Page 154 of Nothing More

“Hm.” He could believe that, based on what little he’d seen of him and his brothers. “If Nikolai took the ring, how did the Butcher’s son get it?”

“The truth is that I don’t know.” Misha swore, softly, in Russian. “I met Nikolai only once, when I first arrived here. He was one of ten who were trying to join up officially, who’d done some favors, and run some errands, and that sort of thing. I didn’t like the look of him – he was too nervous. I turned him away.”

“And he turned to someone else for money,” Toly guessed.

“I ended the jewelry business Oleg was running,” Misha said, and Toly could hear the way his lip curled in distaste on the dead man’s name.

“Good. It was cheap and stupid,” Toly agreed.

“Yes. But I imagine that’s why Ilya killed him: if he was working for someone else, but drawing attention to the bratva…”

“A liability.”

“I never said I approved. I didn’t give the order.”

“Yeah.” Toly shifted his stance. It was easier to breathe, now; his pulse had slowed to near-normal levels. It felt good to talk openly like this, without slanted looks and guarded flanks. He knew Misha better than anyone else in this country, and vice versa. “But whoever he worked for” – they both knew who, but were skirting around the name – “he didn’t want the ring, in the end.”

“Just the girl.”

“Or the chance to cut someone up.”

Misha hummed. “Yes.”

And here they were, back at the problem of the police.

Toly said, “I’ll talk to the detective again. Convince her to tell me what she learns, because shewilllearn something. If the Butcher’s son wanted Antonina for butchering, he didn’t pick her for any reason except she wouldn’t be missed by anyone in this country. He just wanted a body. She’s not part of the message to us.”

“I agree.”

“So there will be others.”

“I agree again.”

“Has he called yet? Looking for his morphine?”

“No, but I think he will.” Misha sounded confident, so Toly deferred to him, and decided not to worry about it.

“We will end this, Toly,” Misha said, tone reassuring. “Do not worry.”

“Yeah. I’ll check in soon.”

“Take care, little brother,” Misha said in Russian, voice warm and bracing.

Toly stood a moment after the call ended; let his head fall back against the wall and breathed deep, because he could, now. He felt lighter inside, something bright winking from between his ribs, a glow that he was afraid someone inside might see. He didn’t relish the idea that he was all lit up overlittle brother. That for the first time in a long time, he felt as though the world had tipped back into place, because he’d been floundering as a person who was Misha’s enemy. He was being disloyal to the Dogs, after they’d given him a new home, accepted him into their ranks and protected him from the bratva’s wrath…but there was no smothering the spark in the center of his chest. He stood and enjoyed it, the way it eased the constantly-clenched fist that lived behind his breastbone, until he heard voices through the wall and let himself inside.

That lovely spark winked out; sank like a cold stone in his belly when he saw that Raven was in the foyer. Rooting around in the coat closet, dressed warmly, for going outside. She came out with a long coat on a hook, turned and saw him. Smiled.

A smile that hit him so hard he nearly staggered back.

She wasn’t guarded anymore; those sliding, sideways glances and pursed lips of his short-lived stint as her “assistant” had given way to unbridled gladness. A warmth and a welcome that made his little hallway spark seem pale as a firefly glimmer in comparison. Misha had never called himlittle brother, no, and the Dogs had never cared for him as a real brother, butno onehad ever looked at Toly like Raven did now. It was too much to look at; the emotion in her gaze too strong to accept without flinching.

But there was sadness there, too. Traces of something like resignation in the corners of her mouth, at the edges of her eyes. As though she was both delighted and unutterably sad all at once. Like she was thrilled to see him, and grieving him, too.

She knew.

He knew in that moment, standing like an idiot inside the front door, that she knew he was a dirty, treacherous liar, but she cared enough about him to smile anyway.

“Hello,” she greeted, hip-checking the closet shut, folding the coat over her arm. “Have a good workout?”