Eighty-Five

She was trapped.

Sabrina offered Estefan a cool smile, even as her brain scrambled around looking for a way out. The windows were out; even if they weren’t locked, they were bulletproof. The door was just as solid. Oak veneer over something that felt as heavy as a bank vault. No way was she shooting her way out of here.

Keep ’em talking, darlin’. This one likes the sound of his own voice even better than I do.

“I get it. Lydia rejects you, Michael outpaces you at every turn … they had to be punished.” She shrugged a bit, turning to the side so she faced the vanity she’d backed herself up against. “What I don’t get is your dad.” She cast a quick glance in the mirror to catch his refection. What looked back at her from the mirror hardly looked human, it was so twisted with rage. She kept talking as though she didn’t notice, distracting him while she worked her fingers into the space between her wrist and the bracelet Michael had given her.

“What do you mean?” he said, his tone innocent even as the corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless grin.

“Sergey Filatov.” She found the button on the underside of the bracelet and pushed it, releasing the clasp. “You kidnapped someone very important to him and had him murdered and then left him in that house for me to find.”

“Involving you was Pia’s idea.” He gave a dismissive shrug. “She insisted we dump him on your doorstep so that when you died, Michael would blame himself. She’s very angry with him.”

Pia Cordova. The daughter of the man Michael had killed in Spain. “The two of you are partners?”

Now he smiled at her. “We have similar goals—kill our fathers and make Michael suffer.”

“Who was the boy?” She took another look in the mirror to find him watching her. Something behind him caught her notice; the motion sensor attached to the camera mounted in the corner was dark. The camera itself was still—the blinking red light that announced its presence was off.

Someone had killed the cameras.

Estefan was still talking, and she looked at his reflection. “ … nephew. The son of Viktor, Filatov’s little brother. My father had Viktor killed last year when their negotiations over territories turned sour. When I saw the boy, I knew he would be a stone that would kill many birds.”

She found the release button on the underside of the bracelet and pushed it, its titanium links dropping into her palm. She held it for a moment, heart hammering against her sternum. She would only have one shot. She had to make it count. “Filatov was your plan B. If Michael failed, Filatov would come after your father as soon as he found out that his nephew was found dead in your father’s drop house.”

“The plan was flawless …” Estefan’s gaze flickered downward, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was doing with her hands. “Until I realized that you somehow managed to stop the boy’s identity from being released.”

She turned toward him, facing him instead of his reflection, the end of the bracelet held in her fist while the rest of it lay across the outside, secured by her thumb. She hadn’t noticed him move but he must have. He was standing closer now. Close enough to touch her. “What can I say? I’m a ruiner.”

He gave her another shrug, this one saying that her inference was of little consequence. “What have you got there, Sabrina?” He glanced down at her hand, caught the flash of silver and he reached for it, causing her to flinch away. He smiled. “You fear me,” he said as if the thought pleased him.

“Fear you?” She shook her head, casting a casual glance down at her titanium-wrapped fist. “An hour from now, your father will be dead. As will you,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt.

“Can I tell you a secret, Sabrina?” He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against her face. “Cartero isn’t your savior any more than he was Lydia’s. Cartero is dead … Did I happen to mention how angry Pia was with him?”

The words hit her hard. Not because she believed them, but because he did. Estefan believed with every fiber of his being that Michael was dead. Panic rose, all sharp teeth and blinding speed, and for a moment she was frozen.

You don’t need him, darlin’. Not when you got me …

She hardened herself, shut off the part that wanted to scream. Instead she smiled, dropping the sharp end of the bracelet, the links clicking together as gravity did its job, forming a short metal pike gripped in her fist. A fast glance over Estefan’s shoulder told her that the cameras were still off. Either he had them turned off to hide what he’d come here to do to her, or Church had kept her promise to bring the cavalry.

Either way, it was time to go.

“It hardly matters, Estefan,” she said, matching his tone perfectly. “Because Michael was never going to be the one to kill you.” She whispered the words, soft and quiet, leaning into him like a lover. “That’s my job.”