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“Did I steal your thunder?”

“No, you actually stepped on it.” He stops, turning to face me. Immediately his guards stand to attention, all of them reaching for weapons in their coats. Adil raises one hand and they return to their impassive, stiff stances. “Why are you here?”

“To celebrate the birth of our lord and savior, Jesus Jones.”

“Your candor would be far more refreshing than your humor.”

“Why did you bring my brother with you?”

“Ah, so he told you. I did not bring him. Ghost is away on a mission.”

“Well, that answers my question.” I turn suddenly, sucking in my stomach to dodge between two of his men. They let me leave, the cadre moving on toward Pyotr’s entourage.

My mind is racing.

Adil doesn’t know he’s here.

No senses alerting them to the fact that it probably means my rogue twinsie is planning to eliminate all of his problems in one fell swoop. I’m off down a hallway, checking doors, bathrooms. There’s no good way to do this. The place is too big.

In the movies, the bomb would be in a van in the garage, or in the elevator shaft. Fyo already cleared those.

I’m gasping after fifteen minutes and three floors of hallways. No sign of Vanya. No sign of Ero.

“Think, scatterbrain! I need a hint, a freaking miracle!”

I’m leaning against the wall when I see a cart go by, stacked high with boxes, note cards. A cart. A dolly. I don’t even know how big the damn thing might be.

But he had to have brought it in somehow. Maybehe’sthe bomb.

Nah.

If I know my brother…

I’m walking across a bridge across the party below when it hits me.

I stop dead in the middle of a group of older rich Russians, interrupting their conversation. Reaching to my right, I snatch a glass of bubbly right out of someone’s hand. Pound it back.

“Loshad’ mochi perkhoti! Horse. Peehole. Dandruff.” Every one of them looks at me like I just slapped them. That’s what they get for having the worst curse words in Russia.

I suppose I could have said “eureka.”

But that’s not the point. The point is,I know my brother.

We shared a womb, a room, bunk beds. No one knows how he thinks better than me. And if there is one thing I know about Ero that has not changed, ever, it’s that he is vindictive.

Not in the “I’ll get you back for that in some passive aggressive sort of way” vindictive. It was always overkill. I throw red dye in his laundry, he runs me off the road into a vat of red paint on the back of a barge in the Hudson.

I take off at a run, heading for the nearest elevator.

The stitch in my side is still aching as I hit the button and wait. On the second floor, recovered for the moment, I grab the nearest server, gripping his jacket.

“Where are the fancy cars?” I demand, looking sweaty and disheveled and not at all like a lunatic.

“In the expo hall,” he stutters, pointing vaguely to my left, his right.

“Spasibo!” I shout, bolting down the corridor.

It’s the next hall over, but many of the gala-goers are scattered throughout the room, admiring the collection of supercars, the gleaming collection on display to showcase the wealth of the Bratva. Vanya mentioned the council elders from different territories all contributed a unique prized vehicle for the occasion.