“I—” she bites her lip and shakes her head. “You just have to trust me.” I scoff at her words as she zips up her makeup bag and grabs her phone and a small purse before brushing past me. I follow her to the door, but she doesn’t stop.
“Lydia.”
“I’ll be back.” She doesn’t turn her head as she says this, walking straight through the door and leaving me to wonder what the fuck is happening. I want to trust her, but now I really don’t. I’m scared for her safety, pissed that she won’t listen to me, and fucking crazy because I can’t do anything about it.
As I sit back on my bed, I get a text from someone. It’s Knox. This notification turns my desperation into a plan. And before even reading the text, I message him to have some of the boys who flew here a day early, follow Ms. Royce on her excursion this evening. He sends me a thumbs up in response, and then my phone begins to ring. It’s Knox again, and I still haven’t read his other message.
“Knox?”
“Romeo. I don’t think you saw my message, and I decided to call you because it’s too pressing to let you skim over.”
“What is it?”
“Lydia Royce was seen going into the Magdalin late last night.”
“The Magdalin? As in the spot speculated to be Bratva headquarters?”
“That’s the one.”
“What the fuck?”
“She remained there until the morning. We think she’s working with the Russians, but we aren't certain whether she’s a part of the Bratva or just doing their dirty work.” His words are fuel to a fire already beginning to spread throughout my body. Rage would be an understatement at this point. What the actual fuck have I gotten myself into, and who the actual fuck is Lydia Royce?
“Sir, we highly recommend that you don’t—” I hang up because everything else besides finding Lydia is bullshit. I need to know what the fuck is happening, and I have to know it from her. Before I can think straight, I’m loading myself up with weapons until I’m ten pounds heavier and storming out the door. Tonight, I will know the truth.
25
KIRA
It wasn’t easy, knowing that I’m risking my life and the peace newly restored between Romeo and me, to meet with a stranger. That number I texted last night left me a message when we landed. An address and very specific instructions of what I’m meant to say to the owner of the shop to get where I need to be.
I think my parents need my help. Surely, that’s why they’ve chosen to contact me this way. It wouldn’t make any sense besides that. But then again, this could be a trap, and I could be preying into the hands of someone far more sinister than the likes of the Bratva.
Still, it doesn’t really make sense. Why they left, why Koa shut me out immediately after, why they think I’d want to help them after everything they put us through. I’ve decided to blame them for my brother's death because it's all I could do. But the longer I’ve been on this mission, the more I’m convinced that the Bratva killed him. I can’t think about this now, not as I’m walking alone down the street at night.
Rain begins to fall, and I curse the skies for not giving me a warning before I left the stupid hotel room. It picks up just as I turn down a street to a place dingier than the one before. I think I’m downtown now, following the map where it tells me to go. Good thing there are so many covered awnings, or I may be soaked by now.
The rain is picking up just as I turn the last corner into an alleyway. Red brick on both sides, drain, splashing water down the middle like a tiny river. I step around some metal trash bins and head straight to the only door in the middle of the walkway. Small cement steps, cracked throughout, leading up to a dark metal door with a slot in it. I quickly make my way to it and knock three times.
The little eye door opens, and a man with bushy brows and beady eyes pears down at me.
“Hello, I’m here to meet Shadow.”
“Name.”
“Shadow.”
“No,madame…Yourname.”
“Oh, Kira Volkova.” The eye door closes, and the actual door opens. I step inside, out of the rain, shivering a bit though it's warm inside. Through a long walkway, I can see a very cozy coffee shop. A thick white stone fireplace resides in the corner, plants floating everywhere, couches that look well-loved along the walls, and little wooden tables with mismatched chairs scattered about the weathered wood floors. It smells incredible, like coffee and fresh croissants.
“Up.” A voice calls from behind, and I watch as a very short man hobbles down the step stool. I hadn’t noticed that he had already shut the door, locked it with a million deadbolts, and is now pointing to the staircase beside me. I tilt my head back down to him to clarify that’s where I’ll be going and not this very comfy café that I want to live in.
He grunts in response, and I take that confirmation that the former of the two options is the one he is ordering me to do. He walks past me, straight for the coffee shop. I wait until he comes back around the corner, a gold key, like the whistle I was gifted, in hand. He reaches up to hand it to me, and I take it quickly, not wanting to further sour his already unpleasant mood.
When he leaves me alone again, I know I must go up the dark steps. I begin to climb them, one foot in front of the other, trusting that even in the darkness, my feet will find the next step.
When I’m at the top, my eyes have adjusted enough for me to see the lock on the door. I stick the key in and twist it open, pulling the lock off the metal door and shoving it into my pocket. The door creaks open like it’s infested with rust, and I pull it the rest of the way. As I step up, I realize that it’s led me to the roof.