Raoul is standing on the opposite side of the lobby. He’s wearing a tuxedo, but anyone paying close enough attention would know he doesn’t belong here. He’s too rigid, his dark eyes scanning the theater-goers constantly for possible threats, for any sign that our plan has been found out and we should retreat.
But there’s no chance of a retreat tonight. I’d rather go down in a hail of enemy gunfire than spend another minute in the mansion.
I haven’t seen Viviana since early this morning, but I spent every single moment all day aware of exactly how far away from me she was. I could practically count how many steps it would take to go to her. How many seconds it would take for me to strip her down and do what we do best.
But I know as soon as I empty my frustration inside of her, we’ll be at the same fucking impasse.
She’ll still be a distraction I can’t afford.
And I’ll hate myself for wanting her anyway.
Two chimes ring through the theater’s sound system, signaling the end of intermission. Everyone shuffles to the two sets of double doors that lead to the main theater.
I look at Raoul and he nods. We follow the crowd towards the doors, but break away at the last second for a hallway that leads to the private boxes.
“There’s still time to change the plan,” Raoul mutters under his breath. “One call and someone else can pull the trigger.”
He’s been watching me closely all day. Raoul has a way of knowing when I’m at a tipping point. He’s worried I’m about to go off the edge.
He should be. Hell, maybe I already have.
I shrug. “Me, someone else, it’s all the same. What does it matter?”
If Anatoly were here, he’d say it matters a hell of a fucking lot. He is pissed Raoul and I are doing this without him—but Viviana likes Anatoly. They have a bond. I want him there with her right now.
“It matters because you have more… responsibilities than you used to.”
He’s talking about the Bratva, sure. But I know what Raoul is actually thinking of. Who he is thinking of.
Dante.
Viviana.
What happens to them if I die tonight?
I shake my head. “This is my mess. I’m going to be the one to clean it up.”
He sighs. “Could you see if Helen was there?”
I sat through the first act of the show, but I don’t have a clue what it’s about. My attention was on the private box closest to the stage.
The box we’re walking to now.
“No. But I identified our target.”
Even from the back of the theater, I recognized the man in the security footage from the attack on the lounge last night. Yanis Drakos is Helen’s uncle and the head of security for his brother. But last night, he led the charge on a business that has been in Novikov control for decades. He murdered my guards and innocent waitresses.
He started a war.
So if Helen is stupid enough to be sitting next to him after what he has done on her behalf, she deserves whatever is coming.
If Raoul disagrees with my call, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he checks his weapon as we mount the stairs and then sends a text to one of the men waiting in the audience below.
“The security working the exits were disposed of just before intermission. Our guys have replaced them now. We have fifteen minutes before the drugs wear off and the guards wake up. They’re tied up, but the noise?—”
“So we kill him before fifteen minutes is up.”
If things go my way, this won’t take more than one or two.