I grab a tissue just to rip it up.
“That little paw sticking out of that gap in the rubble.” My voice is hoarse. “I felt like I wouldn’t be able to breathe if I didn’t get that kitten out of there. Literally couldn’t breathe, you know what I mean?”
His chest rises more abruptly than usual. Just twitches. I won’t let him fuck me up again.
“I know what you’re thinking—the kitten was Freudian projection.”
I pause, surprised. I actually never thought of that before. How did I not think of that before?
“Yeah, you’re right. It seems so obvious—no, you’re right. I walk out of that hospital collapse like it’s nothing. All that time like it’s nothing. But then a few weeks later, we pass a tiny kitten trapped in rubble, and I lose my shit. Pretty suspicious, right?”
I focus on his strong hand, mind racing.Couldit be projection?
“Yeah, you think the kitten is me. Crying. And I rescue myself, and then I just sit there holding it, crying. But why would I sit in the road and cry if I rescued myself? That’s a flaw in your theory, 34, clever as it is.”
My blood races. Strangely, I feel better.
I straighten up. Do I honestly feel better, having talked about it? I pack up the cart. “Should we meet here tomorrow? Yes? Tomorrow’s good for you? Awesome.”
Chapter Four
Aleksio
The back doorof the storage warehouse is secured with a chain and padlock.
I smash the fuck out of it with a sledgehammer. This is the seedy part of Chicago. Nobody’s around—nobody that will care, anyway.
I slip in with Tito at my side. We’ve worked together, bled together, killed together for years, me and Tito. We don’t even have to signal, we just slip in, weapons out, and start clearing rooms. Five guys slip in behind us, quiet as night.
The choreography of crime has sunk deep into our bones.
Gunfire sounds from the front. Tito raises his brows. The point was for us to handle the fighting part, being that my brother Viktor is still injured.
We head up to find Viktor standing over ten men. They’re all on their bellies, arms outstretched. Viktor’s girlfriend, Tanechka, walks up and down the row of them. Tanechka and Viktor came out of the Russianmafiya. They know how to hold a room.
“So much for the intel about them being in back of the warehouse,” Tito mumbles, holstering his Luger.
I catch Tanechka’s eye and put my hand out, palm down. It’s our sign for Kiro, our lost baby brother, like patting a little boy’s head. Of course Kiro would be a grown man by now—twenty-one years old. My heart twists at the thought.
Kiro was just a baby in a crib, fat little arms waving, when they ripped him away. Sold him into a shady adoption ring, we later learned.
Tanechka nods and places a boot on one of the men’s heads. I never met him, but apparently she has. “Hello, Charles.”
“I’ll tell you where the cash is,” Charles says. “You can have it.”
“Is not enough.” Her Russian accent sounds extra harsh, and I wonder whether she’s doing it for effect. “You remember me?”
Charles says nothing. The correct answer would beyes. Nobody forgets Tanechka.
“You kept me in a little room. Prisoner, auctioning me off like eBay. You kept all those girls. You made them cry. You think all I want is cash? Cash is where we start. Can you guess where we end?”
The man says nothing.
My brother Viktor grins, stupidly, madly in love with Tanechka. Tito just leans against a wall, enjoying the show.
Tanechka demands cash, records, and communications equipment. She’s not going to kill Charles, but he thinks she will.
Any one of us could threaten him, but it feels good to leave it to Tanechka. He wronged her and a lot of other women. He probably has a thing against women.