Page 33 of Bound Vows
After he leaves, I stare at my barely touched breakfast while my mind races through everything I need to accomplish in the next six hours. Five minutes isn’t much time to convey the information Max needs without triggering Andrei’s suspicions, but it’s more than I had yesterday.
The key will be using references that mean nothing to Andrei but everything to someone who’s known me since birth. Family jokes, shared memories, childhood nicknames—all the tiny details that create a language only Max and I understand. I’ll have to be subtle enough to avoid detection but clear enough that Max grasps what I’m telling him.
I finish my coffee and begin planning the most important conversation of my life. Five minutes to save my family without destroying the fragile trust I’ve built with a man who’s capable of systematic genocide if I push him too far.
No pressure at all.
The hours crawl by. I read books I don’t remember, watch television shows that run together, and pace the penthouse like a caged animal counting down to feeding time. Every clock in Andrei’s home seems to move backward, and by noon, I’m ready to climb the walls.
Alexei appears around 2 p.m. with updates about security arrangements and departure schedules. Andrei’s flight to Philadelphia leaves at six, which gives us plenty of time for my supervised phone call before he heads to the airport.
I pause at the window overlooking Central Park, watching people move through their normal lives while I prepare for a conversation that could determine whether my family lives or dies.
By 1 p.m., my nerves are stretched tight enough to snap. I’ve rehearsed my conversation a dozen times and planned every word and pause. The challenge will be delivering information that sounds innocent to Andrei while providing Max with everything he needs to understand my situation.
Andrei appears in the doorway, wearing a different suit and carrying a leather briefcase that probably contains enough sensitive information to bring down half the crime families on the Eastern seaboard. He checks his watch and nods toward the study.
“Time to make your call, Piccola.”
Chapter 14
Andrei
Maya’s hands shake as she reaches for the phone, which surprises me considering I’ve watched this woman slit throats without breaking a sweat.
“Remember the conditions,” I tell her as Alexei connects the secure line from my study. “Five minutes, health and safety only, and any attempt to pass operational intelligence terminates this conversation permanently.”
Maya nods and settles into the leather chair across from my desk.
“Maya?” Max Mastroni’s voice erupts through the speaker with enough fury to rattle the windows. “Maya, is that you?”
“Hello, Max.” Maya’s voice transforms into something softer than I’ve heard since our first meeting. “It’s me.”
“Jesus Christ, where the hell are you? Are you hurt? I swear to God, if that Russian bastard has touched you?—”
“I’m fine,” Maya interrupts before her brother can work himself into a homicidal rage. “Unharmed and well-fed. You know how I get when I don’t eat properly.”
I lean back in my chair and watch Maya’s face as she navigates the minefield of family emotion. Her tone carries just the right blend of reassurance and fatigue.
“Where are you?” Max demands. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you right now.”
“I wish I could, but the situation is complicated.” Maya glances at me before continuing. “Remember when we were kids and used to play that game where we’d look out the window and describe what we saw when we were upset? I can see so many trees right now, Max. Like that time we stayed at Uncle Tony’s place upstate.”
Alexei shoots me a questioning look from his monitoring station, but I wave him off. Maya is passing information, but the reference seems innocent enough. Childhood games and family memories mean nothing to me.
“Trees,” Max repeats. “What else do you see?”
“Big buildings with lots of windows. Kind of like that hotel where Dad took us for Melinda’s sweet sixteen, remember? The one with the view of the park where we used to feed the ducks. Everything looks so small from up here.”
My eyebrows raise as I decode what she’s telling him. Central Park, high-rise building, elevated position. She’s giving him enough information to narrow down her location considerably while maintaining plausible deniability about innocent reminiscing.
“I remember,” Max replies. “Are you being treated well? Do you have everything you need?”
“The accommodations are surprisingly comfortable. Five-star service, if you know what I mean.” Maya meets my eyes while she speaks. “Though I miss home cooking. Remember Mom’s Sunday dinners? The way she used to make that special sauce for the pasta?”
“What sauce?” Max’s confusion carries through the speaker.
“You know, the one with the secret ingredient she never told anyone about. She used to say it was the key to everything.” Maya’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I could really use some of that family recipe right about now.”
