Page 22 of Sapphire Tears

“Don’t get your hopes up. We have no idea who this man is, Kolya,” Milana cautions me.

“We will soon enough.”

“You’re hoping he’ll have a lead on June?”

“His presence here is too coincidental to be anything but that.”

“And what if it’s a trap?” Milana suggests.

“Who’d be setting it?” I ask. “Ravil is dead.”

She purses her lips, unconvinced. “He still has loyalists. Men who survived him. Men who don’t want to line up behind you. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been rounding up anyone you can get your hands on and killing them in droves. You’ve probably terrified every single bastard who ever worked for your cousin. His fucking pizza delivery guy is probably shitting himself.”

“Good,” I snarl. “They should be scared.”

She nods, knowing damn well that I can’t be swayed when I get in these moods. “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m telling you right now: if he gives us a location, we have to assume there’s a trap waiting for us when we get there.”

“Are you the don or am I?”

She smiles thinly. “I would make a fantastic don.”

I chuckle. “You would indeed. You’d also hate every fucking second of it.”

Before she can answer, Knox walks through the door with our unexpected visitor in tow.

The man is dressed in a brown sweater vest and a shapeless hat that’s seen better days. He’s short, bearded, scruffy-looking, and also bleeding from two badly bandaged wounds, just like Knox said.

“Who are you?” I demand.

The man takes a few steps towards my desk before Knox grabs him by the scruff of his collar and reels him backwards.

Milana gets up and glides over to him. The moment his eyes settle on her, he freezes. Milana has that effect on most men.

“I-I have information for your don,” he stammers. He’s sweating bullets, rivulets of the stuff running down from his forehead and getting lost in the matted tangle of his beard.

She glances at me over her shoulder. “You’re right, Don Uvarov—I was wrong to worry. This man isn’t a threat. Not unless there’s a buffet involved.”

Suppressing a smirk, I give her a nod. “You can go, Milana. I’ll handle this. Knox, you’re dismissed as well.”

She hisses in distaste, but both of them turn and slip out of the door. The moment it shuts behind them, I gesture for the man to come forward. I’m still holding out hope that this cheap lowlife has something I can use, but considering the look and smell of him, I doubt that.

One thing’s certain—this man is not Bratva.

“We’re alone now, ‘friend,’” I say. “So tell me: why are you here?”

He gulps, the sound of it audible and repulsive in the quiet of my study. “I got information for you. Heard there’s a girl you’re looking for.”

Blood thunders in my ears. But I keep my composure and lean back in my chair in a show of detachment.

“Go on.”

He nods. “I know where she is. Kinda.”

“‘Kinda’?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Well, yeah, she might’ve been moved. I can’t say fer sure.”

“Describe her to me.”

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