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“Kroshka.”
I stopped, and the gun fell to the ground in a loud thump. My gaze remained on the man below, the man I had just shot. Blood was everywhere, smearing the pristine hardwoods and his clothes. Even in death, his eyes were restless, without peace, searching out to the open.
Ilias’s warmth pulled my face away, but not my gaze. It was still trapped to the life I’d just taken. He covered my eyes and burrowed my head in his chest, holding me tightly to him.
Even in his hold, I couldn’t muster any feelings.
I was numbed.
I'd killed a man, and I didn’t feel anything. Not a ray of sorrow or remorse for taking something that wasn’t mine or within my power to do.
“I’m so sorry, Davina,” Ilias murmured.
What was he sorry for?
Downstairs, a door was pushed open, and I closed my eyes at the thought of others coming. But Ilias held me tighter, not worried of who’d walked in.
“Brat?” The same voice I’d spoken to on the phone sounded troubled as he shouted.
Viktor.
Ilias pulled my face away but only to bring his inches from mine. Blood stained his features, but all I focused on was his sky-blue eyes.
“Listen to me very carefully. Things are about to change, and you will know a part of me even I’d tried to stay away from. But there are two made men dead inside my house, and you must not say you’d killed one of them. Do you understand?” His eyes bored into mine.
Then I remembered. “But you knew one, you called him…”
“Don’t,” Ilias hushed me with a small kiss and pulled back. His movements were quick, worried even.
I could tell.
The real danger had just begun.
Sixteen
Ilias
“Fuck,” Viktor whispered when he entered the hallway with eyes wide, quickly taking in the surroundings. When he noticed me standing inches away from the door with Davina behind me, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes calmed. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, not mentioning the open wound I’d received from the first guy I didn’t have the name of. His accent, clothing, and the way he portrayed himself, it all screamed mafioso.
My first thought was Lucca. Arlo had mentioned heat on the streets, the hierarchy change, and the tensions within the famiglia. Maybe they were trying to make Lucca seem weak before fully sitting on the throne of Miami. But then I’d seen Ugo.
It was personal
Ugo had spoken of finding her.
The pieces connected, and I was in bigger trouble than I could’ve ever imagined.
He'd gone as far as going against orders by coming inside my home.
“Ili.” My brother was troubled with the scene, the bodies, me, Davina, and what it meant.
Unlike me, Viktor was a made man. He couldn’t work side by side with Lucca or Arlo with the DEA position he had been molded to hold. He understood first-hand the wrath the family could inflict when one of their own was killed.
I had two made men, from two different families, dead in my hallway.
It was a death sentence, and the way my brother couldn’t stop looking around the filthy hallway, he knew it too.
