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Well, Abby, too late now.I swallow hard on my nerves.If he’s fucked you over, you’re about to find out.

I shift uncomfortably, then wince as Rodrigo’s handtightens on my arm. “Fucking number,” he breathes into my ear, his thumb white on the button. “We’re close to the end.”

“I can’tsee,” I whisper fiercely.

“Thirty million, five hundred thousand,” Pavel is saying on stage. “Do I hear six hundred? Yes—number four, your taste is exquisite. This piece would look amazing displayed beneath that Rembrandt you certainlydidn’trecently acquire.” There’s a ripple of laughter around the room at what is clearly an inside joke.

It’s hard to believe the suave, charming man on stage is the same one I’ve seen lounging about in sweat pants, joking with Mickey. I’m grateful for his skill as he continues to tease out the auction, clearly drawing it out as long as he can.

But not even his asides can hold back the inevitable end. And it’s coming closer.

“Seven hundred,” he continues as Viktor’s chair flashes. “Eight... We’re at thirty-one million, thank you, number eleven. And number eight... Number nine, you take it to thirty-one, three.”

The bidding continues.

Somewhere in this room is the man who plans to kill me, at a time of his choosing. A man who has killed more people than I care to think of.

And if I can’t find him, that death is going to come sooner rather than later.

Fuck.I sit rigidly on the leather seat, my breath coming in shallow, nervous huffs as I strain my eyes around the room, searching for any hint that might give Jacey away.

“Forty million, two hundred thousand.” On stage, Pavel pauses, staring at the board. “Do I hear forty, three hundred thousand?”

There’s a pause.

Rodrigo presses his buzzer. “Hurry the fuck up,” he whispers through gritted teeth as Pavel announces his bid.

Then, in the corner, a lighter clicks.

A flame flares as the bidder lights his cigar, highlighting the face beneath. The cold, dark eyes locked on the auctioneer’s block.

It’s the briefest moment, there and then gone.

And it’s enough.

Lucky turns to me, her eyes wide with fear and excitement. I nod slowly and put my mouth close to Rodrigo’s ear.

“Number eleven,” I breathe.

He tenses beside me. “Number eleven,” he murmurs, and I realize he must be wearing radio comms.

That means Dimitry is somewhere close. Listening.

Relief floods through me like a river after a drought, roaring in my ears so Pavel’s next call seems to come from a distance.

“Forty million, three hundred thousand,” he is saying again. “Do I hear four hundred?”

There’s another pause. I can almost feel the sweat beading on Rodrigo’s forehead. The Cardeñas cartel might be wealthy, but I can’t imagine Rodrigo wanting to be stuck with a forty-million-dollar purchase he never asked for.

Finally, number eleven lights up again.

“I have forty million, four hundred thousand,” Pavel says.

“Joder,” swears Rodrigo, loudly enough to turn a few heads. He throws his control onto the table in front of him with a good impersonation of frustrated surrender.

“Do I hear five hundred?” Pavel looks around the room. His eyes alight on Viktor, who has also been going head-to-head with Rodrigo until now.

“Pizdozh,” Viktor swears quietly. He shakes his head in the darkness. “Nyet,” he calls across the room.