Page 19 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“What do you want?” Elodie Vale demands, her voice tightening with anger. “I’m not backing down on the story.”

“Story?” Drago murmurs under his breath. His device begins to beep with information. “She’s an investigative journalist. That could be why I couldn’t get an ID on her.”

I close my eyes. Fuck.

Of all the complications, this is the one I didn’t need. Exposure. Attention. God, I’ve seen this movie before. This can get chaotic very quickly.

“Now you’re both coming with me,” I say, my tone hardening.

“You didn’t answer me,” Elodie presses, her voice sharper. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out when you get there,” I reply with practiced ease.

“Real mature.”

I ignore the brunette and focus my attention back to Sandrine. I’ve wanted to see her face for five years, and now it’s hard to look at her. I take her in piece by piece, cataloging the changes, the sameness, the way time has touched her and yet somehow left her intact.

It feels like I’m watching a ghost sit across from me.

“You,” I finally address her directly, my voice lower, meant only for her. “Give me your license.”

She shakes her head, her brows drawing together in confusion rather than defiance. “I don’t have one.”

That stalls me for half a second. She can drive. I taught her.

“What’s your name?” I ask, waving the gun, hoping it’s enough to tell me the truth.

She frowns, as if she has to reach for the right response. “Jessica.”

That’s a lie. But why lie to me? She doesn’t know it’s me. She can’t see my face.

“ETA,” I say, leaning back slightly so Drago can hear me.

“Five minutes,” my enforcer answers, his eyes flicking between the road and the device in his hand.

Across from me, the two women exchange a look, something unspoken passing between them. Elodie leans closer, her voice dropping.

“You should know,” she begins carefully, “we have connections to the Greek Mafia in New York.”

I let a slow smile spread beneath the mask. “I know Ares Zervas.”

Yet, he’d kill me if he knew I took his wife’s sister. He fucking knows that Sandrine is mine. I sent him the video. He didn’t care. He must have been following Sandrine’s wishes to stay hidden.

Surprise!

Me dropping Ares’s name makes them both go quiet, the tension in the van coiling deeper. Good. But now I have to consider how I dump the brunette without creating more problems than I’ve solved by letting a witness go free.

The SUV turns sharply, the motion making them lean slightly to one side.

“Watch it,” Sandrine says to the man holding her from behind. “You’re hurting me.”

“I said hold her.” I slice his arm. “Not hurt her. Remember who she is.”

Sandrine screams, seeing the bloody knife. She’s seen a lot worse. What is going on?

The choreography is already in place. Armored cars lie ahead with men ready to protect me.

We finally slow down, and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires means we’ve pulled into the cargo area. My plane sits just outside the hangar.