“I’m a year older than you, you schmuck!” I laugh as I try to keep the dogs from turning me over. “Help, please?”

“Bambi! Flora!” he yells. “Down. Now!”

The dogs immediately retreat and plant their butts on the ground, their eyes fixed on Sasha.

“You need to forbid Uncle Sergei from naming your dogs.” I laugh and run up the steps and into his arms. “I’ve missed your ugly mug.”

“We missed you, too. Come on in. We’ve got some leftovers. Mom made her famous chicken and Mexican rice. Besides, if you stay out here, I’ll need to get my shotgun to ward off the horde of salivating men that will soon start to gather.”

I smile. I’m wearing some of Yulia’s pretty clothes that she let me borrow, not my usual baggy jeans and shapeless shirts. Can’t wait to see the look on Rafael’s face when he sees me descending the stairs off the plane. He’ll be surprised. I haven’t told him that I’m coming back.

“I can’t stay,” I say. “I thought you moved out.”

“I did. But you know how my mother gets jumpy every time Dad goes out into the field. So I came over to keep her company.”

“And get free food?”

“Yeah, that, too.” He winks. “Dad is coming back sometime tomorrow. You can drop by then.”

“I’m . . . actually leaving right away. I’m on my way to the airport.” I throw a look at my watch. “I have less than an hour or the plane will depart without me.”

“Leaving? But you just got back. Where are you going now?”

“Sicily.” I can’t suppress my grin.

“Oh. What a coincidence. Dad’s there now.”

I stop in my tracks. “Uncle Sergei’s in Sicily?”

“Yeah. Roman needed him to off some asshole over there. He took off yesterday.”

My legs nearly fold under me. Panic grips me and horror washes over me from head to toe. I can practically feel the tight squeeze of fate’s hand around my neck. Squeezing. Squeezing. I can’t breathe.

“Vasya? You okay?”

I spin around and run out of the house, straight to my car. Ignoring Sasha’s calls after me, I grab my phone while starting the engine and dial Rafael’s number. It rings. And rings. I try twice more, but he doesn’t answer.

“Shit!” I merge onto the road leading to the highway that will eventually take me to the private airfield and keep calling Rafael. No answer.

I call Dad’s number next. The call goes directly to voicemail.

“Oh God,” I choke out, then redial. Voicemail again.

My eyes dart between my phone and the road in front of me. I can’t get on that plane unless I manage to contact Rafael and warn him. Or make my dad call off Uncle Sergei. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I turn the steering wheel sharply to the left, making a U-turn, and floor the gas pedal, heading toward home instead of the waiting airplane.

Minutes pass. Five. Ten. Half an hour. I keep dialing, switching between Rafael’s and Dad’s numbers. No answer. Voicemail. No answer. Voicemail. I pull up the contacts list and scroll, searching for Guido’s, but I can’t find it!

“Fuck!” I scream and restart my search from the top of the list. When I finally find his name, I hit dial and turn on the speakerphone.

Please. Please pick up!

“Vasilisa?”

“My father sent a hitman after Rafael!” I cry. “You need to warn him!”

Silence. A second feels like a lifetime. “Who did he send?”

“My uncle. Sergei Belov.”

“Shit,” Guido whispers.

The line goes dead.

“Guido? Fuck.” I call Rafael again. Nothing.

I hit my mom’s number next. She answers on the first ring.

“He sent Uncle Sergei to kill Rafael!” I scream into the phone.

“What? Who?”

“Dad! I’ve been calling Rafael but can’t reach him. And Dad’s line goes directly to voicemail.”

“He’s in his office. I’m heading down there.” I can hear the slam of the door and the hurried footfalls of running feet. “You should have told Roman, Vasilisa. If you’d have told him the truth, he never would have sent Sergei. Your dad believes that man was keeping you against your will and that he hurt you. And since you wouldn’t give your father any details, he assumed the worst.”

“I didn’t want to tell him because I was afraid he’d do exactly this!”

“Call Sergei,” she says over her rapid and shallow breaths. “Tell him to stay put.”

“You know he won’t,” I whimper. My uncle takes orders only from the pakhan. I could cry and beg, and he would still follow through on what he was ordered to do. He won’t waiver unless my father rescinds the command. “I’m ten minutes away. Please, Mom! Convince Dad to call off Uncle Sergei!”

“I will, baby. Don’t worry.”

“What do you mean, he canceled the shipment?” I snarl into the phone.

“I’m speaking rather clearly, am I not?” Nikolai replies.

It took me years to find someone who could adequately replace Anton as a brigadier, overseeing the ranks of our men. Managing Bratva’s foot soldiers is akin to handling the reins on a herd of maniacal hyenas. They won’t take orders from just anyone. But even when they do, many often feel at liberty to make their own interpretation as to how the orders should be carried out. To keep everyone in line, and not go apeshit in the process, the man in charge must either possess an extremely calm demeanor and be methodical in exercising his authority, or be someone who is basically nuts himself. Nikolai Levin is the latter kind. Most days, I’m not certain if I should promote the disrespectful fucker or simply snap his neck. The lunatic took a bullet for me two years ago, so I guess I have a soft spot for him.

“Watch your mouth,” I bark. “And explain.”

“We arrived at the border as planned, only to have one of Ramirez’s men relay a message to us that the backstabbing cunt found another buyer. I tried getting a hold of Belov, but he’s not answering his phone.”

“My brother is dealing with another issue at the moment. Do you still have Ramirez’s guy?”

“Yes.”