by Stacy Gail
“Well, hello to you too, sunshine.” The charming voice of my brother came through with less than crystal-clear quality, but I got the gist. “Contrary to what you believe, I’m not trying to ruin your life.”
No. You’re just trying to end it.
The words sprang to my lips so fast I could taste them, and I had to take a slow breath to make sure they didn’t escape. “Then what are you trying to do? Freaking Shona out like that, kicking me out of my apartment…what the hell do you want from me?”
“I want you to come home,” came the immediate answer. “I want you safe. I want us safe. Forever.”
I closed my eyes and gave him a truth that had ruled our lives from day one. “There’s no such thing as being safe forever, Knives. Not for regular people, and certainly not for a Vitaliev.”
“Remember when we were kids? You said we were unbeatable when we were together. If we’re together, we can be safe forever because I can make that happen, Dash. But only if you’re here, and on my side.”
Killing frost slowly invaded my blood. “Who says I’m not on your side?”
“If you’re not with me, totally, then you’re against me, totally.”
“Bullshit. I’m not with or against anyone. Why can’t you understand that I just want to be left alone?”
“You weren’t alone today. You spent all day with your new security team. Why would you trust those weekend warriors at Private Security International with your safety, anyway? You know Papa thought rent-a-cops were a joke.”
I stiffened while my brain began to race again. Had Knives seen the Medvedevs? The Scorpeones? Martin Schott?
Oh, God.
Had Knives seen Polo?
What did my brother know?
What the fuck did he know?
“Dash? You still there?”
“I’m trying very hard not to hang up on you.” Silently I thanked my years at the poker tables for honing my ability to remain outwardly calm while internally screaming my head off. “You’re having me followed. I can’t believe my own brother is having me fucking followed.”
“You’re not giving me any choice. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire now, which means I’m making a lot of enemies. You’re my Achilles heel, so if anyone wanted me to slow my roll they’d be smart to target you. All I’m doing is trying to prevent that from happening, but I’m worried that it’s just going to be a matter of time before someone gets to you.”
I hesitated only a fraction before taking a gamble. “Someone already did.”
It was my brother’s turn to hesitate. “What?”
“There’s a reason why I’ve been laying low for a while, just as there’s a reason why I needed to visit PSI today.” I felt Polo turn to stone, and the atmosphere in the limo became toxic as Polo laid his ear on the other side of the phone. I tilted it so he could hear it even better. “I was at Chicago’s Future in the wee hours of the morning last week. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some painting done. I was all alone, and…well, someone broke in.”
“That’s terrible,” came the reply, and for the first time I realized how little emotion was behind my brother’s charming voice. “Was it someone looking to heist the place and you were in the way, or…?”
You know exactly what it was, you bastard. I can hear it in your voice. “It’s a free food pantry, Knives. No one breaks into a place that gives shit away. And besides, that sonofabitch didn’t go for our computers, or radio or any of the desks in the hope of finding some petty cash. He went straight for me.”
“Shit.” This came faintly, but there was no surprise in his tone. Like me, he was clearly playing a role while keeping his cards close to the vest. “So…what happened?”
“What happened is what always happens when someone is stupid enough to try to take out a Vitaliev.”
This time the silence was a lot longer. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“We don’t talk about these things on the phone, or anywhere else. You know that. All I’m saying is that I survived. I mean, you’re talking to me, right?”
“Yeah, I just…you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
You ain’t seen nothing yet, brother. “Sometimes I think you forget that I’m just as much a Vitaliev as you are. Don’t forget what I did up in that cabin when we were kidnapped. You know what happens when anyone is stupid enough to corner me.”
“But obviously your attacker didn’t know how dangerous you can be. Did he say anything?”
“Like what?” Really, I couldn’t wait to hear his response.
“I don’t know. Anything. Like who he was, or who sent him. Though we both know the Scorpeones are the ones behind this latest attack, so you can’t trust anything he might have said about that.”
God, God, I wanted to throw my phone in the worst way. “Well, the guy did say something that I thought was kind of weird. Personal, even.”
There was a thick hum of silence. “What?”
“Among other things, he said that if he could get me, he’d finally get the recognition he deserved. Crazy, right? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Makes perfect sense to me. Vitalievs are notoriously hard to kill, and this assclown obviously knew that. That has to be why he was so gleeful when he thought he had you. But you proved him wrong, didn’t you?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“I’m just pissed off you had such a close call. That wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me protect you.”
“As you obviously noticed, I’ve got good protection around me now.”
“Your rent-a-cops aren’t family, Dash. They won’t get out of bed at two in the morning and look after you just because you can’t sleep. I will, and I’ll make damn sure everyone in the Bratva will, too.”
“I never said it was two o’clock in the morning, did I?” In that moment I would have killed to see his face, if only to make sure this wasn’t a test he was throwing out in my path to see how I would react to it. Shit. I could second-guess myself right into an early grave, if I wasn’t careful. “Well, whatever. It all worked out for the best. I’ll just be more careful, and I’ve added more security. That’s what the meeting was about, in case you were wondering.”
“Oh, so you’re fine with adding more bodyguards yourself, but you scream about it if I suggest doing such a thing.”
“I suppose from your point of view, that doesn’t seem fair.” I dropped my tone, trying to push everything I knew about my brother aside to simply react like the loving sister I used to be. “I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful. My life has just been…really hard lately.”
“I know. But it doesn’t have to be.”
“I don’t want to come home, Knives. I miss you, of course. I miss us, but not enough to come home.”
“Then just meet with me, wherever you want. Let me plead my case face-to-face. With Papa gone, and Polo, we’ve only got each other now.”
Rage tried to push to the surface at the mention of Polo, but I kept my voice nice and even. “I guess I could manage that.”
It took a few minutes to make arrangements to meet up, and only after I hung up I felt I was able to breathe again. I tossed my phone onto the car seat and sagged back against Polo, trying to will the tension out of my neck before I got a screaming headache.
“Fearless.” Polo’s soft murmur hit my ears like a caress, while his hand ran soothingly over my back. “Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay. And if you’re not, tell me that, too.”
“What good will that do?”
“I would turn the world inside out to make it better for you, swear to Christ. All that matters to me is you.”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine, far from it.
But I wasn’t destroyed.
I knew what loss was. I’d endured losing the other half of myself for months, believing it would be a loss I’d feel forever, and I had managed to survive that. My brother’s betrayal and its accompanying sense of loss was almost on pa
r with that, no doubt about it. Knives’s actions had gouged out deep, acid-filled wounds that drilled all the way to my soul.
But I wasn’t crippled.
I now knew what I was made of. Whatever Knives tossed my way—and whatever I had to do in order to defeat it—I was strong enough to survive it.
The main question now was whether or not we would all come out of this alive.
Chapter Twenty-One
The sedate ding of the elevator’s bell announced I had arrived at my destination.
Polo’s penthouse.
The doors slid open to reveal the light-filled foyer perfumed with the scents of water and orange blossoms. My steps reverberated against the black-veined white marble floor as I stepped out, only to find that the foyer was deserted. The faint sense of expectation dwindled as the silence pressed in on my ears.
Damn, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Something wasn’t right.
My skin began to prickle with unease, and I glanced at the water feature at one end of the foyer. While I could see the gentle flow of water, I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t hear anything.
Had I gone deaf?
No. I could still hear the sound of my footsteps as I moved to the copper-plated doors. I could even hear my own breathing. As I approached the foyer’s interior doors, they swung open on noiseless hinges, leading me into the main room.
Silence.
Terrible, suffocating silence.
My heart pounded as I stared into the cavernous space, and the feeling of wrongness intensified with each passing second. I crossed to the curved windows looking out onto the famous Gold Coast and Lake Michigan beyond, and all the while the absence of noise filled me with dread. I could hear no sounds from the city below, nor could I see any cars or people on the streets. The buildings and bridges were still all there, and the streetlights below dutifully went through their green-yellow-red cycles.
But the city was nothing but a ghost town.
I was alone.
“No.” Panic surged like a living thing inside me, and in desperation I turned from the windows to run through the penthouse to search for signs of life. Any life. But there was nothing in the confusing maze of rooms, just the sound of my own echoing footsteps. Worse, as I kept moving I realized I’d lost my way and didn’t know how to get back to the elevators. I was lost and alone, with no way to get out.
I needed help.
“Hello? Can anyone hear me?” My voice echoed as I ran to the other end of an empty gallery that belonged in my childhood home, pausing just long enough to listen for someone, somewhere, to respond.
All I could hear was my shallow breathing.
This didn’t make sense. How had this happened? How had I become so alone?
Why the hell was this happening to me?
A sob broke from me as I pushed on, heading toward yet another door on the far end of the gallery. I couldn’t stay where I was because I didn’t belong there. If I kept pushing on, I might be able to finally find the place where I was supposed to be and wouldn’t be alone anymore…
Bursting through the door, I skidded to a horrified stop when I realized I’d stumbled into the small wooden cell I’d been held in so long ago when the Scorpeone family kidnapped me. The two small, high windows were barred and blacked out with paint, the narrow cot rumpled.
And the door…
I whirled around like a rat in a cage, only to find there was no doorknob. I rushed to the door anyway, banging on it and trying to dig my fingers into the crack to try to pry it open. But even as I did, I despaired that it would work. After all, it hadn’t worked when I’d been imprisoned in that cell the first time around.
“Dash.”
I jolted and spun around, only to find Nizhy standing there, still a boy and in the dirty clothes he’d worn when we’d been kidnapped. His smile was gentle as he held a box of old-fashioned kitchen matches in front of him, as if offering it to me.
“Nizhy.” In a flash I was across the room and hugging him with everything I had. My heart overflowed with joy, and I was so thankful to not be alone anymore that I cried. But my tears were also because it was such a relief simply to have my brother there, and that he was back to what I remembered him being—good and kind and there for me, just as I tried to be there for him. It felt so wonderful to hold him that I wished with everything I had that we could stay like that forever. “It’s so good to see you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He pulled away to smile at me before his gaze slid beyond my shoulder to the locked door. “We’re not safe.”
“I know.” I turned back to the door and pounded against it, all the more desperate to get out now that I had my Nizhy with me. “We need to get out of here.”
“This is the only way, you know.”
“What?” Distractedly I glanced back at him. My heart plummeted when I saw that he’d grown up while my back was turned. Now he was Knives, and though he had that same smile, his eyes were terrifyingly empty. “No. Oh God, no. This isn’t fair. Please, please let Nizhy come back to me, Knives. Please don’t leave me alone like this.”
“This is the only way, Dash.” Slowly, he slid the box open and pulled out a red-tipped matchstick. He struck it and watched the flaring flame as if hypnotized, before he dropped it to the wooden floor. Then he took another match, and another, repeating the process until small fires were all around him.
“Knives, stop, please.” I stomped on the fire nearest me to put it out, but there were so many, growing into each other to become one huge conflagration. “Don’t you see what you’re doing? For God’s sake, stop, you’re burning the world down around us.”
“It’s the only way for me to be sure I’ve taken care of you.” Another match, thrown in a corner. Another, on the cot. Another, right at me. I couldn’t see where it landed, but my clothes suddenly began to smoke. “If we’re dead, no one can hurt us. Don’t you see that?”
“Oh God, no.” I was burning, burning. The heat was incredible, the horror of it even more so. Again I whirled for the door, banging and screaming while my clothes caught fire and the agony of fear reached a fever pitch.
Suddenly the door flung open and I was yanked from the flames so hard I flew. The cool air was a miracle, as was the face that came through the smoke as he bent over me.
Polo.
“You’re not alone,” he whispered, his hands cool and soothing against my face. “Dash, hear me. I love you. You’re not alone.”
Relief shattered through me until I was so beautifully broken I couldn’t hold back the tears.
Not alone…
His words echoed in my ears.
I wasn’t alone in the world. I had Polo.
Thank God.
“Dash. Dash, wake up.”
I jolted to immediate wakefulness, a muffled sob breaking from a throat that felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. Arms were around me just like they’d been in my dream, and for an incoherent moment I couldn’t tell if I was still dreaming. I struggled to gain my freedom only to have those arms crush the breath out of me, while a body’s heavy weight rolled on top of mine to press me down into the mattress.
“No, you don’t,” Polo muttered in my ear, and the last of my freaked-out tension dissolved at the soothing familiarity of his voice. “You’re not getting away from me this time. If you’re pissed at me because I did something in your dream again, go ahead and beat the shit out of me—I can take it. But you’re going to do it while staying put.”
“I’m sorry.” I was gasping like I’d run a marathon, and my skin that had been burning in the dream now tingled unpleasantly with cold sweat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m so sorry. Go back to sleep, okay? Everything’s okay. I’m sorry.”
“Everything’s not okay. You’re shaking like a leaf.” Reaching an arm out, the light of the bedside lamp flared on, chasing away the darkness. My bedroom came into focus, and I breathed a ragged sigh of relief. Now I kne
w where I was. I was back in my apartment with Polo, who had spoiled me rotten after our meeting at PSI by sending Alex out for Chinese food. He’d fed me just like he had when we were in his rooms at Celestial Bodies, only this time it was with chopsticks. He was good at wielding them, though as time went on he got a bit careless. The first time he’d dropped a chunk of pineapple on the exposed skin of my upper chest. Immediately he’d taken care of it with his mouth, his head dipping so he could lick my skin clean. The second time was definitely an on-purpose “accident,” and his mouth had lingered for a much longer time, his tongue drawing languorous circles over my chest and collar bone.
The third time he did it, he looked me right in the eye, deliberately dropped a small bite into my cleavage, and with a devilish, sexy-as-hell gleam in his eyes he whispered, “Oops.”
Unsurprisingly, my interest in food had vanished, and a different kind of hunger rushed in to replace it.
It had been nearly midnight by the time I finally curled into Polo’s side, satiated and for a few merciful moments, at peace. But the life-or-death horror of my reality had seeped in through the cracks of my subconscious to torment me with just how inescapable my situation was. No matter where I went, I was still me. Dasha Vitaliev, a woman marked for death by her own brother. Long ago I’d told my kidnappers that as a Vitaliev, I knew how the game of Kill or Be Killed was played; my father had made sure of that. When it came to survival, it was either them, or me.
Alongside my brother, I’d made sure it was me.
Never once had it occurred to me that, years later, I’d be forced to play that same soul-shredding game with my own flesh and blood.
Maybe this was my punishment for being good at the game.
“Dash—”
“I’m sorry I woke you, Polo, really. Now please get off me, okay? I won’t attack or freak out, I promise. I just seriously need to breathe.”