Page 65 of Twisted Princess

I wait, watching to ensure no one’s followed. And when I’m confident we’re alone, I creep along the darkest shadows of the wall to meet him.

“Sorry I’m so late,” he growls from where he leans against the bridge’s foundation. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, one foot propped up behind him in a casual stance. But the frown that buckles his brows tells me he’s ticked off. “I got dragged into one of Mikhail’s roundups. Zmeya thought it was a good day to go hunting, and when I told him I had plans, he started to get suspicious. I couldn’t risk leaving till we finished.”

I can tell from Sascha’s dry tone that whatever form of “hunting” he was tasked with didn’t have to do with large game or pheasants. More than likely, some vulnerable young women were scooped off the street today—or several Veles men lost their lives. My stomach turns violently, anger bubbling to life in my veins.

“Better safe than dead,” I respond curtly. Who gives a shit about my stress levels when Sascha has to spend his days walking around a minefield of enemies, pretending he’s as sick and twisted as the men in charge? As much as I hate to do it, I can wait. “You in trouble or something?”

“If Mikhail taking a shine to me means trouble, then I’m up to my eyeballs in that shit. He’s put me on as one of the leads for a big shipping operation next week. If you want to hit him where it hurts, this might be your golden opportunity.”

“How big are we talking?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest to mirror his posture.

“At least ten trucks, all coming in from out west.”

I release a low whistle. At around thirty girls a truck, that’s a massive haul. “What’s he doing with all of them?”

“From what I understand, he’s shipping them out on cargo boats—all but the girls he can sell for top dollar to his VIPs. He’s got quite a few pricey assets waiting for auction on his estate already.” Sascha’s voice is casual, his expression perfectly at ease. But even in the dark, I can see that tic in his jaw working furiously. Like the countdown on a bomb, no one wants to see what happens when the timer runs out on his practiced calm.

“How the hell is Mikhail getting away with carting that many girls across New York’s borders without raising any red flags?” I ask, my frustration rising.

“He’s got Governor Reichlieu in his pocket,” Sascha says with a shrug.

That name raises so many ghosts from my past. Pyotr’s long-time friend, Dani Reichlieu, was around a lot when we first moved back to New York. She and Pyotr’s bodyguard, Efrem, hit it off pretty well… before he died in our fight against Mikhail.

Her father, Governor Reichlieu, was never keen on her friendship with the Veles. And I knew Mikhail has had the governor eating out of the palm of his hand for a long time now. But I didn’t imagine it could have gotten this bad.

I always thought the Reichlieus were more honorable than that.

Then again, Dani did choose to marry Mikhail after Efrem died. So maybe my understanding of them as a family is off. Still, I never got the impression that the governor—or Dani—would crawl into bed with Mikhail so willingly.

Which tells me Mikhail likely has something on the politician that Governor Reichlieu doesn’t want coming to light.

“The governor’s signing off on the shipment?”

Sascha nods. “Trucks are rolling into town in broad fucking daylight. Getting the girls onto the cargo ships will be a bit trickier, though—more international regulations. So, that will happen late at night. That’d be where you could hit him hard.”

I nod, my pulse kicking up a notch at the thought of hitting Mikhail below the belt. But whether the Veles are ready for that kind of retaliation, I’m not sure yet.

“What have you heard about Mikhail’s view of the Veles?”

Sascha scoffs. “He talks about you like whipped dogs. I don’t think he sees you as much of a threat anymore. He’s just getting a kick out of toying with you.”

He assumes we won’t come after the Zhivoder, and with the governor on Mikhail’s side, he can be as brazen as he wants in his business. I comb my fingers through my hair. It really is a tempting idea. But if we jump the gun and make a move too soon, we’ll have blown our cover.

And if we do that and fail, I have no doubt Mikhail would wipe us from existence.

“I’ll speak to Pyotr,” I say, letting my arms drop to my sides. “As good as the opportunity sounds, he may want to keep the whipped-dog image a bit longer—until our forces are strong enough to take Mikhail down once and for all.”

Sascha nods, his shoulders dropping as he pushes off the wall. And suddenly, he looks exhausted. The conflict he must feel for what it takes to maintain his cover. I know my brother. And his dry sense of humor is just a mask. A wall he puts up to get the job done, even if it’s going to eat him from the inside.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to Pyotr.”

“In the meantime, I’ll keep my eye out for any other opportunities.”

I nod.

“Another thing,” he says after a pause. “Mikhail’s been hinting at moving me to his property in Upstate New York.”

“Really?” That was fast.

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