7. Alik

7

ALIK

R oman waits for me with the car running in the parking spot we agreed on. As soon as I’m in the car, he pulls away.

I feel his eyes on me but don’t look his way.

“That was too fast,” he comments.

“I’m efficient.”

“Nikita didn’t want efficient ,” Roman says, although his tone isn’t scolding.

No, he didn’t. I didn’t do even close to what he wanted.

But… Jesus Christ, if this isn’t an opportunity worth taking, then Nikita really has gone insane.

“Did you get proof of death?” Roman asks, starting to sound impatient.

I turn to him with my eyes narrowed. “Proof of death? Since when is that a requirement?”

“Since I’m not positive that bitch is dead.”

I face forward and don’t reply. I’m not stupid. If I get caught keeping this from Nikita again, I won’t have a life to spare, but I don’t owe Roman shit.

He stops at a red light and swats his blinker on. “ Alik .”

“Why are you turning? The warehouse is straight.” I gesture up the road, but when the light turns green, Roman takes the turn.

“We’re not going to the warehouse. I’m taking you home.”

“What? My car is still at?—”

“I don’t care,” Roman grits. “You’re not showing back up at the warehouse right now when that job should’ve taken you much longer.”

I sigh. “Roman, it’s not going to matter. I need to talk to Nikita.”

“Because she isn’t dead.” His voice is monotone. It isn’t a question.

When I don’t answer, he swerves the car off the road and slams on the brake, sending me jolting forward until I tense. When he throws the car in park, he turns to me with his nostrils flared.

“I understand putting her down mercifully, but do you want to die? Because if that’s what you want, I can take care of that now.”

My lips spread on a dry laugh. “You truly believe you’d be capable of touching me without me holding still for you?”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” He stabs a finger in my direction, his eyes wide enough that my smirk falls.

Is he concerned for me?

Roman ?

“I have an explanation.”

He shows his palm, looking like he’s about to slap me. “Let’s hear it.”

“She’s going to the police to turn in evidence against the Irish.”

His wide eyes constrict as his nose creases. “Huh?”

The video she showed me plays in my mind, and I try not to remember the release I felt in my chest when I saw it. Once again, Olive gave herself a way out. And me a way out.

She still has to die. But I don’t need to be the one to do the job, and at this point, I won’t deny myself the relief. Something about her fucks with my head. Good riddance.

“She assumes she wound up at that drug house the other night because of some ex-dealer she used to hang around. She’s trying to get him out of the picture, so tonight , she filmed him picking up his supply from the Irish. She has intel on them, and she should be giving a written testimony of it any minute.”

“How do you know she isn’t giving a written testimony about you? You showed up to kill her twice, and I noticed you didn’t choose to wear a mask this time. She’s a witness to your crimes, dumbass, and if she’s willing to snitch on them, she’s willing to snitch on you.”

My lips stay sealed while I try to think of a response to that. He would have a point if there was any evidence I’d tried to kill her, but there isn’t. She doesn’t even know I’m Russian. She thinks I’m her protector .

But that piece of information only makes me look like a pussy. The way Roman’s face neutralizes from irritation makes me think he knows the situation anyway.

“She has no idea what you were here to do,” he realizes aloud.

“I’m her neighbor. She has this sense of familiarity that’s breeding false trust. I used it to our advantage.”

“Yeah.” He leans back and nods a few times too many to be sincere. “I bet you did.”

With a frustrated exhale, I gesture to the road with the swat of my hand. “Look, it doesn’t really make a difference what you think anyway, so why don’t you get me back to the Pakhan so I can give him the situation.”

“No.”

“Why?” I grind out, this car suddenly feeling too small.

“Because you are not a fucking lieutenant. ” He thrusts his hands at me to punctuate each of his words. “Get that through your fucking head.”

I scoff and pull my gun from my waistband, my lip curling as I stare him down. I take the gun by the barrel and hold it out for him. “If I’m so disposable, then dispose of me.”

He doesn’t reach for the gun or even take his eyes off me. “Twice in one night? Don’t you feel that’s a bit much?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you feel the constant threats to my life are a bit much? Because I’m growing tired of them.”

“I’m not interested in disposing of you, you idiot.” He closes his eyes and puts his hand to his temple like my life causes him such a headache.

Why did Roman have to be the one to come? I would’ve preferred Sergey. Or Maksim. Or any other person.

“Here’s what we’re going to say.” He lowers his hand and looks at me. “You and I jumped her while we were both wearing masks. She had the video footage on a camera in her purse, and while you were undressing her, like Nikita told you to do , I found it. She told us what she had planned. I told her if she went through with it then we’d spare her. You did not say shit. You did your job like the good errand boy you are and didn’t make any executive decisions.”

“Then what?” I ask, my voice cold and accusing.

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What are you going to say when he still wants someone to take care of the girl? Are we truly sparing her life?”

His eyes narrow. “We both know the second the Irish catch wind of this, she’s dead.”

“Right, that’s the idea, but Nikita?—”

“Let me worry about Nikita.” He eyes me up and down while his brow furrows. “What does it matter to you anyway?”

I face forward and try to answer the question for myself. I do know the answer, but I don’t understand it.

It matters because if the Bratva gets their hands on her, her death will be brutal. Everything I pictured in my mind tonight will become her reality, and it will have been better if I’d just killed her mercifully in that alley. If the Irish do it, it will be a quick bullet to the head that she won’t even feel and may not even see coming. They have their style. We have ours.

“Why does it matter to you ?” I ask, partially to steer the conversation another direction and partially because I’m confused as to why he’s doing this. “Why are you helping me?”

I watch him carefully, expecting him to spout off some shit about brotherhood and sticking together. If it were someone else, I might buy it, but not with Roman. There’s always another motive.

His face turns to stone. I guess he isn’t going to fake a heart-to-heart, after all. “As much as I think Nikita would slit your throat for walking down the wrong street, I’m not stupid. I know you’re his little spy, and he’s had you following me.”

It’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes at the disdain in his voice. I am the errand boy who is to do whatever he’s told unless, of course, it doesn’t benefit Roman. Then I should go rogue.

“Good, you’re not denying it.” He nods once, but I don’t miss the way a knuckle pops as he flexes his fingers. “I want to know how you’re tracking me. Maksim said you had a device on his car, so I’m assuming there’s one on mine as well… Is that all?”

I don’t answer. It isn’t that I’m not willing to tell him, but everything with Roman feels like a test. I like to think things through.

“Seriously?” His eyes widen. “After everything I’m willing to do for you, you’re not willing to tell me how you fucking track me?”

“It depends on why you want that information and what you’re planning to do with it.”

His hands curl over the wheel as he faces forward and seems to center himself. When he speaks next, his voice is hard. “Next Thursday, I’m going to be out of town. You will not follow me, and if Nikita asks you to report to him, you’ll say everything is business as usual.”

I consider this for a few moments, eyeing Roman’s tense body language. He’s a confident man, but he almost looks nervous. Whatever he’s doing must be important.

“Done.”

With a sigh, he nods and starts the car. We drive to my apartment in silence, and the first thing I do without being consciously aware I’m doing it is check to see if Olive’s light is on. Her apartment is dark.

Roman parks in front of my building. When I get out, I hesitate to close the door.

I don’t like this man. Our contempt goes back to the years before my scar, back when his brother was one of my best friends. One of my only friends.

He’s an asshole, but I owe him for tonight. I lean in and point to the watch on his wrist. “Be careful with gifts. Sometimes, there are strings attached.”

And sometimes, there are tracking chips embedded in them.

He looks at his watch—identical to the other gold bands Nikita gifted to his lieutenants—with his brow furrowed as I shut the door and head up to my apartment, wondering when Olive might be home. Or if she’ll ever be home again.