Page 4 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“Because he could be important. A player.”

“A player?” I repeat. “What makes you think that?”

“If not a player, then at the very least, he’s a tool. And I think that because of how little there is regarding this ‘Sanctuary.’”

I frown. “I’m not following.”

“I did more research after you left. It’s not just that there isn’t much information out there. There isn’tanything.It feels like everything about these crazy assholes has been buried deep enough to never see the light of day. Whoever the fuck they are, they’re keeping stuff close to the chest.”

Close to the chest.The phrase sticks in my head for some reason. It’s like there’s a word on the tip of my tongue, trying to get out, but I just can’t place it.

I glance back at Anna’s body through the mess of limbs as the cleanup crew prepare her to be moved. Her throat is a jagged slice of drying blood. Her clothes are ripped and bedraggled from our fight and from Elyssa’s shot. The collar of her blouse is pulled away, too, revealing a slice of wrinkled collarbone…

The cleanup crew gets ready to hoist her onto the waiting trolley.

“Wait!” I raise my hand.

Everyone stops short. They look up at me, masked and goggled, listening for further instructions.

“Leave her. I’ll call you in when I’m ready.”

The men nod in deference and back out of the room at once, leaving Matvei and me alone with Anna’s body.

Moving in a daze, I step forward to examine her. A weaker man might’ve retched at all the blood. The human body is such a disgustingly fragile thing.

But I’ve been immune to the gore since the day I found Aurora.

I grab a cloth left behind by the crew and dab at the spot on her collarbone I noticed.They’re keeping stuff close to the chest…

Dried blood comes away, little by little by little…

Until I see a tattoo.

It’s blurred. Old ink—doing the math, I’d guess that it’s been fifty-plus years since Astra Tyrannis marked this on her.

But the shape is unmistakable.

“Fucking hell,” I growl. I recoil in shock.

“What?” Matvei asks, leaping over to look along with me.

“See that?” I ask, pointing to the gracefully arched neck.

“Is it a bird?”

“Yes,” I rasp. “It’s a swan.”

Matvei looks at me with confusion. “You’re looking at me like I should know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you get it? Don’t you fucking see?” I ask. My heart is racing and my skin is prickling with cold sweat. I feel like everything is finally resolving itself into shape. Like when you stare at an optical illusion for too long, trying to figure it out, and then all at once you see it.

Your worldview shifts forever. Dots get connected. The big picture emerges.

In this case, it’s horrifying.

“It’s a swan! It’s a fucking black swan.”

“Fuck,” Matvei repeats, his eyes going wide. “A black swan paperweight. That’s what you said.”

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