Page 53 of Silenced

“How did you let him get shot by B4K?”

Thousands of miles may part us, but the tension that springs to life at his words ping pong between us as if we’re in the same room.

“Maxim,” Misha warns.

“Pavel shouldn’t have been outside that club,” Dmitri counters. “Not without guards. He’s the goddamn Obschak. He knows that. We can’t make him listen to us.”

“Is B4K still giving you trouble?” Misha inquires, aiming that question at me, clearly trying to defuse the conversation.

Jaw working, I shake my head. “They were.”

“But they’re not a problem anymore?”

Having spent yesterday morning feeding what’s left of the B4K pushers we took hostage to Vasily, my favorite alligator, Dmitri snorts. “He set fire to their main warehouse in retaliation before we rescued that chick. Ya know, the one on Albanian Mob territory? Whereyousentuswithout warning?” Uneasily, Misha shifts in his seat, but my kid’s on a roll: “How did you even figure out where she was?”

“One of the O’Donnellys is a hacker,” Misha mumbles. “He triangulated her location from the cell she used to contact Savannah O’Donnelly for help.”

“You sure the Irish weren’t trying to fuck us over?”

“I trust him,” Misha snaps. “I wouldn’t have—”

“Sent us into dangerous turf?” Dmitri mocks.

I grab his shoulder to stop the argument from escalating then sign, “This is getting us nowhere.”

He’s right and Misha’s wrong, but it’s in the past and I found a little sun for myself so I’m more than satisfied with how the situation panned out.

Dmitri huffs but picks up from where he left off: “Anyway, we took B4K prisoners who assured us that three million dollars’ worth of cocaine was destroyed in the blaze.”

Maxim flinches but immediately covers it—he’s hated fire since our final days at the orphanage. That ended what was becoming a problem—his pyromania.

Misha, on the other hand, doesn’t remember the inferno Maxim left our orphanage in, so he chuckles. “Bet that was a fireworks display worthy of the 4th of July.”

“Better than that. They’d taken the coke on sale or return.”

Misha hoots. “You’re fucking with me?”

“Nah.” Dmitri cackles. “It was a recent shipment. The Colombians are calling in the debt too.”

“Also thanks to ‘Mute?’” Maxim inquires, tone droll.

“The Colombians had a problem with ICE in Arizona. Nikolai eased the strain.” Though Dmitri’s grinning, it starts to fade as he clears his throat. “Have you seen Sofia?”

Some of Maxim’s tension disperses as he rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to discuss your infantile crush.”

Misha grins. “Come on, Maxim. It’s worth it to see him blush.”

“Fuck you,” Dmitri grumbles.

“How is she?” I demand in his stead, knowing that his ties with Sofia, the daughter of the Krestniy Otets, run deeper than Maxim or Misha could possibly understand.

“She’s still not wearing an engagement ring,” is Maxim’s disinterested answer.

Taking note of Dmitri’s barely noticeable sigh of relief, I ask, “But her well-being?”

“No bruises,” is his short reply. “Not for a while.”

Dmitri grimaces. “I hate him.”

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