Page 59 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
His face changed in an instant, color draining like someone pulled a plug. “Guys, I got the picture.”
The laughter died. Everyone leaned in as Drew turned his screen toward us.
The face staring back was young, ethereal, beautiful in the way poisonous things often are. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, eyes that looked like they’d seen too much death for someone barely out of their teens.
Casandra gasped.
Maxim went rigid against the wall.
My blood turned to ice in my veins.
Drew’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Mila Kozak has been inside our house for the past three weeks.”
The words detonated like a bomb in the small room. Three weeks. Three weeks of this girl—this professional killer—living under our roof, cooking meals for Anya, answering phones, handling schedules.
Three weeks of having a viper in our nest.
“Where the fuck is Sasha?” Trev’s voice was deadly quiet, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. “I knew something wasn’t right.”
Sasha. Sweet, efficient, loyal Sasha, who’d been with Anya for two years. Who knew her routines, her preferences, her vulnerabilities. Who would have fought tooth and nail before letting some stranger take her place.
Which meant she was either dead or being held somewhere, probably as leverage.
“How long has Anya been alone with her?” I was already reaching for my clothes, pain be damned.
“Since you’ve been in here,” Maxim answered grimly. “Three weeks of daily access. Mila could have poisoned her, could have—”
“She wouldn’t kill her outright.” Drew’s fingers flew over his keyboard, pulling up surveillance feeds and communication logs. “Anya’s more valuable alive. Bait for you, leverage against the family.”
But even as he said it, I could see the fear in his eyes. Because Mila Kozak wasn’t just any assassin. She was Petro’s daughter, raised from childhood to kill without conscience or hesitation. And if she’d been playing house with my wife for three weeks, she’d have been gathering intelligence we couldn’t even begin to calculate.
“We move now.” I was struggling into my shirt, ignoring the way my ribs screamed in protest. “Full tactical deployment. No warnings, no negotiations.”
“Lev, you can barely stand—” Casandra started.
“I don’t give a shit.” The words came out harder than I intended, but fear made me cruel. Fear for Anya, for our future, for the life we’d been trying to build in the ruins of this fucked-up world.
Trev pushed off from the door. “I’m with you.”
I looked at him—really looked at him—and tried to reconcile the brother I’d mourned with the man who’d been watching me from the shadows for nearly three decades. The lies, the tracker, the theatrical rescue—all of it had been choreographed. But right now, with Anya in danger and time running out, I needed every gun I could get.
Even if one of them belonged to a ghost who’d been lying to me since we were ten years old.
“Drew, I need everything on Mila Kozak’s methods. How she works, what she prefers, where she’d take hostages.” I was moving toward the door, crutches forgotten. “Maxim, coordinate with Rafael’s people. I want the penthouse surrounded but not approached until I give the word.”
“And if she’s already moved Anya?” Trev asked.
I paused at the door, my hand on the handle, and let the silence stretch until everyone understood exactly what kind of monster they were working with.
“Then we burn Chicago to the ground until we find her.”
Because some promises were written in blood, and the one I’d made to protect Anya was going to be kept even if it cost me everything I had left.
Including the brother I’d just gotten back.
Chapter 20 – Anya
I stirred when Erin’s voice floated through the haze of exhaustion that had been my constant companion for days. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, thoughts moving through thick syrup as I tried to focus on her words.
