Chapter 40

Forty

K irill

My phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket to see a name I can't risk not answering. Leaning against the passenger door of the SUV, I glance at Dimitri, lifting my hand to indicate I need to take this.

He nods, pulling a toothpick from his back pocket to shove between his teeth as he scrolls his phone. But I know he's listening.

"Elio," I answer. "How are things in Chicago?"

"Chicago is good. Stable." His rough voice sounds like he smokes a pack or two a day, even though I'm not sure the Don of the Cosa Nostra has ever smoked a cigarette in his life. The man is fit, his body a temple that, from my research, knows only sex and is deprived everything else. The guy doesn't even drink. He did, however, get shot in the throat ten years ago. He's lucky to have walked away with his life, but what he never did regain was a smooth voice.

What he did to the man who shot him—his own father—is how he got his nickname. The Butcher.

"Good." I don't ask why he's calling. He'll get to it.

"How's the new house? I hear it's charming ."

I grin a slow, methodical grin. "Are you checking up on me, Elio?"

"I check up on everyone."

"And you want me to know it." I speak the obvious.

"Your wife is a beautiful little thing," he says. I stiffen. Elio may be an ally, but I'm no fool. He's a dangerous man, his methodical lunacy on par with Ilya's. "She is home now, no?"

"What the fuck are you getting at, Elio."

"You did not tell me she is Ivan Popov's daughter." The slow spill of his words tells me he's not happy about that omission.

"She was his daughter. Popov is dead."

"Semantics."

"How do you know she is his daughter?"

"Artyom increased the bounty he put on her, and I thought, why would he do that? Why does he care so much about this little wife you've stolen? So, I looked into it, and it didn't take long to discover her ties to our world. Artyom is her brother, and he wants her. In fact, I hear he has a buyer lined up. An Arabian prince of oil, if I'm not mistaken."

"We both know you're not mistaken," I grit. Elio is never mistaken. "What is the bounty?"

"Two million. The Arabian wants her alive." Elio sounds bored. I know he's anything but. "Apparently, Popov crossed him some time back, and he wants vengeance. He came for Artyom, but Artyom promised him the innocent, hidden daughter, of his enemy instead." He laughs. "I hear Artyom is getting desperate."

"Fuck." The curse slips, my fear leeching into the word.

"Do you have security on her?"

"Of course."

"Do they know how serious this is?"

"They will soon."

"I am in Oregon. The Yakuza have been spotted at a compound on the outskirts. If you help me, I will help you."

"Help you, how?"

"I need Ilya and his men," Elio says flatly. "In exchange, I will give you two of my best men. They will ensure Artyom's bounty is not collected."

"Done."

I hear his smile. "You don't need to call The Void?"

"He will do it."

"Tell him it would be nice if I had a number for him," Elio mutters.

"Ilya doesn't give his number out."

"I'm aware. But I'm a friend, no?"

I laugh. It's dark. I'm fucking livid. The next time I see Artyom, he won't survive me. "You are no friend, Elio. You're The Butcher ."

"That I am." He sighs, and it crackles over the line. "You let me know when Ilya is here. Until then, I'll send two of my men to you."

I swallow hard. "Thank you."

"You're too public a figure to have a wife wanted by this many bad men," Elio warns me. "You should have sold her to someone who could protect her, keep her hidden. Someone who lives in the shadows of the world in which she was born."

"She was never a part of that world."

"Maybe not. But there is a very real possibility she will die under the spotlight you've cast her in."

"It's done," I say, thinking of my wife—and how I will never, ever let her go. "It can't be undone."

"If you change your mind, you let me know. I know a man who would take her—keep her safe. She'd live a peaceful life, untouched by this."

"If he is a man you know, Elio, she would be just as touched."

"No," Elio grits. "She wouldn't."

I growl. "She's mine."

"She is good. To her core, she is good. I've looked into her as I've looked into you. The woman hasn't done an evil deed in her life. Is your love worth her spilled blood?"

"Her blood won't be spilled if your men are as capable as you say." I'm coiled tight, ready to burst. "And I will lay down my own life before I let even a hair on her head be harmed."

"I was afraid you'd say that. It's a fool thing, a man in love." With that, the line goes dead.