53. Mikhail

Stakeouts usually involve sitting in cramped cars for hours on end. A meal break for greasy fast food if I can spare the time.

But tonight is no normal stakeout.

For weeks, I've been working towards and waiting for this shipment of weapons to arrive. When Cerberus went up in flames, I wasn't sure we'd pull everything together in time to be able to handle the influx of product and cash.

Now, the ship is in the harbor and all the years of work are coming to fruition. I think that's deserving of a drink. Though I'd prefer to have it with my woman on my arm.

The rooftop bar is encircled with glowing heaters, fighting against the chilly air off the water. The harbor is lit up below. City lights glint off the surface of the Hudson.

"Your drink, Mr. Novikov." The waitress slides a glass in front of me and leaves a second one on the table. "And for your wife."

When the server first sidled up to my table, she flipped her hair and batted her lashes at me. She asked how a man like me could be drinking alone.

"Because my wife is running late," I told her succinctly.

The way she deflated gave me no small amount of joy.

But when the door to the stairwell opens at exactly seven o'clock, it's not Viviana walking towards me.

Raoul is nearly unreadable—he probably is to everyone else on the roof—but I know him. His shoulders are tense and his eyes dart nervously from right to left. He'd rather be anywhere else.

He sits down in front of Viviana's drink. "Is this for me?"

"Only if you want a mocktail. Where is Viviana?"

He examines the drink for a second before tossing it back. He grimaces. "Too sweet."

"Because it wasn't for you," I growl. "Where is Viviana?"

The plan was for Raoul to escort Viviana to the rooftop and then find a spot closer to the ship to make sure the delivery went off without a hitch. If he's here, it means something went wrong.

"At home. She told me to tell you… Fuck me… ‘Something came up.'"

I close my hand around my drink tight enough that the glass is in danger of shattering. Viviana hasn't left the house in a week. The only thing on her schedule was an appointment with Dr. Rossi, which I know went well because Dr. Rossi texted me, per my orders, as soon as Viviana left his office. She's pregnant and the baby is healthy. She should be thrilled. We should be celebrating.

"What came up?"

Raoul sighs. "If I had to guess, she's pissed you didn't make it to the appointment."

I fling my arms wide. "I've been a little fucking busy."

He nods in agreement and… there it is. I've been busy keeping the Bratva running and making sure six years' worth of work didn't go down the drain, and Viviana is mad I missed one appointment.

I'm barely sleeping to make sure she and Dante are safe, but she's going to stand me up because I couldn't escort her to the doctor's office one goddamn time.

"Fucking pregnancy hormones," I grumble. I tip back the rest of my drink and start towards the exit. "If you want to take over the watch, I can go drag my wife out of bed and?—"

"I think it'll turn out for the best. Viviana wouldn't want to be here for this next part."

Raoul meets my eyes for only a second before he looks away. He wasn't nervous to tell me about Viviana.

There's something else.

I lower my voice. "What's wrong?"

He looks past the rooftop to the harbor below. "I got a call from our contact with the Port Authority on my way into the city. Our shipment is… Fuck me, this one is worse… It's gone."

I whip around and squint towards the water as if I'll be able to see cartoon burglars making their way down the gangplank with burlap sacks of my money slung over their shoulders. "Gone. As in… Fuck. You're positive?"

"I confirmed it on my way up. The ship was intercepted. Someone cleaned it out."

Fuck.

I turn to face him. "You know who took it."

He sighs. "I do, yes. So do you."

"Fucking Christos," I snarl. "How?"

Almost no one knew about this plan. I didn't even tell Viviana more than the broad strokes of it. We kept it tight so this wouldn't happen.

"I have a lead," he admits. "I can follow up on my own if you'd rather deal with Viviana."

I shake my head. "Viviana isn't going anywhere. I want to meet the dead man who double-crossed me."

A little bloodshed usually clears my head, but each time my fist connects with the man's shattered jaw, I see Viviana. I see Dante. I see the last weeks of my life flutter away like a tearaway calendar in a movie montage.

"Weeks—months—years of my life spent on this business strategy. Buildings were burned and purchased to make this deal happen. Millions of dollars invested with some of the most powerful men in the world standing behind this shipment." I shake my head and grab the man responsible for tonight's fuck-up by his bloodied collar, lifting him onto his toes. "And you sold the info to Christos for twenty fucking grand?"

Raoul suspected a rigger on the cargo ship was to blame immediately. We paid him fifty thousand—more than his annual salary—to falsify the shipping reports. Then James turned around and pocketed another twenty to sell everything he knew to Christos Drakos.

"He tortured it out of me," he whimpers, looking from me to Raoul. "I didn't want to tell him."

"Then you shouldn't have told him," Raoul intones simply.

I drop James on the floor. He falls on his already-broken femur and screams. It doesn't matter. No one is around to hear him. No one who will save him, anyway.

I pace around him. "You're lying to me."

He pulls in his good leg, trying to draw himself in tight. Like the fetal position will save him. "I'm not! Christos tortured me! He?—"

"If he'd tortured the information out of you, you'd be dead," I growl. "You would have given him what he wanted and he would have snipped you like the loose end you are. He wouldn't have paid you off."

His eyes go wide and I know I'm right.

"What happened," I explain slowly, drawing a knife out of my back pocket, "is that you got greedy. You thought you could make even more money by working as a double agent."

He shakes his head. "No. I wouldn't?—"

"You would. You did. The question now is, Why?" I slowly carve the knife through the air and the dramatics are paying off. James can't look away from the blade.

Finally, he snaps. "My son!" he blurts. "He's sick. My son is sick. He needs treatment and it's expensive. I thought—I thought I could make enough money to heal him."

"A sick kid?" I frown. "Was there a cat stuck in a tree, too? Or maybe there was a bomb under the hospital and Christos would kill all the invalids if you didn't tell him about the shipment."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"No, you're not," Raoul drawls behind me. "You are single with no family in the city. No wife, no children. You've worked on the ship for six months and were on construction before this. Originally from Atlanta. Your parents are Harold and Janine."

He blinks at Raoul, dumbfounded. "How did you?—"

"We chose you because you have no ties to the city." I kneel down, the knife wedged under his chin. "We chose you because no one would miss you. Because you are expendable."

"Please. Don't." He's shaking. The smell of urine fills the air and I wrinkle my nose, but don't draw away.

I sigh. "Poor James. You were hand-selected because you would be easy to kill and dispose of if it came to it. Unfortunately, that's exactly what it's come to."

Tears stream down his cheeks. "Please… you can't."

"Remember your fake son—the one who's dying? Well, I have a real son. And a real wife. A family, James. Tonight, you put all of them at risk."

"I'm sorry," he sobs. "I didn't know."

"I know." I nod, tossing the blade behind me. It clatters across the floor. "But now, you do."

He looks hopeful for a second. Then I drive the heel of my boot into his nose and give him every ounce of what he deserves.