Page 42 of Born To Be Bad

“Nor does anyone else.”

“Hmm.”

“And Vilmos doesn’t come out, so Blackwood goes in. He wasn’t surprised. He knew something was up, just didn’t know what. So I wait till everyone starts packing up and going home. I snag a caterer’s uniform with a hairnet and mask, and I go in. Find the coffins. These huge ornate things.”

Oh, god.

I realize what he’s about to say just before he says it. Still, it’s a gut punch.

“They’re empty,” I say.

“Three of them are empty,” he replies.

I don’t need to ask him who is in the fourth one.

Damn it, Blackwood. What a waste.

“Get out of there,” I tell Brodie. “Come home.”

I don’t want any more of my men in Moscow. Ever.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how to bring the body back?” I ask. Personally, I’m not sentimental about dead bodies. They’re just empty shells left behind. But I’m sure Blackwood’s family will feel comforted by the fact we could bring him home.

“I’ll follow protocol,” he replies.

I end the call, my mind racing with too many thoughts.

“They’re all still alive,” says Henderson. “The Kuznetsovs.”

Ivy blanches.

“Impossible,” I say. “My men took care of them.”

Henderson looks bleak. “I have no doubt they took care of the people who were pretending to be Kuznetsovs.”

Elena Kuznetsov had contacts in the theatre world. She would have known plenty of actors willing to secretly play the part for generous compensation, not knowing they were being sacrificed to spare her and her children’s lives.

CHAPTER 24

The New Ravens

IVY

The danger we are in—all of us, including baby Alex—is real and immediate. From the little I’ve seen of the Mirror Bratva, I know they’ll spare nothing to finish the Ravenscrofts and everyone in their circle. My heart has not stopped hammering since seeing that SUV swerving behind us, trying to push the Jag off the road.

“We’re not safe here,” says Alistair, putting a comforting hand on my lower back.

I look up at him, scared, not able to think straight.

“Where will we go?” I ask.

“They know too much. Nowhere in London is safe.”

Scotland, I think. Or Switzerland.

“Lucky,” Alistair says. “Order the plane. We’ll need papers, too. Don’t want them tracking our travel. Papers for everyone here, and the rest of the family.”

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