Page 54 of Monsters Carve Thrones
“You look like shit,” she added, but there was no malice in her voice. Just truth.
I took a drag and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the wind. “That’s because I feel like shit, Laura.”
She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she leaned against the balcony rail beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. The night was quiet, but inside, we could hear Nico and Kieran cooking. Something sizzled on the stove, faint laughter, and the clink of a pan.
For a moment, it felt almost... normal. But it wasn’t.
“I miss her,” Laura said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I know.” My jaw clenched. “So do I.”
We stood there in silence. Paris stretched around us like a painting. Somewhere far below, music drifted up from a saxophone on the street. The wind kicked up again, rustling Laura’s hair across her cheek. She didn’t brush it away.
She turned to me suddenly, something flickering in her eyes. “Can I…?” she asked, lifting her arms a little.
I blinked.Was she asking if she could hug me?I hadn’t been really touched since Adela. After a second, I gave a slight nod.
Laura stepped forward, slipping her arms around my waist, careful and soft like she was slightly nervous. I stood stiff for a moment, stunned. Then I closed my arms around her, holding her back. She was shaking slightly. So was I.
Adela wasn’t just mine. She was Laura’s best friend, her other half. We were both breaking in different ways, mourning the same woman. I kept one arm around her, the other lifting the cigarette to my lips again as I leaned into the railing. We stood there like that for a long while–two warriors cracked open by someone they loved.
“I’m going inside,” Laura finally murmured, pulling back with a sniffle. “Gonna pour some wine before Nico burns whatever the hell he’s cooking.”
I nodded, watching her go. She hesitated in the doorway, gave me one last teary-eyed look, then disappeared into the warm, golden light inside. It was wild to know that she oncehatedme. I stayed on the balcony, still waiting for the world to give me one goddamn clue.
As I entered the suite, the scent of garlic and roasted vegetables met me. Christ, it all felt wrong with Adela missing.
Kieran was plating something on the marble kitchen island–a rustic pasta dish Nico had scrounged together from overpriced ingredients at the corner marché. Laura was already seated at the small round dining table, a glass of red in hand, her eyes distant.
I slid into the empty chair beside her. No one said anything for a moment.
Then Kieran tossed a dish towel over his shoulder. “We eat first.Thenwe get back to work.”
“Agreed,” Nico added, cracking open a beer. “Last time you skipped meals, Rafe, you passed out on the floor and scared the shit out of all of us.”
I didn’t argue. I was too tired to.
Dinner was quiet at first, with the clink of forks and the occasional sip of wine or beer. But eventually, the air shifted back toward strategy.
“She could be anywhere,” Laura muttered, pushing food around her plate. “That’s what makes this so goddamn impossible.”
“She’s not justanywhere,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I meant. “She’s withhim.And if I know a powerful man like Waylon, he won’t go far from what he thinks he can control. I wouldn’t.”
Kieran leaned back, arms crossed. “That’s what bugs me. If we were him, we’d assume he’d never be stupid enough to take her to Moscow. But maybe he’s smart enough to use that assumption. Hide her in plain sight.”
“Or he split his operation.” Nico leaned forward. “Half the files we’ve pulled from his old partners show signs of sudden asset transfers. Bank accounts emptied. One shell company disappeared completely–based in Budapest.”
Laura’s brow furrowed. “So, Europe. We knew that much. But where?”
I stared down at my plate, my appetite already gone. “Heisn’tuntouchable.”
Kieran gave me a long look, then nodded slowly. “So what’s next? Who do we hit?”
“We start with Kazimir,” I said, voice flat. “He used to broker deals for Waylon’s arms pipeline. He’ll know where Waylon’s been moving product–and women.”
Nico let out a low whistle. “Kazimir’s protected. That’s not going to be a friendly knock on the door.”
“It won’t be a knock,” I said, lifting my glass and draining what was left.
