Page 85 of Iron Cross

His Russian accent was strong. Almost too strong. As though he was trying to make a point with it.

Eoghan was that way too. He was able to get rid of his Irish accent if he wanted, but chose to hold onto it instead. He wanted the world to know he was Irish, the same way this man wanted me to know that he was Russian.

“So why are you asking?” I narrowed my eyes, my lips feeling like they curled in scorn, even as I tried to school my features.

“I have known you for years now,” he said, pacing around the office, his eyes and his fingertips lightly perusing the spines, reading the titles of Eoghan’s many antique books. “We have a friend in common.”

“Is that right?” That wasn’t unusual. Many people on the Upper West Side knew about me. I was once a trophy for those who wanted people to know they were educated.

He pulled out a book, flipping the leather bind in his hand, the gilded edges flying through his thumb, before he loudly placed it back on the book shelf. He turned to me, his crisp suit not hiding the power pack of muscle that he had underneath.

His hair was a dark brown, with the beginning of gray at the temples. He was far too old for Aoibheann.

The need to kill him, if he hurt her, made my finger twitch near the blade again.

“You and I have a mutual friend,” he said, his eyes not leaving me for an instant, making my skin crawl. “Andres Lutkus. A veritable art lover, I think.”

His sarcasm at the last part made me twitch. Who was this man?

Andres hated art. He couldn’t fucking stand it. Though it was moronic, it was profitable. And he needed me to turn a profit.

“He seems to think that you are something special,” he continued, his voice deep with irritation and a small layer of smugness that I did not like. “Imagine how I felt when my old friend came to me, covered in blood, with some Italian Mafioso hacked apart in pieces. Then he tells me this crazy story.”

He shook his head and chuckled, turning around, his shit-brown eyes going over me.

“He says that this woman can finance our operations, if we give her a chance.” He began to pace again, his heavy footsteps echoing on the ground. “Andres is a rational man. Calculated. Precise. So I think… okay, why not? I let him train this pet project, we give it a shot, and see if it works. And it does for a few years.”

A sinking feeling crept up my throat. He couldn’t be who I thought he was. There was no way. Not him. That was aplot twist too fucking big to be kept under wraps, even for professional spies.

“Then he tells me, hey, she’s pregnant by the fucking worst criminal in the world, and oh, she’s married the bastard.”

My skin crawled as he kept on reciting more and more.

“There’s only one thing we do with traitors in Paradigm,” he said as he stepped towards me. I stood my fucking ground, my fingers tracing the blade at my thigh, ready to slice up his skull if I needed to. “Death. No fucking funeral, no discussion. You simply find yourself in a black bag, drowned like an unwanted cat.”

His eyes were fucking fire.

“Imagine my fucking surprise, when Blink calls me in a fucking panic, begging me to come here and find hisonly friend!I break every fucking traffic law to get here only to find you, holding hands playing the happy wife.” He sneered, his teeth pulling back on one side. “So tell me,MissusKira Green.” He spat out my name like a curse. “Why shouldn’t I have you poisoned like the deceptive little shit you are?”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, and I was backed into the desk.

I had nowhere to run, and nowhere to go.

And whatever I said next would determine if I lived or died.

My heart thudded in my chest, as I stared at the man who had recently removed me from my position after determining me tobe ineffective at my post. Now, he was ready to wipe me from existence.

But he didn’t know me. Blink was the only one who ever knew me.

I stepped forward, coming toe-to-toe with Jericho Vasiliev, head of the Bratva and apparent member of Paradigm.

“I might not know who you are in the organization,” I said through my teeth. “You might be the Pakhan of the New York Bratva.” I let out a low, cruel laugh, feeling the power in my body that I’d never had before. “But I’m Missus Eoghan Green. You harm me, you’ll unleash a monster on this city the likes of which will give you nightmares for decades to come…”

He snorted, his disbelief clear.

“... You think what happened to your sister was bad? You think what happened to Isla Green was a thing of legend?” I chuckled, matching his tone, until his smile faded away. “Just kill me.”

It was a dare. One I knew he wouldn’t follow through on. He couldn’t. Not here, at least.

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