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I’ve barely slept in three days. Still, something she just said tickles my brain.

Shot first.

“It was retaliation. Your family shot first.”

Shot first.

When Milena got home that night, she was told that the Kalishnik Bratva was hitting back at my family as retaliation. That we’d “shot first”.

Except I know that isn’t the case. Not in the “it can’t be true” dramatic sense.

I mean I know goddamn wellit didn’t happen.

I was fresh out of Knightsblood University back then. Aldo was still my father’sconsigliere,but I was Dad's right-hand man; the crown prince sitting beside his father the king, learning how to rule the empire.

I knew every in and out of our various businesses. I was friendly with everycaporegime. I was intimate with every fucking detail of every fucking operation that went down. So when I say “that didn’t happen” in regard to our family starting a war with the goddamnKalishnik Bratva, one of the most powerful Russian families in New York, I mean I know in my verybloodthat it didn’t.

Because I’d have known if it did.

“Grande coffee and a triple espresso?”

I blink at Ms. Blue Hair as she passes me my coffees across the counter.

“Thanks… Actually, hold on. Do you have a phone I could use?”

She looks at me like I’ve got three fucking heads.

“Acellphone. I left mine at home, and it’s an emergency.”

“Uh…” She glances at the guy who was just training her, who’s also looking at me like I’m a fucking lunatic.

“You did hear me sayemergency, yeah?” I grunt. “Fuck it, here.” I yank out my wallet, pull out my Amex black card, and slap it on the counter next to the drinks. “Collateral. If I run off with your phone, there’s literally no limit on that. OK?”

The guy frowns. “Sir, I don’t know what this is?—”

“You can use mine.”

My eyes snap to the girl, holding her phone out to me.

“Next employee of the month, right here,” I grin, shoving the Amex card her way before I take the phone. “Relax, I won’t even leave the store.”

I text him a heads up that "unknown" is me. He texts back a burner number.

Kir picks up on the first ring.

“And who might Lenora Crofton be?”

“A very understanding barista,” I grunt. “I don’t have time to shoot the shit.”

Kir takes a slow breath. “And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I need to ask you one of those questions we agreed I’d never ask you.”

I can practically hear Kir's scowl. “Which one, specifically?”

“Who hired the mercenaries that night.”

Kir is silent for a few seconds. “C'mon, Nero. You know as well as I do that we never learned that. Someone powerful, obviously. Wealthy enough?—”