Page 66 of Tattooed Vow

“I think I know things that can save your life,” Ilya replies, looking directly at me. “Things about Morozov's next move. About why he came to New York. About the shipment coming in next week that will change the balance of power in New York forever.”

I glance at Aleksandr. His face gives nothing away, but I know what he’s thinking. Information is currency in our world, sometimes worth more than money or blood.

“Talk,” I order. “If what you tell us proves valuable, we'll consider your request."

Ilya's eyes narrow. “That's not good enough.”

“It's all you're going to get,” Aleksandr insists, wiping his blade clean on Ilya's shirt before stepping back. “And you're running out of time to make it count.”

Ilya looks between us with calculation in his eyes. Finally, he nods once. “Morozov's planning to hit you directly, Dimitri. Not the organization. You.”

“That's hardly news,” I scoff. “Morozov and I have been circling each other for months.”

“No, you don't understand,” Ilya insists. “This isn't business for him. It's personal. He came to New York for one reason only. To make you suffer for killing his brother.”

“Sergei was scum,” I say coldly. “What happened was justice, not murder.”

“Not to Andrei,” Ilya replies. “To him, you took his younger brother. His blood. And now he wants payment in kind.”

“What exactly is Morozov planning?” Aleksandr demands.

Ilya shrugs as much as his bindings will allow. “I don't know the specifics. The Butcher doesn't share details with underlings. I just know it's coming soon, and it will target you directly.”

“That's not enough,” Aleksandr hisses, the knife appearing in his hand again.

“Wait,” Ilya says quickly. “There's more. The shipment next week—it's not just weapons. Morozov's bringing in something that will give him leverage over every organization in New York. Something from his contacts in Moscow.”

“What?” I press.

“Information,” Ilya replies. “Files. On everyone. Politicians. Judges. Police commissioners. Banking information, offshore accounts, blackmail material. Enough to buy protection at every level or destroy anyone who stands in his way.”

Aleksandr and I exchange glances. If true, this will shift the balance of power dramatically. Morozov will be untouchable.

“When and where?” Aleksandr asks.

“Monday night. East Port Container Terminal. It's coming in on a Russian freighter, the Vladivostok Star, hidden in a shipment of industrial equipment.”

I study Ilya's face, looking for signs of deception. “Why would Morozov tell you this? You're not high enough in his organization to need this information.”

A flicker of resentment crosses Ilya's features. “I overheard him talking to the Butcher. They've been meeting at my apartment, neutral ground, to keep their conversations private from the rest of Morozov's enforcers. Not everyone in his organization supports this vendetta against you.”

That, at least, rings true. Morozov's obsession with personal revenge would rankle the more business-minded members of his Bratva.

“And Sandy?” I ask the question that has been burning in my mind. “What exactly does he plan to do with her?”

Something changes in Ilya's expression, a cruel satisfaction. “Kill her, of course. Slowly. While you watch. The Butcher has quite specific plans for her.”

A cold, unforgiving fury surges through me sharper than anything I’ve ever felt. Sandy has nothing to do with this. She is innocent. The only reason she is in danger is because I care about her. And now, Morozov will make her pay the price for my sins.

“He'll never touch her,” I growl, my voice so low it’s barely audible.

“You can't protect her forever, Dimitri,” Ilya taunts. “Morozov is patient. He'll wait until your guard drops and you make a mistake.

Before I can respond, the door to the dungeon bursts open. Yuri stands in the doorway, his expression grim.

“Pakhan,” he addresses Aleksandr. “There's been an incident at the perimeter of the estate. Two of our men are down. We have intruders.”

Aleksandr curses in Russian. “Secure the grounds. Full lockdown protocol.”

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