38. Chapter 38

"Oh.

My.

God.

Can you pull over so I can drive?"

I ask Alexi, as my patience flies out the window along with my hair.

Why did this man have the windows down? Air conditioning, hellooo? Maybe he feared I'd throw up in his precious car without the fresh air.

He needn't worry.

There was no way I'd ever get car sick from the speed he was going.

"Why would I do that?"

he asks, and the calmness in his tone is infuriating.

If I hadn't seen him exhibit at least a little human emotion over the months that we've known each other, I'd swear he was a robot.

Maybe it was just a Russian thing? Though I was starting to wonder if his deadpan attitude had anything to do with what I've now dubbed his "long-lost love."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you drive like someone's dear old granny, and I'd like to make it there before somebody gets killed?"

I retort.

My nerves are getting the better of me, and it's making me even more bitchy than my usual bitchy.

Does he deserve my aggression? No, but what I said was true.

He does drive like a little old lady.

He releases a long, suffering sigh that can be heard even over the whipping of the wind blowing through the car, probably because he knows I'm on the edge of a cliff and is trying to breathe through the urge to push me off himself.

"He's not going to die, pevchaya ptitsa ,"

he says, but I watch the speedometer climb steadily as he applies pressure to the gas pedal.

That's the second time he's called me that, and I have no idea what it means, but it better not be Russian for "pain in the ass".

I reach for the button on the inside of the door, rolling up my window before turning to him.

"How can you be so sure?"

The new level of quiet in the car allows for the shakiness and uncertainty to be clearly heard in my voice, the fear of the unknowns beginning to bleed through the pent-up rage I've been harboring like a miser since realizing Deacon was taken.

He glances over at me to meet my eyes, and for a second, I'm about to screech at him to keep his eyes on the road, but with almost laser focus, he slides seamlessly through the other cars on the interstate, even through his peripheral vision.

"Because he has something to live for now besides revenge.

And something to lose,"

he adds the last part as if the loss of said thing would be worse than dying.

Maybe it is.

The overwhelming sadness I feel at the thought makes my heart ache for him.

If there's one thing I've come to learn about Alexi, it's that he may not say much, but what he does say is cryptic but telling.

I have a feeling most people get the former but not the latter.

Rolling up his window, we sit in a silence that's somehow both comfortable and tense as we speed down the highway.

A few minutes later, Alexi's cell goes off in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he glances at the caller ID before answering, not in English but in Russian.

So, not the FBI, then.

I let him conduct his business while I alternate between staring out the window and looking at the clock on the dashboard.

I still don't know exactly where we're going.

All Alexi said was that he had a rough idea and that we'd get more information on the way.

I assumed from contacts within the FBI.

Based on the low, raspy string of Russian coming through the other end of the phone, maybe not.

A few minutes later, Alexi hangs up with a word that sounds oddly like "speedo."

Usually, that would make me laugh.

Now, not so much.

Without taking his eyes off the road, he says to me, "Gaspari is indeed alive.

He's holed up in an old building just outside of Savannah that's being converted into loft space.

According to my contact, he's not alone."

I'm glad I'm already sitting down because the relief I feel at his last sentence would be enough to make my legs give out.

If he's not alone, that means Deacon's still alive.

We've still got time.

However, if the windows were still down all that relief would have somewhere to fly when he adds, "Deacon's father is there."

His father?? The Senator? "What? Why? What does he have to do with this?"

"Martin Hawkins was trying to hire someone to kill one of the men running against him for his senate seat, though we didn't know that someone was Gaspari until now.

I don't know why he's there now, but I'm sure we'll find out when we get there."

"Why haven't you called in the Feds?? SWAT? You know, the cavalry? Are they gonna meet us there?"

I ask, and the edge in my tone has returned full force.

He shakes his head.

" Nyet .

A full-scale invasion will only turn what's already a precarious situation into a shit show.

Gaspari will either kill everyone, including himself, or he'll run and go to ground.

The best way to end this in the way you desire is for only a choice few to know about it."

The way I desire.

He's got a funny way of describing murder.

Then again, from what I've learned of him, murder seems to be in his genetic pool.

I ask another question to take my mind off the idea of Dante killing everyone in the building.

"So, if you didn't call your brothers in black, who did you call? You were speaking Russian."

His brows pull together, and for a moment, I don't think he's going to answer.

Just when I'm about to turn and face the dark night outside again, he says, "Let's just say I have my own Deacon.

He just happens to live on another continent."

"If you already had a hacker in your back pocket, why do you need Deacon's help finding the music box?" I ask.

He lets out a low chuckle.

"I should've known he'd tell you about my little visit.

Considering he's helping me locate it and I need Merrick's help to get it, everyone would know eventually."

He briefly takes his eyes off the road again, glancing over at me.

"Deacon may be a hacker, but he's also considered one of the best fences in the country.

Between the two, he has his finger on the pulse of the criminal underworld in a way that most people don't.

He has a lot of connections, and those connections have connections.

Additionally, up to this point, my man in Russia has been unable to find her."

Her? That's an interesting way to describe an inanimate object like a music box.

"Don't you mean it ?"

I ask though I think I already know the answer.

I think I've known for a while.

"Isn't that what I said?"

he replies.

"No, you said her .

You said your man hasn't been able to find her .

Who's her?"

I know I'm being invasive, but considering the man probably has files on all of us tucked away in a safe somewhere, I don't really feel bad about it .

He glances down at the speedometer that's currently reading nearly 100mph.

In a low voice, barely audible over the engine's roar, he says, "My wife."

My eyes go so wide they nearly fall out of my face.

Wife?? Deacon never said anything about Alexi having a wife.

I'm positive he would've told me that.

Does he even know? When Alexi looks at me again, the sadness behind his eyes causes an involuntary lump to form in my throat.

I was right when I dubbed her the love of his life.

It's right there in his eyes.

I don't know precisely how long he's been searching for her, but it's clearly been too long.

Why is she hiding from him? Or was she taken by someone? If she did run, what made her do it? I've got so many questions, but before I can voice the next one, he's exiting the highway and pulling onto a dark road.

There are very few houses here and even fewer lights.

Dense woods line both sides of the narrow road, and the oaks are heavy with moss, which only adds to the feeling of being closed in.

If I were claustrophobic, I'd be freaking the fuck out right now.

As it is, I was raised in the south, and even though I was born with a violin in my hand and a silver spoon in my mouth, I still feel just as comfortable on a back road leading to nowhere as I do in a concert hall performing for hundreds.

Maybe more so.

The further we travel down the darkened road, the creepier the area becomes.

Who the hell would wanna build luxury apartments way out here? It isn't until I start to smell the distinct scent of marshy water that the answer to that question comes.

Regardless of how far from civilization the building is, if it's directly on the edge of the Savannah River, people will pay a pretty penny to live there.

Waterfront property is worth a fortune.

Within a few minutes, the car slows, and Alexi pulls down a roughly carved-out dirt road.

If the headlights hadn't shone on it, I would never have seen it, which I guess is the point.

Backing his car into the thick foliage, he turns off the engine.

"We have to walk from here.

Lower our chances of being detected.

Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

he asks before quickly answering his own question.

"What am I saying? Of course, you do."

He reaches into the glove box in front of me and pulls out a small pistol.

As he hands it to me, I'm surprised by how light it is.

Based on my only other experience with a gun, I expected it to be heavier.

While I move it around in my hands, he points to show me where the safety is, how to turn it off, and how to cock the gun.

Looking at me with grave eyes, he adds, "This time, aim for the head."

I nod.

I appreciate how blunt he's being.

I think he knows that if he handles me like glass, there's a good chance I'll break.

I also appreciate that, for all his brutishness, he hasn't once told me some dumb shit like to wait in the car while he takes care of it.

No, he just equips me with what I'll need to get the job done, should the opportunity present itself.

I don't know much about Russia or the Bratva, but I always thought the men liked their women subservient.

I guess they broke the mold when they made this one.

Alexi opens the car door, motioning for me to do the same.

We both get out, with Alexi removing his suit jacket and button-down shirt and tossing them into the backseat.

Wearing a black fitted t-shirt and slacks now, we close the doors as quietly as possible.

As he moves around the front of the car to my side, I'm able to see two full sleeves of intricately woven tattoos.

From what I can make out, they're beautiful.

I don't think I've ever seen him dressed in anything less than a full three-piece suit before, and it's no wonder.

Those tattoos are a lot to take in, the few on his knuckles and hands only hinting at what lay beneath the sleeves of his shirt.

I tighten my grip on the cold metal of the gun in my hand.

It makes me feel like some badass female character straight out of a movie.

As Alexi begins to walk, I follow, but before I can take more than a few steps, I notice my feet sinking into the ground a little.

I glance down and see that it's because of the spikes on my stilettos.

As near to the water as we are now, the ground is thick with mud and has the distinct smell of swamp.

I click my fingers once, getting Alexi's attention.

As he stops and turns to face me, I brace myself on the hood of his car before lifting one foot, then the other, snapping off the heel of each shoe.

Tossing them to the side, I reach down and rip the bottom of my dress off until it hits right at my knees instead of dragging on the ground.

Much better.

Feeling like Buffy at a vampire-infested prom, I look back up to signal to Alexi that I'm ready, only to find him smiling at me.

Well, as much as a man whose heart is currently in hiding can smile.

I give him a small one in return, and we start walking.

I don't know where the hell we're going, but he seems to, so I follow behind him, periodically glancing around to ensure no one is watching us.

Within minutes, a clearing starts to appear in the distance.

In the center sits a huge building that I'd guess was, at one time, maybe a mill or a factory of some kind.

It's clearly under renovation.

and several smaller buildings surrounding it are midway through the construction process.

Before we can reach the edge of the clearing, Alexi puts an arm out to stop me from going any further.

Reaching into his pants pocket, he removes something tiny, placing it in his ear.

As he begins to whisper something in Russian, I realize it must be a two-way earpiece.

Whoever his hacker person is must be on the other end, feeding him information.

They go back and forth for a few seconds, Alexi's words clipped and barely loud enough for me to hear, even standing right next to him.

That is until I see his entire body stiffen, and he lets out a very angry-sounding word that's clearly a rather vile curse.

My heart kicks wildly in my chest and I wait on pins and needles for him to tell me what the hell is happening.

When there's a lull in the conversation, he looks at me and says, "We may have a bigger problem than just Gaspari and Hawkins.

We may indeed get that shit show after all because there's a very good chance that my father is inside that building too."

His father? The mob boss? Whispering, I say, "What the fuck is your father doing here?"

He says something into the earpiece, then pauses to listen to the reply.

Finally, he says, "I believe Gaspari may be in possession of something that belongs to my father.

Clearly, he wants it back."

"FUCK!"

I whisper.

"Wait.

Maybe that's a good thing? Your father would help us, right?" I ask.

" Nyet .

I haven't seen him in several years.

In fact, I've done everything in my power to stay off his radar.

I have no doubt he'll be happy to see me, but not in the way you think.

He won't help us.

Not unless there's something in it for him."

He speaks a few more sentences into the mic.

After another moment, he says, "There were only three guards on site.

Two patrolling the grounds and one inside the building, probably guarding the door to wherever Deacon is being held.

If my father is in there, he won't be alone.

Which means there's a good chance those guards are already dead and have been replaced with ones of his own.

Either way, we're running out of time.

We have to move."

Just then, a shot rings out, echoing into the still night air.

My stomach jumps to the general vicinity of my throat.

Panic grips me, and I grab onto Alexi's arm.

I'm not sure if it's to steady myself or just for confirmation that he heard what I heard.

With hardened eyes and a set jaw, he says, "I think that would be our queue to take the safety off your gun now.

I don't want you to hesitate.

Shoot first and ask questions later.

I don't care if you can't see who it is or you don't know whose side they're on.

If it moves, shoot it."

Fear emanates from me, permeating the air around us.

Not fear for myself or what we're about to walk into but fear that we might already be too late.

Pushing past the terror that's turning my guts to jello, I nod.

He sets off, and I follow closely behind.

We skirt the edge of the clearing until we're close to one of the smaller structures being built.

Alexi holds up one, two, three fingers and points to the building.

Nodding, I wait until he counts again before following him quickly to the side of the building.

He presses his back to the wall so I do the same.

If you'd asked me a few months ago if I'd be playing Mission Impossible while trying to save the life of a man who's upended mine, I would've called you crazy.

We do this from one building to another until we're close to the main warehouse or factory or whatever the hell it is.

Alexi motions to a door on the side of the building.

It's only then that I notice there's a man standing guard outside.

Whether that's Dante's guard or one that belongs to Alexi's father, I don't know.

He holds up a hand in the universal gesture for "stay here."

As I watch, he slips into the shadows surrounding the building, effectively disappearing.

Even knowing he's there somewhere, I can no longer make out his outline.

That is until he reappears directly beside the man at the door.

Between one blink and the next, he reaches up, twisting the man's neck at an impossible angle, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort.

There's an audible cracking sound, and the guard collapses.

Alexi takes the brunt of his body weight before quietly lowering him to the ground.

With a curl of his index finger, he motions me over to the door.

We finally enter the building that, thankfully, isn't locked.

As I follow closely behind him, I can just hear the faint hum of speech coming from his earpiece.

His contact must be giving him information on the building and its occupants as we go.

I hold onto the gun with both hands now, my finger hovering over the trigger, just in case I have to lift and fire unexpectedly.

The interior of the building is dark, and there doesn't seem to be any electricity hooked up yet.

I wait for Alexi to produce a flashlight so we can see where we're going but he doesn't.

I assume it's because he thinks the light would give us away.

I take one hand off the gun, fisting it in the tail of his t-shirt as he moves, apparently able to see much better in the dark than I can.

Loud noises come from the ceiling above us—another gunshot and a thud, followed by a yell of pain.

My ears strain, trying to identify the source of the noise.

Is it Deacon or someone else? It didn't sound like him, but that could just be wishful thinking on my part.

I'm so focused on listening for more noises from above that I run directly into Alexi when he suddenly stops abruptly.

He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder before saying in a hushed tone, "Siren, if you accidentally shoot me in the back, I'm going to be very upset with you."

I grimace, whispering back, "Sorry.

I can't see where I'm going.

Why'd you stop, anyway?"

I see the vague outline of his arm lift as he points at something.

Blinking hard, I can just make out a flight of stairs directly ahead of us.

Ah, so that's why we stopped.

"Lead the way, boss,"

I say, saluting him with the hand still holding the gun.

I don't know why sarcasm is my default setting when I'm nervous.

I feel like I'm coming unglued at the seams, so naturally, I need to deflect with humor.

He quickly dips his head out of the way and, in a tone that I'm sure would equate to yelling if we weren't in a life-or-death situation right now, he says, "Jesus Christ, you're a menace.

Would you stop brandishing that thing around? And don't call me that."

"What? Boss?" I ask.

" Da .

I'm no one's boss."

The vehemence in his harsh whisper leaves no room for argument.

Whoops.

I may have struck a nerve.

Resting my hand on his forearm, I say, "Okay, okay.

I won't do it again.

Scout's honor."

I was never in the Girl Scouts, so I'm sure I'm not doing the sign correctly.

Even so, I salute him again, the cold steel of the gun barrel resting against my forehead for a brief second.

" Bozhe, pomogi mne ,"

He says under his breath.

Again, why do I get the feeling that he's calling me a pain in the ass? Lifting his hand, he grabs the gun, jerking it and my arm downward.

"You're gonna blow your damn head off and give away our position."

Click .

The sound of a gun that definitely isn't one of our own being cocked registers in my brain only a second before a heavily accented voice says, "I think it's a little late for that, prizrak ."

Alexi closes his eyes as if pained.

Slowly leaning my head to the side, I see a man with dark hair and even darker eyes pointing a gun at the back of Alexi's head.

He must've come down the stairs, and between not being able to see shit in here and the fact that Alexi is built like a tank, I never even saw the man coming up behind him.

I wince because if Alexi hadn't been busy preventing me from accidentally shooting one of us, he would've been facing the other way and probably detected the threat himself.

" Yebat' ,"

is Alexi's only reply.

I don't need a translator for that one because I feel like he and I are on the same page right now. Fuck .