Page 24

My brother kicked his legs up on my desk, leaning back on the seat with an unlit cigar in hand, a frown on his lips, and his brows drawn. I could tell what was going through his mind: every intention to fucking piss me off, that’s what.

Two hours and counting, and it was fucking working.

The sharp rustle of papers cut through the steady, cold silence between us when I flipped the pages of the logbook. My feet danced on the new Persian rug I had Arlo install two days ago, and I lost count of the number of times my teeth grated against each other.

“If you have something to say….”

I didn’t look at him but caught his shoulders’ swift movement while he flexed the Zippo lighter between his fingers. Pursing his lips, he played with it, opening and closing the lid with maddening attention; the constant ticking became fucking irritating.

“I don’t think I do.”

Closing the logbook, I gave him a full glare, and he yawned. If there was one person who wouldn’t blink an eye at my rage or would rather trim a cigar while I had a barrel pointed at the side of his head, it would be Rafayel. He’d always been able to wear that air of nonchalance and indifference like a fucking coat, and it was as annoying as fuck. Growing up, I thought he turned out to be that way because we were broken and damaged, but I’d learned better over the years; Rafayel did shit only Rafayel wanted to do, when he wanted to do it, and how.

He wasn’t going to speak

“So, you’re just going to sit there and pretend like you’re more interested in watching that goddamn flame flicker than speak?”

He moved his shoulders again, and the Zippo ticked. “I’m not saying anything because I don’t have to. You should be doing all the talking. The last time someone thought they could escape you, I caught them. I was more vigilant. The last time before that, you gave the fucker a bloody pedicure. But here you are, fucking hunched over a logbook when Enzo’s on the loose.”

“And that’s been your fucking problem?”

“It’s been four fucking months since. Why the fuck are you not bothered?”

And he’d said it like someone who was anything but bothered. Whatever it was about that fucking orange and yellow flame had my brother hooked by the balls. He could have been self-reflecting, for all I cared; I just didn’t appreciate his careless emotion directed toward Enzo’s disappearance.

While we released Jayden back into the world of civilization one month after the kidnapping, we kept the Don locked up in one of our facilities downtown. An old building, a stripper’s club. One of Rafayel’s many failed business establishments from his early days of training and handling responsibilities. Four months since, and the only thing we had to trace Colombo was a note written in a poorly scribbled handwriting, with a very glaring “FUCK YOU” on it. I’d had my guesses on how the Don managed what appeared to be a craftily masterminded escape, but we’d never ridden on assumptions before and weren’t about to act out on desperation to capture him again.

I convinced Rafa, and we opted to patiently wait until Arlo recovered the CCTV footage, which had been unsurprisingly fucked up beyond recognition. Again, I’d been painfully reminded that patience was not one of my brother’s strongest virtues—if he had any at all, besides honor.

“Arlo’s working on it.”

He scoffed, now shifting his gaze to the butt of the cigar which was hovering above the flame. “You know, we had a golden chance to finish off the old geezer and seize control over his empire. I wondered why you kept him for so long.”

“Forgotten torture techniques, dear brother?”

“For four months, and he still had the strength to move out of that damned cell.”

I couldn’t tell why he was being so annoying about it. “Tell me, what do you suggest I do then? Go on a fucking wild goose chase.”

“No one’s asking you to do that.”

“You say you aren’t but are sure as hell acting like you want me to dedicate my entire fucking life to search for Enzo fucking Colombo. Well, here’s news for you, Rafa: Fuck that, and fuck this conversation. I have better things to do than chase someone who’ll drop dead soon, anyway. But if finding him is that important to you, I’ll gladly give an order I’ve given before: Go find him yourself.”

“No need.”

We stared at the door to find Arlo making himself comfortable on the chair beside Rafayel’s. Neither of us noticed when he’d walked stepped—not him or his cologne, which was stronger than usual today. He was grinning from ear to ear and dropped a laptop on the desk and a gun beside the laptop. His fingers were all bloody.

I sighed, dragging my hand over my hair. “Do I want to know why that’s there so early in the morning?”

“It’s past noon,” Rafayel grumbled under his breath and arched a brow at my underboss. “You could have used fucking soap to wash that off before coming in here.”

Arlo chuckled. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

I ignored my brother. “Who?”

Arlo’s eyes held mischief, and I had a feeling whatever happened was a bit personal to him, as much as it concerned me, too. “Ah, just some idiot from the past. He’s not important, not anymore, anyway. He was, though.” Tilting forward, he repositioned the laptop for Rafa and me to have a better glimpse at the screen while he pulled up a feed. “The man from the past happened to be the one who helped the Colombos mess with our security footage. I used tracing Enzo as an excuse, but I smashed his fucking skull because I had a fucking bone to pick with him. You’re welcome.”

I didn’t bother formulating a response for him. While my brother got on my nerves, Arlo pinched them.

I crossed my arms, drumming my fingers against my biceps while Arlo’s fingers flew over the keyboard. The screen flickered to life showing grainy footage from a cell security camera. He played it.

The video began with the time stamp blinking in the corner. It showed the familiar bleak corridors surrounding Enzo’s cell. Kristian and Vasili walked by, oblivious. The camera panned, and then we saw her—Leonara.

“Pause.”

Arlo froze the timeframe and zoomed in. Leonara’s face was obscured by the simple maid’s cap she wore, her uniform plain and unassuming. A tray of something—food, maybe—rested in her hands as she strode confidently down the hall. Even in the grainy footage, there was no mistaking her posture. That audacity: the way she carried herself, the tilt of her head—it was all calculated. It wasn’t some fucking spur-of-the-moment plan.

I was leaning closer to the screen now. “This was how she got in?”

“She’s smart,” Arlo muttered with a shrug. “Used the kitchen entrance. They logged her as a temporary staff. Fake ID checked out, too.”

I grunted, not bothering to hide my disdain. What I felt was nothing close to admiration—it was annoyance. How the hell did she pull this off under my radar? I nudged forward, “Keep going.”

The footage rolled forward. Leonara reached a cell and stopped, setting the tray down. She exchanged a few words with the guard, and he nodded, unlocking the door.

“Fucking bastard.” When I looked up, Rafa was smiling. I frowned at him but continued watching, moving that topic to be discussed afterward.

Even through the poor-quality feed, I saw the smirk on Colombo’s face as he stepped out. My jaw tightened. “Zoom in.”

Arlo adjusted the feed, focusing on Leonara as she handed Enzo what looked like another unform—a guard’s, this time. He changed quickly, the two of them moving like clockwork. They’d rehearsed it. Every step, every movement—fucking flawless. The feed shifted to another camera as they moved through the prison, her father walking confidently beside her in his new uniform. They passed checkpoint after checkpoint without so much as a glance from the other men present.

“How did they not notice this?” I was hissing now, seething. “This was fucking perfected, like he already knew she’d be coming for him.”

“That’s what I couldn’t figure out—how possible it would have been to send word to him from outside or how she managed to find out where we were keeping him at all. Timur, the girl’s smart. She must have used shift rotations to her advantage,” Arlo was saying. “Guards coming in and out. Staff changes—chaos works in her favor.”

The final camera showed them slipping out through a side entrance, disappearing beyond sight. I clenched my fist, the urge to throw something nearly overwhelming, even if, at some point, I was going to have to accept that I’d been fucking outsmarted by the Italian girl. Arlo was right; she was smart.

I barked, “Rewind.”

Arlo was swift, doing as he was told. The feed moved back to a moment where the camera captured a brief, clear shot of her face. I studied it, committed every detail to memory. The curve of her jaw, the glint of confidence in her eyes—she knew she’d succeeded.

I slapped the table. “She’s mocking me.”

“She’s fucking brilliant and impressive.”

I faced my brother, remembering the smile that hung on his lips not too long ago. Narrowing my eyes at him, I wagged a finger. “Brilliant and impressive, huh? Well, you better hold just those thoughts and not add any fucking more to it.”

“Like what? Finding her sexy, too?”

Arlo laughed. “He’s smitten. Another Yezhov man has gotten hit.”

I didn’t mess around with this one. Even if Rafa thought this was just another game to him, I was intent on showing him how serious I was about drilling all my objections into that hard head of his. “No.”

“No?” He arched a brow. “No fucking what?”

I glared at Arlo and then at my brother. Rafayel never had problems with the ladies. They loved him, and he loved to use them, changing one after the other like worn-out hand gloves. I’d never had problems with his sex life either, but there were limits, and the Colombo girl was one of them.

“No to thinking you can fuck her.”

“You can’t tell me who to fuck or not.”

“No, but I can order you not to touch Enzo Colombo’s daughter. It’s a fucking warning, Rafayel. I’m not messing around. There are a million other girls out there. Take your pick, and I won’t stick my nose in your fucking business. The Italian is trouble, and I don’t fucking want her in our territory or on your bed.”

He was ready to launch another protest, but my buzzing phone on the desk cut him off. Exhausted, I glanced at the caller ID and cautiously picked up the phone.

Since months ago, after I’d given her the rules about when to call me, Serena has never called when I was at work. If the call was urgent, she sent a message through the men at the house.

Seeing her call now meant it was more than urgent, and I tried not to think about the worst possible scenarios that could be happening. Answering, I placed the call to my ear.

“ Pchelka.”

“Boss, Serena is in the hospital. She’s in labor.”

It wasn’t my little bee but Klavdia on the phone, and my wife was in the hospital, in fucking labor. I was on my feet in seconds.

The men followed me, springing to their feet like soldiers ready for war. “Is there a problem?” Arlo was closely eyeing me.

“No.”

What I meant to say was yes. Yes, there was a problem. I was about to become a fucking father, and I didn’t know how to react or how to fucking move from behind my desk and go to my wife, who needed me.

“No? Doesn’t look like a no to me.” It was Rafa’s turn to look concerned. “Guns or knives?”

“More like flowers and fruits and maybe some fucking diapers? I don’t know. But no fucking guns or knives.”

“Huh?”

They were silent for a while, eyes blinking and brows twitching while trying to figure it out. Rafayel was the first person to fix the puzzle, and he reacted with a wide grin and a hard slap across my shoulder. “Fuck! I’m going to be a fucking uncle, aren’t I?”

Arlo was smiling so hard that his cheeks had to hurt. “The baby’s coming?”

“Yes. Shit. I feel so fucking clueless right now.” I grabbed my keys off the desk, but my brother snatched the holder before I could blink. I caught him smiling as hard as Arlo.

“Hell if I’m letting you drive shit in this state. Don’t worry, we’re here. The first step is to be there beside your beautiful wife while she gives birth to my nephew or niece. Man, you’re going to be a father.”

In thirty-nine years of my life, I couldn’t remember the last time I completely lost my shit.

Today, I got to break that record.