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For the first time since I’ve known Fyodor, I see him flinch. His face goes slack for a moment.

“Who?”

“A man in a black mask.”

Fyo nods slowly. “I followed him. He was leaving the compound in a rush.”

Vanya and I share a look. Sounds familiar.

Fyodor digs into the pocket of his tattered jacket on the table, tossing Vanya a glimmering object, covered in blood. A ring.

“Took it off the squad leader the masked man met with at the docks.”

“Ciro, look…the same symbol as their knives,” she offers it to me to inspect.

Immediately it tickles something in my memory, an old wives tale Uncle Giancarlo used to tell about spy craft and the old mafia. Twisting the signet on the ring, it clicks open.

“Microchip.” I hold it up.

Vanya’s eyes narrow as she takes it from me.

“And I know just the man in Moscow to help us figure out what is on it.”

16

VANYA

St. Petersburg is still overrun.

With cell service returned in the wake of the attack, the people are nervous, but the chaos has settled down. My informants and the few remaining Volk in the city tell me the enemy has set up shop in the ports, but generally left the citizens alone.

For now.

But no one has heard anything from the council. My calls and texts go unanswered. And with Fyodor’s news, his revelation along with Matvey’s dying words…

There seems to be only one path before us.

Moscow is our best bet to get any news, either from allied Bratva or the black-market underground. Not to mention a city where I am owed many favors.

A few hours on the train from Ushaki Station, and we are there.

By nightfall we have a destination.

Spy craft has always been a part of Russian history. Especially among the military and veterans. So it is a small task to locate one of my grandfather’s old comrades from the KGB. He will decipher the chip in the ring and keep quiet about it.

“So that’s it? We just contact some old guy in a pub and then wait?”

“Da. Do you not have networks of spies and informants in New York? You are not very good mob if you do not.”

“Hey! I didn’t say that.”

“No, you just insult my network of contacts and agents like yours is better.”

Ciro presses his lips together, making that face he makes when he wants to argue but knows better. He is finally learning.

And I am vindicated when I receive a message the next morning.

Unfortunately, it is short. But it is to the point.