Page 65 of Shattered Empire (Shattered World)

“Do you think he is a buyer?”

“Or a client?” Mark added.

“Both,” Ivan whispered, his gaze turning to me. “If he’s involved with the Dollhouse, I think he is more than just a client. I doubt clients are given a special decoder cane, and I highly doubt Kirill could afford their services if he wasn’t part of the inner circle. Which means he’s helping supply them while skimming off the top.”

“The assassination attempts.” Everything was becoming clearer. The threads of fate weaving the tapestry of my childhood were starting to come together to reveal Kirill’s grand design.

“How many were there?”

I scoffed. “More than anyone should have to count,” I told him, bitterness coating my tongue. “After Antony, they came every few months. The older I grew, the more frequent the attempts became.”

“He was growing desperate. Why?”

“Matthias was the only one who could identify your mother.” Dima spoke up from the doorway. The three of us missed the unlocking of the hotel room door. “Think about it.” He stepped into the room, handing out the bags of food we ordered. “If it was about straight-up succession, he would have made an attempt on your brothers.”

“He did,” Mark pointed out.

“Eh,” Dima scrunched his nose. “Not really, though. Yes, he manipulated your brother into hunting down Matthias. How he did that, you’ll have to ask him yourself, but I honestly don’t believe that he expected Matthias to kill him.”

Dima made a valid point. If Kirill wanted to remove the obstacles in his way of direct succession, he could have taken out Antony and Ivan long before he came after me.

“Antony was collateral,” Ivan snarled. “Either way, Kirill won. Our brother either killed you and his secret was safe, or you killed Antony and that was one less person in his way.” The gears in Ivan’s head were turning, his anger building as he recounted every moment Kirill had control over. Then he exploded.

“Son of a bitch!” Ivan roared, his fists clenching and unclenching as he fought the urge to destroy the room in his rage. “That motherfucking asshole.”

Kirill was playing a long game. Building an army for his war, but he was ill prepared. If the information we had gathered was accurate, it meant that Kirill was slipping. Or it was all a ruse, and we were walking into a trap.

“What are you doing?”

A feminine voice crackled through the speakers of the tablet.

Ava.

Closing my eyes, I let the familiar sound of her voice wash over me. Fuck, I missed her. Mark stuttered something, his back keeping us from her view.

“We’re heading to Portland.” Her soft voice was like a drug to me. “Can you gather some information for me? Sully O’Malley wants a sit down, and I need some dirt to take with me.”

“Yeah,” Mark told her anxiously. “I can do that. Just give me half an hour. I’m finishing up with a few things.”

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, nothing.” Mark panicked as he tried to keep Ava from viewing our video feed. Growling, Dima shoved Ivan out of the way of the camera and sat down, food in hand. “Look it’s…”

“Privet, Dima,” Ava’s face popped into view. I stood sat just off camera so that her view of me was blocked, but I could see everything. “Kak dela?”

Fuck, why was her asking how Dima was doing in Russian such a turn on?

Ivan stared at me, his gaze wandering to the tent in my jeans, and raised his brows.

“Really?” he mouthed. I narrowed my eyes at him and quietly readjusted myself.

“Fuck off.” I mouthed back. He snorted.

“Who’s there with you?” Ava asked curiously, peering closer to the screen, as if it would make her see farther into the room.

“No one.” Dima waved a hand at her. “Television.”

Ava scrunched her nose. “You don’t like to watch television.”

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