Honestly, I don’t really give a fuck.

Right as the SUV passes over the cattle grid, I press the button on the second detonator.

The explosion launches the car up in the air, flipping it nose over end. It rolls four times, before coming to a stop in a ditch.

“Let’s go see who that was,” I say to the men.

We pile back in the two vans, and drive over to the wreck.

I approach the crumpled Mercedes with gun in hand, even though I doubt anybody inside is in any shape to be shooting back. Sure enough, the driver is dead, his head twisted against the steering wheel and his blank eyes staring out at me. The passenger next to him is in similar shape, pressed up against the airbag that failed to keep his skull from connecting with the side window at high speed.

But I hear someone groaning in the back.

The door is deeply dented and almost impossible to open. It takes Stefano and I pulling together to wrench it open.

The man in the backseat is covered in cuts embedded with chunks of glass. His face is so bloody that it takes me a minute to recognize him. It’s Uncle Vale, Yenin’s brother. The asshole who shot Yelena.

I grab him by the arm and yank him out of the vehicle, ignoring the fact that said arm is broken in at least two places. He screams, rolling across the gravel, unable to stand.

I use my boot to shove him onto his back.

“Get his phone,” I say to Tappo.

Tappo searches his pockets, with no luck.

“It’s in here,” Zio says, plucking the phone out of the wreckage of the backseat.

The screen is cracked in a dozen places, but still operational.

“What’s the passcode?” I ask Vale.

“It’s burn in hell with your fucking cunt mother,” Vale snarls through bloodied teeth.

I raise my gun and shoot him in the right kneecap.

He howls like a wolf, writhing on the road.

“I’ve got eleven more bullets,” I tell him, calmly. “No need to die like a dog over something that won’t help your brother anyway.”

“You fucking guido piece of—”

I raise the gun again.

“1974!” he shouts.

I lower the gun and nod to Zio, who plugs in the code. The phone screen unlocks.

“Good choice,” I say.

I shoot him in the head, right between the eyes.

“No mercy, huh?” Stefano says, one dark eyebrow cocked.

“That was mercy,” I tell him.

My phone is buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out. Mikolaj’s number is on the screen.

“How did it go?” I ask him.

“Flawlessly, of course. We wiped their servers. Torched the warehouse. And transferred every penny he was keeping on the books over to my personal account. It was almost twelve million—I’ll wire your half.”

“Very generous,” I say.

“Simple fairness,” Mikolaj says, in his cool, clipped voice. “I’m sure you’ll do the same with whatever other spoils you recover.”

“I will,” I agree.

I can see Carlo Marino on the other line, so I switch over to his call. He sounds out of breath, and pained.

“Problems?” I ask him.

“A few,” he admits. “They had more men than we expected. Bosco blundered right into a room full of Bratva playing Durak.”

“Did they shoot him?”

“No. He ran across and dove out the window. Cut the ever-living shit out of himself and dislocated his shoulder, but otherwise he’s alright. Actually—it was a pretty good distraction. While they were trying to grab him, me and Antonio started shooting.”

“You sound like you got hit,” I say, hearing the strain in Carlo’s voice.

“Yeah,” he says, “But not by the Bratva. We went downstairs. Most of the girls had already run away, ‘cause they heard the shooting upstairs and got scared. But one of ‘em hit a guard over the head with a frypan and took his gun. She’s the one that shot me. Felt bad about it after, once she saw we weren’t trying to kill ‘em. Sorry doesn’t put the bullet back in the gun, though.”

“Where are you going now?”

“To see Dr. Bloom.”

“Good,” I nod.

“Bosco’s driving me one-armed, so we’ll see if I make it. I’ll send Antonio back your way.”

“Alright. Talk soon.”

I hang up the phone. Not too bad so far. But this is just the beginning. I’ve made my move. Now it’s Yenin’s turn. If I’ve threatened him sufficiently, it should be time for him to send out his power pieces.

Once they’ve been eliminated . . . the king will be unprotected.

28

Yelena

Sneaking out of Sebastian’s house isn’t too difficult. It’s easy to hear Greta, because she makes no effort to be quiet while she’s bustling around cleaning, especially when she’s humming to herself.

Right now she’s all the way up on the top floor, probably dusting the music room from the sounds of it. Picturing that bright, sunny space, with its faint remnant of floral perfume, makes me wince. Sebastian took me into his mother’s room, into the most cherished space in this house. He didn’t hold anything back from me. He shared it all, right from the beginning.

I wish I had done the same.

I had intended to walk out the front door, but now I’m reconsidering that plan. I’m dressed in a set of floral pajamas. Granted, the streets of Chicago have seen far stranger things, but I don’t fancy walking around barefoot.

Moving as quietly as possible on the creaking stairs, I make my way up to the second floor where most of the bedrooms are located. I saw from my visit to Sebastian’s room that all the Gallo siblings still retain their childhood bedrooms, in much the same state they used to be when they all lived at home.

I’m looking for the room that belonged to Aida Gallo.

I still haven’t met her in person, since my father didn’t want the Griffins at the wedding. Now I realize that he banned them to keep the numbers in his favor. I suppose he didn’t want to make the same mistake that got Kolya Kristoff killed, attacking both rival families at once. I wonder if he’s deluded enough to believe the Griffins would make an alliance with him after he broke a blood oath with their closest allies, or if he simply thinks it will be easier to fight them one after another.

I’m hoping he’ll never find out. I’m hoping Sebastian will crush him once and for all, before he even has the opportunity to face off against the Griffins.

But I can’t think about that now. I’ve got to finish my escape.

I slip into the bedroom right next to Seb’s, the smallest in the house.

You’d never know that this room belonged to the only Gallo daughter—it doesn’t contain anything overtly feminine. From the scuffs and dents on the walls, and a patched-over hole on the back of the door, it looks more like a Tasmanian devil lived here. One leg is broken off the bed, an upended milk crate shoved in its place to keep the frame upright. The wall to my left is covered with stapled-on album covers, and the one to my right features a stolen street sign from Hugh Hefner Way. Whether this indicates that Aida was a fan, or felt Hefner was undeserving of a sign, I couldn’t guess.