Page 107 of Vicious Addictions

“Boy.” He grits his teeth before snapping his fingers at the bartender.

In one minute flat, the bartender places two tumblers with a double shot of an eighteen-year-old Macallan.

“Have I taught you nothing? Do you get some sick thrill from testing me at every turn?”

“That’s not true,” I counter, lifting my glass to him. “You taught me loyalty is like a good whiskey—rare and worth a fortune. I pay attention, Father, even if you think I don’t.”

I clink his glass with mine and then take a long swig before placing it back on the counter.

“Fair enough,” he says before taking a gulp of his own.

He then leans back, perching his elbows on the counter while keeping his sights on the family.

“The reason Crane called is because, for the last few years, his Bratva problem has escalated.”

My heart drums madly in my chest, recalling the last time a Russian placed a Crane in danger.

“And?” I probe, urging him to hurry and tell me everything he knows.

“And they’ve had to get creative in getting the intel they need to keep a boot on the Russian’s necks.”

“How creative?” My father just smiles, and I can tell he fully respects whatever solution Victor came up with.

“Crane managed to get some of his men to infiltrate the organization, working the Russians from the inside. It’s worked for him so far, but one operative went silent on him a few months back. Crane was worried that somehow the Bratva got onto him and killed him.”

I release the breath I was holding, relaxing the instant my father confirms that we’re talking about a captured being a male spy and not a woman as I feared. Nevertheless, I shove my hand into my pants pocket and rub on my keepsake, needing it to keep me grounded.

“Thankfully, the operative was able to send word he was alive but had been sent stateside. Sent to Chicago to be more precise.”

“You think this spy infiltrated Dimitri’s crew?” I ask, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle in place.

“That thought did cross my mind. Soon, we’ll know if Crane’s agent knows anything worthwhile.”

“Does that mean Crane asked you for help? Does he need us to make some sort of rescue mission to get his man out alive?”

“In a way,” my father replies. “He’s sending his underboss and two enforcers to deal with the problem. If they need backup, they know they can count on us.”

“He’s sending Felix?” My brows knit together.

“No.” My father shakes his head. “He’s sending Mina Crane, his daughter. And I believe his two nephews as well.”

My grip tightens around the queen’s chess piece—the one I carry with me at all times—my chest constricting at the sound of her name. It’s been an eternity since I last heard it, and yet, it still cuts like a blade.

“When?”

My father tilts his head back, draining the last of his whiskey before setting the empty tumbler down with a decisive thud.

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow…

The past I tried to bury with all my might is digging itself out.

And it’s coming for me.

Mina is coming for me.

And God help me, tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

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