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“A friend-friend?” she says. “Or afriend?”
“It’s complicated,” I tell her.
“That’sinteresting,” Ania says. “You’ve never been very complicated when it comes to your love life. Tell me everything.”
“Later, okay?” I tell my baby sister. “I need to speak with Mikhail.”
“I think he’s in the hacking room with Mila.”
“The hacking room? With Mila?”
“Haven’t you seen it? They’ve taken the pool table out of the game room and hooked up a bunch of computers and stuff.”
“Mila’s helping him?” I ask.
Ania nods with a slight smile on her face. Sometimes, my half-sister unnerves me with the way she stares. It’s like she’s holding onto a secret we know nothing about. “Yeah. I mean, what else is she supposed to do around here?”
“I didn’t know she was good with computers.”
Ania arches an eyebrow. “Do you care?”
After a moment, I answer honestly, “No, not really. Mikhail knows what he’s doing.”
Walking into the house, I go down the long, tall hallways until I come to what was the game room. Pushing the door open, I find Mikhail sitting at a desk in the corner of the room and Mila at another, both of them typing away. When Mikhail sees me, he pushes away from his chair and quickly walks over, throwing his arms around me.
“Those pricks,” Mikhail growls. “Those animals. I should’ve been there.”
“You’re doing more good here,” I reassure him. “The men spoke Serbian to each other before we started speaking in Russian. Does anyone on your list have any connections?”
Mikhail smirks. “Our father was good for something, at least, making us take all those language lessons.”
“Yeah, R-I-P.”
“Sorry,” Mikhail calls over to Mila. “The Sokolovs are known for their dark humor.”
Mila turns, smiles nervously, then turns back to her computer and continues typing.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Mikhail says when he sees me looking. “Shall we check the list?”
I nod, following him to the terminal, walking around what looks like old computers and randomly thrown-together wires.
“What’s all this for?” I ask.
“Processing power. We’re conducting deep searches in every database we can conceivably access. The Serbian angle will help.”
I wait as Mikhail types quickly, his glasses perched on his nose, his longer-on-top hair falling to the side. Mila occasionally glances at me, but I don’t know what she wants. Unlike Lia, I can’t read her expression. Maybe Mikhail or Ania mentioned I was bringing a woman home with me, and now she’s worrying about her father finding out.
“Artyom Dragomirov,” Mikhail says. “He lived in Serbia for several years. His criminal record is mysteriously empty, not even a driving ticket. He’s only been with us for just over two years…”
Mikhail trails off, maybe because Mila is here, but I know what he’s getting at. Two years is plenty of time for our father and Nikolai to establish a man in the Bratva. Maybe he even got his diagnosis two years ago, and this prompted him to set up the connection.
“What about the store?” Mikhail says, changing the subject.
“I’ve briefed the cops,” I tell him, glancing at Mila.
“Don’t worry,” she snaps, seeing me looking. “I won’t go running to Daddy.”
“We can trust her,” Mikhail says. I love my brother, but since he hasn’t had to deal with the Bratva world as much as me—though he’s still done his part when needed—sometimes he seems a little naïve.
