She taps her chin lightly a few times. “Do we still have those files on the NYPD officers who are on Cardona’s payroll?”
“Kolya burned everything at the penthouse.”
“Dammit.”
I stare over her shoulder at the window, thinking hard. “But Stepan has a good memory. I’ll ask him what he remembers.”
“From there, we can track those men and see what invitations pop up in the mail. I have a feeling Cardona is going to want to make this a big deal.”
“Would you expect anything less?”
She chuckles. The sound is so disconnected from her usual demeanor lately that it’s almost scary. But the way her lips look turned up in amusement warms my heart.
She shakes her head. “A guy like him wants everyone to look at what he has.”
“Flashy, cocky, pompous—”
“Sounds like you.”
“Liya Suvorov.” I narrow my eyes at the amusement playing on her face, and choose to lift my teacup instead in response. “I don’t possibly know what you mean.”
Her smile grows. It’s less alarming now and more…normal.Shelooks normal.
I hope it lasts.
“Right,” she whispers. She blinks and looks away, shrugging back into the couch as if she’s been rattled out of a daydream. “He’ll want pictures. Something to remember his great plan.”
“Which means he’ll hire a photographer.”
Her eyes drift to her teacup. “Do you think we can plant a fake photographer at the wedding?”
“Among other things,” I reply. “We can organize an attack for the same day.”
She frowns. “Attack?” She shakes her head. “No, that’s a bad idea, Pavel.”
“This is our best chance to end him for good.”
“And what if Zoya gets caught in the crossfire?”
I cock my head to the right. “She won’t.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Pavel.” Concentration clouds her features as she stares at me. “He’ll expect an attack from you. I’m sure of it.”
“Then we strike fast. Faster than he can respond to.”
“The whole wedding will be locked down from start to finish.” She leans back. “You’d do the same.”
I scratch the back of my head. “And what would you suggest?”
Silence.
And then more silence.
And even more after that.
That fleeting sense of normalcy sputters out. I’m left huffing over the edge of the couch with my heart in my hands and a gaping wound in my chest. The chasm expands. The emptiness swallows everything in its path.
Even hope.