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Most men would call her beautiful if they saw her like this. Tonight, she’s another problem.

Art stands beside the monitors, arms folded across his chest. The stark glow paints his muscles in geometric shapes.

“I have to ask.”

“You usually do.”

He ignores the jab. “Is taking a hostage really the right move right now?”

I don’t answer immediately. Outside, the lake has disappeared into darkness; the windows reflecting the office back at us instead. Somewhere down the hall, in another wing, behind two reinforced doors and four armed guards, Matilda Pierce sleeps through the consequences of my decisions.

“It’s exactly the right move.”

Art’s eyes narrow. He rarely questions my motives, and I’m not usually so opaque, but tonight I’m irritated. Agitated. Not just by how my body reacted when I pulled her close back in New York City, but by the feeling that something is coming.

“She’s leverage?”

“No.”

“Then what is she?”

I study the monitor. “A solution to our problem.”

He doesn’t look convinced and sighs.

“This organization is under investigation. Mikhail’s sitting in a cell. Yuri’s people are making moves we haven’t even uncovered yet.” He gestures toward the screen. “And now we’ve kidnapped a defense attorney. You’re trying to give Beaumont a heart attack, aren’t you?”

Lifting a brow, I tip my head back and forth, considering. “Would that be the worst outcome here? The old man is wearing thin, Arthur. I can’t have someone weak backing me up, not in this industry.”

He knows I don’t mean construction. Conceding with a grunt, Art excuses himself to go brief his men on the security detail for Matilda Pierce. Switching out every six hours. Don’t underestimate her.

As soon as he leaves the room, I’m alone with my anxiety.

This morning, Kevin finally called through the encrypted line that Ariadna keeps up for him. Fifteen years old; too young to be playing this game, but his older brother did it before him. Yuri broke the cardinal rule that we don’t involve children. I tell myself that taking information from a boy already inside is different. Ariadna has never looked convinced.

Kevin started working as a Shestyorka, an errand boy, for Yuri when he was just eleven years old. To this day, Ariadna questions if getting involved was truly a good idea.

Kevin knows exactly which conversations to repeat and which names to remember. He keeps us apprised of most of Yuri’s moves, at least the ones he catches wind of.

But what I really want out of this double-crossed relationship is to keep an eye on him. Yuri sees everyone as disposable, including the kid. I have boundaries, though keeping him useful to me has blurred this one more than I care to admit.

The voicemail from this morning plays back in my mind as if I’m listening to it again in real time:

Hi, Mr. Borisov. The accountant. Semiyon is the one who contacted the authorities. He’s been bragging about it at the Alpine Wench. I hope that’s helpful.

The Alpine Wench is a dive bar buried in the woods between Cadyville and Saranac Lake. It shouldn’t surprise me that Semiyon is stupid enough to brag, but it does surprise me that he’s the one who initiated this coup.

He should know better.

“It’s amazing that he hasn’t gotten himself killed yet,” Ariadna deadpanned when she played the voicemail for me. “Impressive, really. At one time Yuri was ready to give Semiyon up to the wilderness.”

Semiyon is a classic fuck-up. A washed-up Boevik who partakes too much and talks too loudly. I’m surprised Yuri ever let him sign on with his gang. And I’m pissed that Semiyon figured out enough legitimate intel about our operation to get us in this hole.

On the screen, Matilda shifts in her sleep. It’s agitated movement, heavy and instinctual. An animal part of her brain buried under the sedation knows that she’s vulnerable.

Not that I’ll slip into that room and touch her.

No. It was enough in that little apartment to feel the heat of her under my touch.