Page 177 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

Matvei falls silent. I scan the back of the van we’re sitting in. Given the ten other men cramped into the back with us, it’s stifling hot. Like the heat itself is choking the oxygen from my lungs.

I try drawing in a big breath to steady my lungs, but it’s like inhaling campfire smoke. It does nothing to settle my nerves.

I have a feeling I’m going to have to get used to that.

“Who’s coming with me?” I ask.

“Konstantin, Ilya, Grigori, and Vitaly.”

I frown. “That’s not what we discussed—”

“Jesus, Elyssa. I can’t send you in there with only one man,” Matvei retorts.

The van rocks to the side as we round a sharp corner. “Why not?” I argue. “I’m more likely to fly under the radar with just one person. Three more is definitely going to draw attention.”

“This plan is risky enough.”

“It’s not risky; it’s bold.”

“Same difference,” Matvei says irritably.

“Once you’ve blown apart the building’s façade, they’ll have no choice but to meet you out there in the open. You have enough men to hold them at bay until I can locate Phoenix and the boys. While you’re fighting, I can get them to safety.”

“And you really think it’s going to be as easy as sneaking them out while Ozol’s men are fighting us?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” I ask. “They’ll need all hands on deck.”

“Ozol is too shrewd a man to leave valuable assets unguarded, even in a crisis.”

“I’ll have one man with me,” I point out. “And I’m well-armed.”

Matvei rolls his eyes. “But do you know how to use any of those weapons?”

“It’s a gun,” I say, trying to pass off my nerves as confidence. “You aim and shoot. And as for the knife, you poke the pointy end at the other guy. Have I got that right?”

“Very funny. It’s not that simple.”

“It never is with you, Matvei,” I sigh.

I’m trying to be patient with him. He’s thrown his weight behind my plan, after all, and marshalled the entire Kovalyov Bratva—Artem and Esme’s contingent included—to go along with it.

Besides, his heart is in the right place. He just wants his friend to be safe.

I can get behind that.

“There’s such a thing as overthinking,” I add.

“Not where you’re concerned.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “I’m flatted and everything,” I say, trying to make light of the seriousness of the moment. “But I’m taken.”

He very nearly smiles. “Who the hell are you these days?” he laughs. “I barely recognize you.”

Honestly, some moments, even I’m not sure. But I do like the new me.

Nothing is less scary. Somehow, though, I feel like I can face it all, no matter how scary it gets.

You go girl!

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