Page 172 of Ruins
Wesley leans in. “Looks like Miroslav is supposed to make a delivery at the docks.”
I barely hear him, my mind already moving miles ahead. What the hell is he delivering? What’s valuable enough to risk making a deal against the Bratva? Against Maksim?
He has a death wish. And soon enough, it’ll be fucking granted.
I force myself to step back, inhaling deeply before turning to Wesley.
His stupid, square-jawed face is set in satisfaction
“What do you want?” I ask.
His grin widens. “A collaboration.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admits, far too fucking casual for my liking. “But I’d like to schedule a meeting in the near future to discuss it further.”
I don’t trust him. Not even a little.
But I can’t deny that he’s just handed me exactly what I needed.
Reluctantly, I nod. “Fine.”
We shake on it, and I resist the urge to break every damn bone in his hand.
As Wesley leaves, I shift my focus to Marcus. He’s tense, watching me carefully, as if bracing for my wrath.
“We gained a lot more with his help than we ever could have alone,” Marcus says, voice cautious.
I watch him for a long moment, then exhale sharply, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re forgiven this time. Butneveragain.”
Marcus nods, understanding the weight behind my words.
Without another glance at the computer, I leave, retreating back to my office. As soon as I’m behind the door, I pull out my phone, typing a quick message to Maksim.
‘Found something. Miroslav’s been using NovaRael to funnel money. Deal at the docks. Date, time attached. Also, fucking Beaumont’s involved. Will explain later.’
His response comes instantly.‘Got it.’
I exhale, sinking into my chair, running a hand down my face.
The truth settles over me like a storm cloud.
Miroslav played us.
But that isn’t what weighs on me the most.
It’s the upcoming drop-off.
What the hell is he moving?
And more importantly—who else is involved?
The remaining days of the month blur into a cycle of intel gathering by day, bloodshed by night. The weight of each kill presses against my soul, but I push it aside.
Instead, I drown myself in my work.
I spend sleepless nights at Angelo’s penthouse, his taunts about his time spent with my wife pushing me further into the darkest recesses of my mind.
