.”
“I really should kill you both for this display of gross ineptitude.” Alexi looks like he means it. “But I will grant you one more chance. If you can return the Nécessaire to me… all will be forgiven. If not…”
The threat hangs in the air.
“We won’t fail you, Alexei.”
“See that you don’t.” His eyes eventually move back to mine. “As for you, niece… I see no reason why you cannot return to your life. You will not be punished for my nephew’s mistakes.”
Oh, thank god.
He’s not going to kill me.
My relief is tempered by a strain of disbelief. I’m stunned that my plan actually worked. As Conor would say… it feels almost too easy.
A red flag is waving in the back of my mind.
Alexei Petrov is not an idiot. He did not rise to the top of the largest crime syndicate in Russia by playing fast and loose. He is a man of plans. Strategy.
Which is why I know it should’ve been far, far harder for the Evanoffs to convince him to agree to their half-baked plan. And far more difficult for me to convince him of my ignorance concerning the Egg.
Something isn’t right.
My suspicions are confirmed a heartbeat later, when Alexei smiles again. “You may return to your life… just as soon as you do us one small favor for us.”
There it is.
The catch.
All my hopes of escape, of survival, deflate instantly — hissing out of me like air from a balloon. I try to take a deep breath, but there’s a lump of nerves blocking my airway.
“You are family, after all.” His eyes gleam, as though he’s the only one in on a particularly amusing joke. “And what is family for, if not to help in times of need?”
“Right,” I say weakly, heart thundering. “Anything for family.”
You are not my family, you pretentious prick.
Alexei watches silently as the Evanoffs scramble to their feet. I try not to balk as they close ranks around me; as two very large sets of hands wrap around either bicep, squeezing hard enough that I see stars.
Alexei’s chuckle is cold as ice. “It seems we find ourselves in need of a rather… explosive… distraction. Just to keep the FBI agents occupied while Viktor and Vladimir retrieve my property. And you, dear niece, will be absolutely perfect…”