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We climbed the three flights of stairs without complaint. I stayed in the rear, taking in the stained carpet and paint worn away around every doorframe. It stank with the muted undertone of mold and body odor, something I knew Anika would never have tolerated if she could’ve afforded better.

We’d spent five years picturing her somewhere warm and expensive, enjoying our money while we searched. The truth was more brutal than I’d expected.

She’d spent years carrying groceries and a baby up these stairs, opened a bakery, and stretched every dollar until it begged for mercy. Guilt had become an unfamiliar but persistent companion, and I rubbed a hand over my chest when the ache of it drummed my ribs.

My men cleared the apartment before allowing us inside. Anika started to complain, her cheeks pinkening, but she stopped when Kirill put an arm over her shoulder and whispered into her ear.

We entered it in a straight line, and I waited for them to spread out before I swept a glance around. The living room was barely big enough for a small couch, a toy box, and a table covered with childish drawings. Paper stars hung from the ceiling, and a stack of invoices for the bakery occupied one end of the counter beside a ceramic jar shaped like a cupcake.

Anika watched me take it all in, one side of her mouth hitched up in a sardonic smile. “Not quite the hideout you imagined?”

“No.” I refused to insult her with an excuse. “I was wrong.”

She gasped and clutched a hand to her throat. “No way!” A snort followed, and she shook her head. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“Never apologize for being yourself.” I loved that she threw sarcasm at me. It made me feel accepted, something I’d never felt with anyone except Roman and Kirill.

Her expression softened, and she nodded before marching into the bedroom. Grunting, she shoved a low dresser away from the wall. One floorboard beneath it had a crescent dug into the edge. Roman crouched and pried it up with his knife.

A small black suitcase lay in the narrow space, and Anika released a tight breath. “That’s it.” She took an old key that had been taped to the back of the dresser and tried the lock. It refused to turn, and Roman examined the brass.

He turned it over, running his thumb over the polished surface. “This lock is new.” He pointed to the case. “Look at the dust on the case and how shiny the lock is. Someone changed it.”

“How recently?” Kirill checked the bedroom window before moving to the closet.

“Hard to say for sure. I’d estimate a few weeks.” Roman looked up at Anikal. “Who knew it was here?”

“Only me and Alina.” Her face paled. “I never told anyone.”

But Alina could have.

I took the pry bar one of my men offered and broke the lock with a sharp crack. The suitcase opened with a metallic snap.

Inside lay a leather ledger darkened with dried blood. The corner of a photograph peeked out from beneath it.

Roman opened the ledger and scanned the first page, holding it so I could see as well. Columns of dates and payments ran beside names I recognized, including two men who had lieutenant level access within the Volkov organization. Sokolov’s name appeared in the margin beside a series of transfers, and both officials had the same who had the level of access required to open our tunnels.

Kirill picked up the photo and went unnaturally still. I took it from him, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. A blink proved it was no joke. Anika slept in the center of the masquerade bed, her hair spread across the pillow. Roman lay behind her, Kirill at her feet, and I had one arm across her waist. All three of us still wore our masks, and the angle suggested the photo had been taken inside the room. Someone had been close enough to watch us sleep.

My body flushed hot and cold in turn, anger building so fast I barely managed to contain it. Whoever had done this would pay. I’d see to it personally. With great pleasure. Kirill’s hostage might be of some use to us…if we ever managed to get the paperweight out of his mouth.

Anika moved toward me. “Maksim, what is it?”

A red point of light appeared in the center of her chest. Sniper.

14

ROMAN

My arms locked around Anika’s waist and drove us both to the floor. She let out a muffled oomph against my chest at the same instant the rifle cracked. Glass exploded across the bedroom, and the shot punched a hole in the wall two feet above the dresser, spraying plaster over my back.

Anika grunted. “Can’t breathe.”

I covered her head with one arm and reached for my weapon. “You can turn your head to the side. I’m not moving yet.”

Maksim barked out a series of commands. “Rear. Fifth floor.”

Kirill was already moving as well. He dropped beneath the window, came up far enough to fire three rounds toward the flash across the street, then ducked as another bullet tore through the upper part of the window frame.