Page 188 of Cashmere Ruin

Speaking to Carmine like that is as good as a death sentence.

But it seems that, whatever understanding they have, it’s too valuable to throw away. So Carmine lets out a long sigh and says, his tone much calmer, “It was the girl. She gave away our last inside man. He had to make a call on the spot.”

Me?

“Don’t look so put-out. You were in charge of her surveillance, weren’t you?” Carmine sneers. “If you’re going to point fingers for this, then by all means, I’ll find you a mirror.”

Wow. Gaslighting much?

I can’t help the guilt that grips me. I’m not sorry for stealing that phone—I did what I had to do. But now, I’m wondering if I didn’tset off a chain reaction of consequences. Not only for me, but for others, too.

I just hope Matvey’s okay.

“Haul ‘em in!”

I startle. Quickly, I push myself as far away from the bars as I can, pretending I didn’t just eavesdrop on a mafia war council.

Then new men swarm the room.

“Toss them in the cell,” someone says.

“The one with the girl?”

“Do you see another?” the first man snaps. “C’mon, we don’t have all day.”

Two men come forward, dragging a third one between them. His head is hanging forward, as if he was knocked unconscious, which means I can’t make out his face.

But I don’t need to. His suit, his frame, his cologne—I’d recognize those anywhere. “Matvey!”

“Stay back!” one of them barks. “One wrong move and I’ll feed you a bullet myself.”

And they say chivalry is dead.Still, I do as I’m told. The panic I’d worked so hard to chase from my heart is mounting again, full stereo.

Ta-thump, ta-thump, ta-fucking-thump.

When they toss Matvey inside, I spring up and catch him. His dead weight is almost too much. But what truly makes my legs buckle is that thought:deadweight.

Is he…?

God, please don’t be dead. Please, I’ll do anything.

Please, please, please…

But then I feel it: a heartbeat. Faint, and distant, but there. “Thank goodness,” I sob into his shirt as we both fall to our knees. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”

Then I hear screaming.

“Let me go!” snarls a very familiar voice. “I will cut off your balls and feed them to your mothers if you don’t let me go thisfuckinginstant!”

I never thought I’d be so glad to hear it. “Petra!”

“April?” she calls to me. Her eyes meet mine, then rage sets them ablaze again. “You put her in acell? How fucking dare— GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME! I’ll eat your fucking eyes!”

Yep. Good ol’ Petra.

In the end, all her kicking and screaming is useless. Carmine’s henchmen throw her in as well, though all of them are looking worse for the wear than she is. Rule number one of doing crime: don’t fuck with the pregnant ones. Just don’t.

The second she’s behind bars, she throws herself down at my side. “Are you okay?”

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