Page 145 of Stricken

Another sharp hairpin that demands absolute focus. A flicker of doubt creeps in. The car seems to have a mind of its own.

And then time slows. I am suspended in a moment of perfect clarity, the past and future colliding in a dizzying kaleidoscope of images and everything I should have done differently or haven't done at all.

My stomach lurches.

The last thing I see before the darkness claims me is a flash of crimson against the stark desert night, a splash of color that could be blood or just another trick of the light.

CHAPTER48

NICO

I flip through the stack of invoices on Tony's desk—my desk now. The numbers swim before my eyes. This is the part of running an empire no one tells you about—paperwork. And there has been an immense amount of it as of late, mostly with the transition of power. Signature here. Signature there. Some of it could be done by the family's consigliere, but that's another problem I have to figure out on my own. Costa is the only person I trust, but he doesn't have the necessary skill set to make some of the decisions. Claudio was a smart bastard.

At the thought, I glance at Costa standing off to the side like a statue, his presence a small comfort but comfort, nonetheless. I try to push the image of Shtyk bloodied and naked somewhere in the bunker out of my mind. He's been delivered as promised. Locked up where no one can ever find him.

What's next?

Focus, Nicola. Business first.

"When's the meeting with the Colombians again?" I ask Costa, loosening my tie and flipping through more pages in front of me.

"Thursday. 2 PM. Bellagio."

I nod. "We'll offer them a seventy-thirty split to start. I want to lock in that supply line before the Mexicans muscle in on it and start cutting it south of the border."

Costa inclines his head. "I understand,Padrino. Do you want me to—"

His phone chimes and he glances at the screen.

I let him read the text and jot down another signature above the dotted line on yet another document. When I look back up at Costa, the color's drained from his face.

A stone drops into my stomach. Costa isn't someone easily rattled.

"What is it?" My hand clenches around the pen.

Costa meets my gaze, his dark eyes full of uncharacteristic emotion. "Padrino…"

"What is it?" I repeat my question, my voice stern.

"The Russian was in a car accident."

The room seems to spin slowly, like the far edge of a carousel. Instinctively, I grip the edge of the desk. I don't even notice that I do until my knuckles crack.

My expression is schooled into a neutral mask still. Or at least I hope so. I don't want for Costa to be aware of how much effect the news has on me.

"How bad?" I look at the wall across, unable to look at Costa for some reason.

"He is alive if that's what you're asking. But he's in critical condition. Coma. He hasn't woken up yet."

I inhale sharply through my nose. Alive. Vlad's still alive. Relief crashes over me, followed swiftly by dread.

Silence fills the office.

"Don't you want to see him?" Costa asks softly.

"I thought you didn't like him."

"I don't. But you do."

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