Page 8 of Scarlet Sins

Hope springs fucking eternal.

“Then my second is shot. And the woman with us? Erin? Her son is taken. And now her. And if I find you had anything to do with any of this? You’re fucking dead.” I look him in the eye. “Is that clear?”

There’s a brief spark of fear, but as I release him, it’s goneand he laughs, waving a hand at the guard, who grunts but disappears.

“Demyan, is that any way to speak to the only man who can help you right now?”

I nod, taking a beat. This is all levels of wrong, but at the center of it, I think he’s telling the truth. Friend or foe or even fucking frenemy, the man’s right.

With Niko seemingly gone to ground, with him sending his men into that very, very private and secure hospital, into my fucking home, I’m not sure there’s anyone else.

Our world will be watching. My allies waiting for word, waiting, I know, to see if they need to shift alliances. The tremors are out there, vibrating.

Something’s going down and has been since Alina’s wedding.

Possibly since I took out Niko’s bag of dicks, he called a brother.

But everyone’s taking note and not moving unless help is asked.

I don’t want to owe those favors. I don’t need more firepower than I have at my disposal.

Sergio has information. I smell it, feel it.

And that’s what I need.

I’m going to have to play ball no matter how bitter it is.

But I’m not about to let this fuck know. “And how do I know that?” I spit the words. “Why should I trust a word you say?”

“Demyan.” He spreads his hands wide and walks down the hall, expecting me to follow.

I struggle to control the violence, the savage bite of anger in me as I follow him into his study where he’s pouring a drink. He leaves me one but I don’t touch it. Fuck protocol.

“Demyan,” he says again, “you wound me, you do. Of course you can trust me. After all, we’re going to be family.”

There it is, the hook in all this. And Erin’s bait.

“You do nothing without an ulterior motive.”

“You know what I want.”

“I told you?—”

“Believe me or not,” he says, sipping the amber liquid in his glass. “But I can help. And I know where Niko is holding this Erin. Your son’s mother.”

I wait, giving away nothing. Even though I want to rip his head from his shoulders.

“But,” he adds, “you’re right. I never give away anything for free.”

He downs his drink and goes to a drawer in his desk and rummages around before finally pulling out what looks like one of those old-fashioned dictator tape recorders.

“What the fuck, Sergio.”

“This time, I want confirmation that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain.” He presses record.

“Demyan Yegorov, this is in lieu of writing, which we will do, but I need a verbal confirmation you’re to marry my beautiful daughter, Stefina Augusto.”

I look at him. “In exchange for?”

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