Page 46 of Blood & Snow
"I'll get it done."
He finally raises his eyes to meet mine.
"You have thirty-nine days, Xander, to dismantle what remains of their organization or face consequences we've previously discussed."
The reminder of my own execution date only makes the knot in my chest worse.
"The remaining cells have improved their security protocols," I explain.
"They know we're hunting them now. Direct assault will cost more soldiers than we can afford to lose."
"Then use indirect methods. Use the assets you've developed. Use that forensics expert who's been providing tactical analysis."
Markov's smile is devilish and dangerous.
"She's proven quite useful, according to your reports."
My jaw tightens at the mention of Nadya.
Markov knows about her existence but not the extent of her involvement in my operations.
He certainly doesn't know she spent a night in my bed this week or that I wake each morning wanting to keep her there permanently.
"She provides valuable insight into crime scene analysis," I say carefully.
"I'm sure she does. Beautiful women often prove multi-talented."
He leans forward and his smile grows sinister.
"Perhaps it's time to expand her role in our organization."
"Her current role suits operational requirements."
"Her current role serves your personal requirements, which may not align with our priorities."
Markov stands and moves to the window overlooking the square.
"Attachment makes men vulnerable, Xander. Vulnerability gets them killed."
The warning carries weight beyond mere advice.
Markov built his empire by eliminating threats before they became problems—including women who lay in his own bed.
If he perceives my relationship with Nadya as weakness, she becomes expendable regardless of her usefulness.
"I understand," I repeat, though understanding and compliance remain different beasts entirely.
"Good. I expect the Brotherhood eliminated before the deadline. Use whatever methods prove necessary, but deliver results."
He returns to his desk and picks up another report.
"That will be all."
I exit his office and descend to street level where my driver waits beside the black sedan.
The afternoon sun reflects off snow-covered buildings, transforming Moscow into a winter postcard that conceals the blood flowing beneath its pristine surface.
"Where to?" he asks as I settle into the back seat.
