Kissing My Killer (37 page)

“Sorry,” he said. “She wants me to unblock the sink.”

As soon as he’d left us alone, Alexei’s grandmother leaned forward and put her hand on mine. Despite her age, her grip was warm and strong.

“You are good for him,” she said quietly. “Russian girls too moody.”

I blinked at her in astonishment. “You speak English,” I said stupidly.

She shrugged. “I don’t tell him. Makes him feel needed. Otherwise he never visit.”

I grinned and squeezed her hand.

She leaned even closer. “You have to get him away from Bratva. Away from killing.
”

I blinked at her again.
She knew.
She stared right back at me. Eighty years old but she was still sharp as a knife. I wasn’t alone in my quest to save Alexei, and that strengthened my resolve.

“I’ll try,” I told her.

My shakiness faded the longer we stayed there. When Alexei came back and sat beside me on the couch, I felt even better and by the time Alexei’s grandmother had fed us soup and bread, it had gone almost completely. I finally felt strong enough to go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror—the very thing that had started me off in the first place. The blood at the corners of my mouth had finally dried. I looked a mess but, this time, it didn’t start a panic. I washed my face and then clung onto the edge of the sink. I was realizing I had a decision to make.

I’d heard something, while I was with Seventeen. Something potentially important. I could tell Alexei....

...or I could just keep it to myself. Without any more clues to follow, we could just quietly disappear. I could get him out of the Bratva for good, just like I wanted.

But that would mean lying to him.

I stood in the bathroom for a long time before I walked back to Alexei. I nodded towards the hallway. “We need to talk,” I told him.

Gabriella

“
Lizaveta?”
he said. “You’re sure that’s what he said?”

I nodded. “
Dazhe Lizaveta.”
I did my best with the pronunciation.

The change that came across Alexei was astonishing, almost frightening. I’d seen him angry and I’d seen him sad, but I’d never seen him shocked. He was so used to this world of violence that I’d thought nothing could faze him. This did. He actually went pale. “
Even Lizaveta,”
he translated.

“Who’s Lizaveta?”

He ignored my question and ran back into the living room. He hugged his grandmother, telling her we had to go. She and I exchanged worried glances. Then he was towing me out of the apartment and down the stairs.

“Who’s Lizaveta?”
I repeated.

He slowly shook his head viciously. “I’m a
fucking
idiot. I had it all wrong.”

I had to almost run to keep up with him. “Who is she?”

“This whole time, I thought Nikolai was doing some deal, something he didn’t want Luka to find out about—trafficking women, maybe. But we underestimated him. We were thinking too small. He’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill the whole Malakov family: Luka, his girlfriend, his dad, his cousins—he’s going to kill them all and then take over himself. We thought this was a deal, but it’s not. It’s a coup.”

It hurt to speak—moving my mouth opened up the cuts at the corners. “That makes no sense. The Bratva’s all about loyalty—that’s why they’re after us. If Nikolai kills your boss, the rest of the Bratva will hunt him down and kill him.”

Alexei shook his head. “That’s why he needs Seventeen. That psycho will do all the killing...and everyone will pin it on Konstantin, because Seventeen works for him.”

I drew in my breath. “There’ll be a gang war.”

Alexei nodded as we burst out onto the street. “And Nikolai will be there to step in and take over.” He started to lead me back toward where we’d parked the car, a direct route, this time. “He’ll be the hero of the hour, leading what’s left of our people against Konstantin. It’s the perfect way to do it. And then, once he’s in charge, he can get rid of all the rules Luka has against trafficking women. Remember how all this started? You found Nikolai because he was talking to that trafficking bastard, Carl. You were right all along. He’s planning his trafficking business, for when he takes over.”

“So who’s Lizaveta?” I croaked. I knew the answer wasn’t going to be good.

“That’s how I know it’s going to be all of the Malakovs,” said Alexei. “Luka has two cousins. Irina, the older one, and Lizaveta, the younger one.” He swallowed. “
Even Lizaveta.
Lizaveta is eight years old.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“I even know where he’ll do it. The Malakovs go on holiday every year. They have a holiday home, deep in the forest outside Moscow. The cousins always come too. Seventeen will do it then.”

“When?”

“Same time every year. They go away on Unity Day—the fourth of November.”

The last few days had been so crazy, I had to check my phone to be sure. It was the third of November. The massacre was going to happen
tomorrow.

“You have to warn them,” I said.

“I can’t. Who are they going to listen to—a disgraced killer who can’t follow orders, or a man who’s been loyal to them for twenty years?” We’d just reached the car and he thumped his fist on its roof. “
Durak dolboeb!
I should have seen this!”

We got into the car, my heart racing and my stomach in a tight, hard knot. I could see how this was tearing him apart inside. I hadn’t fully understood until that moment just how much the Bratva meant to him. He’d thought he was going to lose it forever, thanks to me, and that had been nearly unbearable. But now the family he served—
loved
—were going to be wiped out. That was
unthinkable.

And Jesus, I nearly didn’t tell him.
He would have never forgiven me, if he’d heard of the massacre on the news.

Alexei threw the car into gear and pulled away, heading into the city.

“Where are we going?” I asked. I looked at the bullet hole in the windshield. “Shouldn’t we change cars?”

But he wouldn’t answer. He just shook his head and kept on driving.

I’d done the right thing...but I was terrified of the course I’d set him on.

Gabriella

When we pulled up outside Penn Station, I thought we were just changing cars. But Alexei pressed my purse and laptop into my arms and hustled me inside, stopping only once at a ticket machine. He dragged me to a platform where a train was already waiting. The screens said it left in four minutes.

“Washington?” I asked. “We’re going to Washington?”

He pushed me onto the train. “Big city,” he said. “You can change trains there, go anywhere.”

I grabbed his arm. “
You?”
My voice broke. “What do you mean,
you?”

We stared at each other.

“No,” I said. “No, no,
no!”

He pressed the ticket into my hand. “I have to go to Russia, to try to save the Malakovs.”

“But they won’t listen to you! They think you’re a traitor! They’ll shoot you on sight!”

“I have to try.”

“Take me with you! I can help!”

“I need to know you’re safe.”

This is not happening.
I felt that
wrench
again, the same one I’d felt when I first saw him, except this was a thousand times worse. This was like my heart being ripped out. “Alexei,
no!”

Last-minute passengers scrambled aboard, pushing me away from the door. They couldn’t understand why I kicked and struggled, trying to get past them. “
No!”
I yelled. “Let me through!” Then I heard the warning beep as the doors prepared to close. I shoved people out of the way and got back to the door just too late. I  slammed my hand against the window, my eyes filling up with tears.

Alexei put his hand to the other side of the glass. “I love you,” he said. “I’ll never forget you.”

He turned away. His eyes were shining.

The train started to move.

“Alexei!” I sobbed. “
Alexei!”

Alexei

I turned away from the train, trying to shut out the sound of her sobs behind me.
Don’t think. Don’t feel.
I had to pretend I was back in the army. Think only of the job at hand. Steal a new car. Get to the airport. Get to Russia and save the Malakovs.

I knew I was never going to see her again. I was going up against Seventeen and Nikolai
and
all of my own people. I’d likely be shot before I even got close to Luka. But I had to try.

If I hadn’t been concentrating so fiercely on being cold and efficient, on shutting out the pain in my heart, I would have missed him. He could have been any other commuter, in his smart suit. But I glimpsed the knife he was holding down by his waist, half-hidden by his coat. And I recognized his face. He was one of the men who’d shot up the motel. One of Nikolai’s men.

I remembered the car, with its gunshot hole and its ruined front end. Konstantin’s escape vehicle—it had been with us far too long, ever since the night before. I hadn’t had time to change it, even though I’d known the police would be looking for it. And Nikolai no doubt had some friends in the NYPD, feeding him tips…

I darted forward and grabbed the guy’s arm. It was exactly the sort of thing I’d been trained to do, exactly what I was good at…except now, for the first time, I was worried about the people around me. I couldn’t get into a knife fight in the middle of a crowd. I imagined the blade slicing into the stomach of some woman, some child...

I heaved the guy around and slammed him into the side of a bagel stand. The knife went clattering to the ground. One good punch across the jaw and the guy sagged to his knees.

I pushed quickly through the crowd, looking for the others. There would be four or five at least: one would be waiting by the car, in case we came back. I could see one over by the exit and another by the ticket office, but where were the other two?