Read Online Dark Mafia Prince: A Dangerous Royals romance by Annika Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: Annika Martin
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fucking burns. It burns worse than Konstantin’s cigarette.
We send a group to make copies of the files and get a set of them to the guy, keeping the other set for us. I send another guy to book a suite of rooms at one of the waterfront hotels. It’s not safe for her to know where any of us live, and we need to stay mobile and central to snatch up Kiro.
It’s night by the time we reach the hotel, one of many in a row of glittering lakefront establishments. “I’ve missed Chicago,” she says.
“What, Paris and Milan don’t measure up?”
“Well, they’re not home.”
Mira walks through the hotel lobby with me, behaving perfectly, thanks to the gun in my suit jacket pocket. She’ll make a break for it soon, but not in a way that will endanger the public. She’s a woman with a code, too. She always was. I tell myself it’s easy to have a code when it doesn’t cost you anything. When your code doesn’t push you places you don’t want to go.
The first time Konstantin made me kill a guy, I was twelve and shaking like a motherfucker, and I didn’t get him square between the eyes with the first shot like I should’ve; I got him in the shoulder and then the gut, and he was on the ground fucking begging for his life, pleading. He was a killer who deserved to die ten times over, but you don’t know what it’s like to have a man plead, arms stretched out like you’re either God or the devil.
I raised the Glock, dropped out from inside myself—like I wasn’t even home—and blew his head off.
Just do it. That’s how you do the hard things—you just do them.
The six of us set up in the central suite, which is a kind of generic living room with a great view of Lake Michigan, now appearing as a dark expanse dotted by lights, the moon a crescent with a corresponding streak in the waves.
Stupidly picturesque. Like somebody else’s view.
We split up names and start going through Facebook pages, looking at photos. Like we’ll get lucky and recognize Kiro. It’s stupid, worse than a needle in a haystack, but this is what desperate people do.
Mira wants to help, but there’s no way I’m giving her an internet connection. So she sits across the room in an overstuffed chair looking out at the view. Is she looking for a way out? I’d be. If she got a weapon off of one of us now, would she use it? Mira was anti-gun as a kid. But people who are threatened will do a lot of surprising things.
We send guys out to run down leads. It’s not looking good. Mira thinks we should try to get the Worland employment records from the year Kiro was adopted out. “We can get the key to the code that way—I’m sure of it.”
Yeah, it’s the way we’d go if we had all the time in the world. But we don’t.
It’s just her and Viktor and me when the call comes in. Viktor’s man can’t crack the thing—something about the code being one-to-one.
My heart sinks.
This means we have to go at Aldo Nikolla with everything. Because Kiro is in some serious danger, and that asshole knows where he is. Even Mira has to know he was holding back.
I look over at her, and she goes pale. Yeah, she knows. Because this is a woman who listens and observes, something the surveillance photos never showed. Something those plastic smiles never revealed.
I click off the call.
She stands. “Dad wouldn’t gamble me like that. Play chicken like that.” It’s more a wish than something she actually believes. I hear it in her voice.
“Kitchen stores won’t be open this time of night, but restaurants are.” Viktor’s talking about getting a knife. A cleaver, probably. He grabs his jacket. Unlocks the door.
She flies for it, but I’m ready. I catch her, fit my hand over her mouth, and pull her onto the couch, keeping her head against my chest, mouth sealed nice and tight. I pull out my piece and put it to her temple. She needs to see I’m serious. “Are you going to scream?”
She shakes her head.
“Go,” I say to
We send a group to make copies of the files and get a set of them to the guy, keeping the other set for us. I send another guy to book a suite of rooms at one of the waterfront hotels. It’s not safe for her to know where any of us live, and we need to stay mobile and central to snatch up Kiro.
It’s night by the time we reach the hotel, one of many in a row of glittering lakefront establishments. “I’ve missed Chicago,” she says.
“What, Paris and Milan don’t measure up?”
“Well, they’re not home.”
Mira walks through the hotel lobby with me, behaving perfectly, thanks to the gun in my suit jacket pocket. She’ll make a break for it soon, but not in a way that will endanger the public. She’s a woman with a code, too. She always was. I tell myself it’s easy to have a code when it doesn’t cost you anything. When your code doesn’t push you places you don’t want to go.
The first time Konstantin made me kill a guy, I was twelve and shaking like a motherfucker, and I didn’t get him square between the eyes with the first shot like I should’ve; I got him in the shoulder and then the gut, and he was on the ground fucking begging for his life, pleading. He was a killer who deserved to die ten times over, but you don’t know what it’s like to have a man plead, arms stretched out like you’re either God or the devil.
I raised the Glock, dropped out from inside myself—like I wasn’t even home—and blew his head off.
Just do it. That’s how you do the hard things—you just do them.
The six of us set up in the central suite, which is a kind of generic living room with a great view of Lake Michigan, now appearing as a dark expanse dotted by lights, the moon a crescent with a corresponding streak in the waves.
Stupidly picturesque. Like somebody else’s view.
We split up names and start going through Facebook pages, looking at photos. Like we’ll get lucky and recognize Kiro. It’s stupid, worse than a needle in a haystack, but this is what desperate people do.
Mira wants to help, but there’s no way I’m giving her an internet connection. So she sits across the room in an overstuffed chair looking out at the view. Is she looking for a way out? I’d be. If she got a weapon off of one of us now, would she use it? Mira was anti-gun as a kid. But people who are threatened will do a lot of surprising things.
We send guys out to run down leads. It’s not looking good. Mira thinks we should try to get the Worland employment records from the year Kiro was adopted out. “We can get the key to the code that way—I’m sure of it.”
Yeah, it’s the way we’d go if we had all the time in the world. But we don’t.
It’s just her and Viktor and me when the call comes in. Viktor’s man can’t crack the thing—something about the code being one-to-one.
My heart sinks.
This means we have to go at Aldo Nikolla with everything. Because Kiro is in some serious danger, and that asshole knows where he is. Even Mira has to know he was holding back.
I look over at her, and she goes pale. Yeah, she knows. Because this is a woman who listens and observes, something the surveillance photos never showed. Something those plastic smiles never revealed.
I click off the call.
She stands. “Dad wouldn’t gamble me like that. Play chicken like that.” It’s more a wish than something she actually believes. I hear it in her voice.
“Kitchen stores won’t be open this time of night, but restaurants are.” Viktor’s talking about getting a knife. A cleaver, probably. He grabs his jacket. Unlocks the door.
She flies for it, but I’m ready. I catch her, fit my hand over her mouth, and pull her onto the couch, keeping her head against my chest, mouth sealed nice and tight. I pull out my piece and put it to her temple. She needs to see I’m serious. “Are you going to scream?”
She shakes her head.
“Go,” I say to
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