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“There’s talks of an interagency task force if we fuck up—CIA, DEA, and FBI working to keep it from crossing the borders. It’s a lot of multilayered dick swinging, so please don’t fuck this up.”He frowns and takes another sip of coffee. “I don’t know how I can even breathe in those meetings with all the ego and bullshit.”

Just my daily reminder that what I do is important and I’m a good person and toxic behavior is just a side effect of my profession. Yep. Just keep repeating that to yourself.

“So don’t fuck up?”

“Yep.”

“And why does George get to bring his girlfriend here?”

My boss shrugs and turns back into his office. “She brings soup.”

Cool, so I’m risking my life, going undercover, but our entire safety protocol can be blown for good soup. Good to know.

Marguerite adds, “And bread.”

Awesome.

Chapter

Six

Katya

My pants feel a little tight around the hips, and I can’t help but feel awkward standing behind the bar in this multimillion-dollar house—a house bought with blood money from crime and drugs.

This is the first time I’ve seen the brothers not in their usual attire. Dimitri and his brother always wear perfectly tailored suits, typically in black or navy blue. Uri wears them too, but he always appears slightly leveled up. Tonight, they’re dressed differently, and it’s a bit disconcerting. The brothers are wearing crisp white button-down shirts, Damien in jeans and Dimitri in khakis, both exuding that effortless, cool vibe that makes you forget for a second that they’re murderers.

I glance over and catch Uri’s eye. He flashes me a smile from across the room, a smile that feels warm but holds a trace of something darker beneath. He’s in a light blue button- down shirt, not his typical overcompensating “I’m a bad boy and I hate my dad” all black.

The door opens, and Sveti walks in, high-waisted pleated pants swishing as she steps inside. Her navy blue shirt hugs herfigure, and the heels she wears scream “I don’t plan on walking on cobblestones anytime soon.” A plush fur is draped around her neck, as always—like she can’t be happy or fashionable without draping a dead animal across her shoulders.

I’m invisible to her, or at least she does her best to ignore my presence, as she walks past the bar to join her entourage. She flicks her hair and I catch an odd whiff of woody decay. It’s oud, like Damien wears, but his has tones of warmth. This is just…ick. Did she see the gray haired, wrinkly balled, new fuck buddy before she came?

She’s greeted with polite smiles and a quick peck on the cheek from Dimitri. She grins at him, but turns away just as quickly as she arrives, her chest pushed out in an exaggerated strut as she makes her way to Damien. His eyes linger on her, hungry like a wolf.

Dimitri’s gaze darts between them, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. Oh shit, does he know Sveti is cheating on him with his brother? And is he okay with it? I can’t tell, but it doesn’t look good.

The party guests are off-duty criminals, though mostly family. Music thumps through the speakers, a steady beat that seems to pulse with the energy of the crowd. Small groups of people cluster together, laughing and talking in hushed voices. I’m content to stay behind the bar. It’s the perfect excuse for people-watching and, let’s be honest, gathering intel. It’s the only reason my boss didn’t balk at me being here instead of at the delivery.

This morning, I got a call that the Smirnovs were on the move again. Something’s happening, and it’s hard to ignore the growing sense of tension. Maybe it has to do with the shipment coming in tonight.

There’s movement through the crowd as people adjust and shift positions. A cry of delight rises above the noise. “Uncle Dimitri!”

Dimitri’s face lights up, and he immediately bends to scoop his nephew into the air. He groans melodramatically, though I can see the affection in his eyes. “You’re getting too big for this,” he says, lifting the boy effortlessly.

The child, Ian, has sandy blond hair, wide eyes that seem to take in everything, and an ever-present smile. At six years old, he’s full of energy, bouncing around like he can’t contain it. He’s the only kid here, which feels out of place in this adult world. If he were enrolled in school, he’d probably be in a room with friends, monitored by a nanny with games and pizza rolls. But his father hired private tutors, keeping him isolated from normal childhood experiences.

Poor kid, he’ll probably spend his thirties reliving every awkward interaction from his teenage years on an endless loop that will keep him company at night. But the kid stands to inherit a metric butt ton of money, so people will put up with his weirdness as long as he pays the bill. God, I don’t know what’s worse.

Dimitri sets Ian down and gives him a quick hug. From where I stand, I can’t quite hear their conversation, but whatever they’re talking about, Ian is excited.

Ian’s mother, Nadia, steps into the room behind him. Her movements are slow and careful. Damien greets her with a warm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, wrapping his arm around her waist and guiding her gently to a nearby chair.

She stopped chemo a few weeks ago. The cancer is devouring her faster than the radiation could ever hope to fight it. Her flawless makeup and a wig styled to perfection create an illusion of health, but the toll is clear—the gaunt hollows of her cheeks,the slight tremor in her hands. If you didn’t know, you might think she was simply tired. But I know better. She’s dying.

Dimitri clasps his nephew’s hand and strides toward the bar. “Hello, Katya,” he greets me, his grin wide and dazzling.

Ignore the swell of excitement, or the way my back feels like it’s on fire. I don’t get to have him. I picked the world and Amanda Chase.