So Wrong It's Right

by Julie Johnson

  I could laugh.

  I don’t, since I value my life… But I could.

  Because Alexei Petrov telling me he’s not a monster is like hearing a fire-breathing dragon who’s just roasted a whole village alive swoop down on the destruction he’s unleashed and tell the sole survivor that he’s innocent of any wrongdoing… before eating him in one bite.

  A thousand images flash through my mind — all the horrendous crime scenes he’s had a hand in, every mob-hit this man has ordered. Every awful thing he’s done over his four-decade reign of terror. All the lives he’s ruined, whether directly through his actions or indirectly, through the sale of illegal arms, drugs, and trafficking victims.

  I suppose it’s par for the course: true monsters never see themselves as such.

  Alexei takes a few more steps until only a handful of feet separate us. At this proximity, his dark eyes are even more expressionless.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asks lowly.

  I hesitate a beat, then nod.

  “Good.”

  At that, he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a switchblade. I start to panic, backpedaling straight into an Evanoff-shaped wall. They clamp down on my shoulders, holding me still with viciously tight grips that halt my struggles. Subdued, all I can do is watch with wide, terrified eyes as that knife swipes out toward me…

  And slices cleanly through the zip-tie around my wrists.

  I’m so stunned to be, well, breathing, I barely have time to brace myself as Alexei reaches up and rips the duct-tape off my mouth in a harsh tug that makes me gasp in pain. Tears spring to my eyes. It takes all my strength to keep them from falling; to straighten my spine and shake off the bruising grip on my shoulders.

  When our eyes meet again, Alexei nods his approval. “Now, then. We have much to discuss.”

  I simply stare at him, unsure of what — if anything — he expects me to say.

  Hey, nice to meet you! Thanks for having your thugs kidnap me, dragging me to this creepy murder site, and generally just scaring the shit out of me. Bygones!

  “You’ve been married to my nephew for nearly a decade,” Alexei says. “Is that correct?”

  I nod.

  “And, during that time, were you aware of his connection to the Petrov family?”

  I shake my head.

  “And are you INCAPABLE OF SPEECH?”

  His sudden switch from murmur to roar makes me flinch along with both Evanoffs. The scream strikes the air like a thunderclap, hits the far walls, then echoes back at us like a shout from a disembodied ghost.

  “N-no, sir,” I force myself to say, doing my best not to cower. Or cry. “Quite capable.”

  “Good.” He’s back to normal volume, as though the outburst never occurred. “Now. Do you know why you are here?”

  My mind spins as I consider how much I should reveal. Honestly, I never expected to live this long if confronted with Alexei Petrov. Thus, I’ve never before considered what I’d say or do if I someday found myself in his — it must be said — super freaking intimidating presence.

  Given the fact that even Righty and Lefty are damn close to peeing their pants every time he glances their way, I decide it’s best to keep things as vague as humanly possible. The less I say, the lower the odds of pissing him off.

  I think.

  Maybe.

  “My patience is expiring rapidly,” he informs me. “If you are honest with me, you have nothing to fear.”

  Nothing to fear except literally everything about this situation.

  I take a steadying breath. “I know Paul has gotten himself into trouble at work. But until a few days ago, I didn’t even know he’d left his job at the consulting firm.”

  “You weren’t aware he was working for me?”

  “Forgive me, but… I didn’t even know who you were until a few days ago. Paul didn’t tell me about his family connections.”

  Alexei ponders that for a while, seemingly weighing my words for truth. “Paul was not raised as a Petrov. My sister took him from Russia when he was a small child. If he had been raised in Moscow, I would’ve reared him in my own image. He would be a man. He would run the family business by my side.” His eyes narrow a shade. “Instead, he was raised here. And so he is still a boy. Soft. Weak. Spineless.” He spits on the ground to emphasize his point. “And yet, the Petrov blood runs in his veins. I have no sons of my own. So when he reached out to me several years ago and confided about his money problems, I was happy to offer him a position working for the family.”

  “That was…” I search for something safe to say. “Very gracious of you.”

  “Yes, it was.” His lips flatten into a harsh line. “But my nephew did not repay my kindness with loyalty. After only a year, he told me he no longer wanted any part in the family business. That he wanted to be a better man. Do you know why that is?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  His eyes sharpen like knives. “For you.”

  I suck in a breath.

  “You say you had no knowledge of the Petrov family. And yet, despite your ignorance, it seems you still managed to convince my nephew to abandon his obligations to it.” He pauses heavily. “I find that… curious.”

  With effort, I keep my voice steady. “I assure you, I view family as the most important thing in this world. I would never encourage my husband to cut off communication with you, or anyone in his family.”

  “His mother assured me of the same thing many years ago… just before she fled Russia with her young son.” Alexei’s eyes are very, very cold. “Perhaps, if I’d trusted my instincts about Ekaterina, all this may’ve been prevented.”

  Oh, boy.

  This isn’t going very well.

  This isn’t going very well at all.

  “During my nephew’s last trip to Russia, your husband stole something from my estate. Something very precious to me. I believe he smuggled it back on my private jet and brought it home with him. Home to you, niece.” There’s a pregnant pause. “Do you happen to know what object I’m referring to?”

  And this is where it gets tricky…

  Do I lie and tell him I know nothing?

  If I do… he’ll have no further use for me. He’ll most likely kill me and dump my body down the elevator shaft for the construction workers to find whenever work on this building resumes.

  Do I tell him I know exactly where his precious Egg is hidden?

  If I do… he’ll probably be so angry, he’ll kill me on the spot and dump my body inside one of the cement mixing vats for a wacky take on Han Solo in Carbonite.

  Shelby Hunt in Cement!

  Neither option sounds particularly appealing to me. In fact, they sound about as appealing as walking through a field of unexploded mines. Blindfolded. In six-inch heels. While drunk.

  “Well?” Alexei prompts.

  I make a split-second decision, praying it doesn’t get me killed. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but… Paul and I have been having some marital problems. He was traveling frequently, working all the time, and… well… it put a strain on our relationship.” I let tears glisten in my eyes, praying they appear convincing. “We haven’t been spending much time together lately. So, if he did steal something from you… I’m afraid I’d be the last person he would confide in.” I swallow hard, trying to make my voice upbeat. Innocent. Not like I’m lying my face off. “But I have hope things can get better between us. For the past few months, he’s been giving me the most beautiful gifts — trying to make up for his absence.”

  There’s a long, silent beat. “What kind of gifts?”

  “Oh! Flowers and chocolate, of course. Some lovely pieces of jewelry. And the prettiest little paperweight to keep on my desk in the study.”

  “This paperweight.” His eyes gleam with interest. “Could you describe it for me?”

  Yes. Take the bait, you bastard.

  I tilt my head, as though recalling distant information. “It’s gold and oval-shaped, with
lots of little gemstones all over it. Really beautiful. I don’t know where he bought it, but I’d love to find another one someday.”

  Alexei’s eyes shift to the Evanoff brothers. “I thought you searched the house.”

  “We did!”

  “And?”

  “I swear, boss — we looked but we didn’t find it.” Righty sounds like he’s about to shit himself. “She’s lying. She’s stashed it somewhere.”

  I flinch. “Lying about what?”

  “You know exactly what, you manipulative bitch!” Lefty lurches at me. “Where did you stash it? Tell us!”

  “Why would she lie?” Alexei asks softly. “She may not know the value of a good paperweight. However… the two of you do.”

  “Wait… are you saying… you think my paperweight is stolen property?” I keep my brows high, as though I have no idea what’s happening. As if I don’t know precisely where his precious Egg is — somewhere very far from my study desk, that’s for damn sure.

  “It’s possible,” Alexei says noncommittally. His gaze moves back to the brothers, growing scarier by the second. “You assured me you searched the house from top to bottom. You expect me to believe you overlooked the Nécessaire when it was sitting out on a desk in plain view?”

  “No, Alexei. It wasn’t there!”

  Alexei doesn’t respond. He’s looking very displeased with his minions.

  Excellent.

  Maybe they’ll all kill each other and you can walk out of here scot-free.

  HA!

  A girl can dream.

  “I assure you, Alexei. If the Nécessaire was there, we would’ve found it.” He pauses, his voice growing less confident. “Unless… Unless we somehow missed it… though I thought we were thorough…”

  Alexei’s eyes narrow. “Or… perhaps you recognized its value and decided to keep it for yourselves.”

  “No, Alexei.” Lefty falls to his knees, head bowed in subservience. His brother soon follows suit. “We would never betray you. On our honor, we are faithful to you and to the Bratva.”

  Alexei lets them sweat it out on their knees for a long time, saying nothing. “Viktor, I see two possible scenarios, here. Neither is agreeable. Either you are incompetent, or you are a liar. I can afford to keep neither in my service.”

  “Please. Give us another chance. Let us go back. We’ll search the house again. We’ll rip up every floorboard, if we have to.”

  “And how will you do that, with the FBI watching our every move? They are monitoring everything in this cursed city. They’ve already discovered your hideout at the deli. They have my nephew in custody, thanks to your sloppiness!”

  So Paul is safe, then.

  Safe… and likely in handcuffs…

  But I suppose handcuffs are still preferable to death.

  “The FBI is stretched thin. They can’t cover every location at once,” Lefty says.

  “And yet, they have driven us to do business out here—” Alexei gestures around at the construction site. “—like common thugs. It is an affront to the Petrov pride.”

  Ah.

  So that explains the creepy locale. No street cameras or surveillance.

  Somewhere far overhead, I sincerely hope Evelson is watching via satellite. Like a bald guardian angel in a kevlar vest.

  “Alexei, you have seen us operate in the past. We can get back into the Hunt house without detection.”

  “Getting in isn’t the issue. It’s getting out again that will require a magic trick. The FBI will surround you within moments.” He pauses. “I myself am worried about accessing my jet. They will be staked out at the airport, as well.”

  “It’s true enough that they’ll surround the house. But all we need is a suitable distraction. Something to occupy the FBI while we grab the Egg… and something to use as leverage for our extraction.”

  “A distraction,” Alexei murmurs, interest peaked. “I assume you mean something similar to the Belarus incident last spring?”

  “Exactly,” Lefty says, sounding pleased with himself. “And we already have all the supplies we need to build it right here. Just waiting to be put to good use.”

  To build what, exactly?

  Alexei’s eyes flicker to me. Goosebumps break out on my arms as his lips curl into an eerie smile. “That is… an intriguing idea, Viktor.”

  “It will work. The FBI always prioritizes saving civilian life over anything else — even a criminal pursuit.” His words are intent, almost frenzied. “Give us this chance to prove our loyalty.”

  “I really should kill you both for this display of gross ineptitude.” Alexi looks like he means it. “But I will grant you one more chance. If you can return the Nécessaire to me… all will be forgiven. If not…”

  The threat hangs in the air.

  “We won’t fail you, Alexei.”

  “See that you don’t.” His eyes eventually move back to mine. “As for you, niece… I see no reason why you cannot return to your life. You will not be punished for my nephew’s mistakes.”

  Oh, thank god.

  He’s not going to kill me.

  My relief is tempered by a strain of disbelief. I’m stunned that my plan actually worked. As Conor would say… it feels almost too easy.

  A red flag is waving in the back of my mind.

  Alexei Petrov is not an idiot. He did not rise to the top of the largest crime syndicate in Russia by playing fast and loose. He is a man of plans. Strategy.

  Which is why I know it should’ve been far, far harder for the Evanoffs to convince him to agree to their half-baked plan. And far more difficult for me to convince him of my ignorance concerning the Egg.

  Something isn’t right.

  My suspicions are confirmed a heartbeat later, when Alexei smiles again. “You may return to your life… just as soon as you do us one small favor for us.”

  There it is.

  The catch.

  All my hopes of escape, of survival, deflate instantly — hissing out of me like air from a balloon. I try to take a deep breath, but there’s a lump of nerves blocking my airway.

  “You are family, after all.” His eyes gleam, as though he’s the only one in on a particularly amusing joke. “And what is family for, if not to help in times of need?”

  “Right,” I say weakly, heart thundering. “Anything for family.”

  You are not my family, you pretentious prick.

  Alexei watches silently as the Evanoffs scramble to their feet. I try not to balk as they close ranks around me; as two very large sets of hands wrap around either bicep, squeezing hard enough that I see stars.

  Alexei’s chuckle is cold as ice. “It seems we find ourselves in need of a rather… explosive… distraction. Just to keep the FBI agents occupied while Viktor and Vladimir retrieve my property. And you, dear niece, will be absolutely perfect…”

  Chapter Fifteen

  OMG LITERALLY DEAD

  I am going to die today.

  I’m not exaggerating or looking for a pity party. I’m just stating a fact.

  Today is the day that I, Shelby Hunt, will shuffle off this mortal coil.

  Looking back, it’s hard to believe I actually thought I’d get to walk away from this situation alive. How naive I was — thinking I could manipulate one of the most notorious criminals on the planet. A little girl playing with toys far above her maturity level, in a game with rules that have been rigged against her from the start.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” Lefty barks at his brother, cocking his gun.

  “Not unless you want the police on our tail before we get there.” He presses his foot against the gas pedal and the van picks up speed. “We’re right around the corner, anyway. Get ready. Even if they don’t have agents posted outside, we won’t have more than ten minutes before this whole area is swarming.”

  I watch my neighborhood pass outside my window and wonder if it will be my last time ever seeing it. When the blue sign comes into view, feel my heart clench as I read th
e familiar words.

  Merriweather Street

  We barrel down the cul-de-sac, toward a sprawling blue Victorian with a wraparound porch. It’s the perfect house. Prettiest on the block by a mile. Any stranger seeing it from the outside would automatically assume the family dwelling inside it is equally perfect.

  But looks, like life, are often deceiving.

  Righty jerks the wheel violently and the van jolts up over the curb, onto my perfectly manicured lawn. He slams on the breaks so hard I get whiplash as we screech to a stop with the tires straddling my front walkway, just outside the front stairs.

  “Go time!” Righty says, leaping out of the front seat. He’s holding a semi-automatic assault rifle, gesturing madly for us to follow as his eyes scan the street for threats. “Let’s move!”

  Lefty throws open the door and drags me out of the van, up the steps, onto the porch. He holds me like a shied as he runs after his brother, arm banded tight around my shoulders.

  “Keep moving, bitch,” he hisses in my ear. “Or things will go boom before you can blink.”

  I pick up my pace, heart thundering inside my chest.

  When we catch up to Righty, I see he’s already bashed out my pretty bay window with the butt of his gun and is stepping over the sill, into my dining room. Lefty follows, dragging me inside after him. I feel my bare arms catch on broken shards of glass in the window frame. My feet receive similar treatment from the razor-sharp pieces scattered across the floor.

  On a normal day, it would probably bring tears to my eyes. But I’m feeling strangely numb, in the face of my imminent death. I guess it’s just hard to get worked up about a bit of glass when there’s a bomb strapped to your chest and a crazed Russian holding the detonator.

  Oh.

  Right.

  Did I not mention that, before?

  It turns out, the Evanoffs reputation as expert bomb makers was not exaggerated in the slightest. The speed at which they rigged a vest full of plastic explosives was truly astonishing. They could do infomercials.

  Dirty bombs in two hours or less or your money back!

  Ignoring the weight of the bomb around my chest, I listen to Righty and Lefty tearing violently through the study. Drawers are overturned, furniture flipped over. A constant stream of angry Russian curses peppers the air.