Denisovitch looked out over the water. “Our traffic can be a problem at this time of the morning. I had to come in from Moscow. The plane was delayed and then we fought through traffic.”

“Yes, I was surprised you asked me to meet you here. I rather thought you stayed in Moscow.” Saint Petersburg wasn’t a hotbed of activity. It was a tourist town, a place for artists and intellectuals. The power was all in Moscow for now.

Denisovitch chuckled slightly, his eyes watching a boat as it sailed toward the Palace Bridge. The Venice of the North was awake and alive. He pointed toward the Hermitage. “There is much to do here. This is our port city. We might stay quiet here, but don’t doubt we own all that’s in sight. Do you see that building?”

It took everything Nelson had not to roll his eyes. The building was a baroque masterpiece. Anyone who understood museums knew what the Hermitage was. Three separate palaces that together housed all the treasures of Russia, some stolen from Germany after World War II. Russia understood the art of the deal. To the victor went the spoils. “It’s the Hermitage. Do you want to give me a lesson in art?”

“No, just history. It was the summer palace of the czars. I am the czar now. I summer here like Peter the Great. It is more civilized here than in Moscow. Too many fucking politicians putting their hands in my pie. It’s nice here, and I can worship in the cathedrals.”

Saint Petersburg had more than its share of orthodox cathedrals. He’d heard Denisovitch was devout. It was good to know that hypocrisy was alive and well and living in Russia. “We all need to find a home.”

“This is true. Now, I am finished with small talk. You will tell me the truth. Have you found her?”

Nelson almost sighed because this was the part of the job he so deeply enjoyed. He’d loved it when he’d been in the CIA. He loved it now. He was fucking over multiple people who believed or had believed him to be their partner. It was a little slice of heaven. “I have.”

Charlotte Denisovitch could have been his queen. He’d been grooming her. Oh, she was nothing but a woman so he’d used her like one. Her beauty was her greatest asset, but then he’d never deeply prized purity. He didn’t give a shit that Ian Taggart had her first. It had been necessary. Had she followed his plan, he would have forced his way into her bed and taken her luscious body and that devious brain for his own. He would have used her as he’d liked, but he also would have taken care of her in his own way.

She’d decided on another route, and it was going to cost her everything.

“Tell me where the little bitch is,” Denisovitch ordered.

This was why he’d come all this way when he needed to be watching that fucking idiot playboy in India. “Yes. I believe you’ll discover she’s in Dallas, Texas.”

Denisovitch tensed. “Then she’s gone to him.”

She’d gone to “him” a couple of weeks back, but Nelson had missed it. He’d been busy trying to clean up the mess that fuckwad Taggart had caused for him by blocking a shipment of arms to Africa. Those dictator warlords didn’t like a working man to take their money and give them nothing.

Thank god he wasn’t an ordinary arms dealer. Ian Taggart had no idea what he was dealing with and that was how Nelson planned on keeping it. If Taggart ever found out how deep the conspiracy went, they would all be fucked.

“She and that cunt of a sister of hers bought a place in Dallas a few days ago. I’ve had a man case it. Whatever you want to say about the bitch, she’s thorough. She’s installed a state-of-the-art security system, and she takes multiple exits when she leaves. She never follows a schedule. If you’re trying to catch her coming out of her place, you’ll need three assassins to be sure.”

Charlotte Denisovitch was a problem. She’d proven to be too clever for Nelson’s satisfaction. He’d tried to have her killed three times now, but she’d proven elusive. He’d lost three good men to her skills. He couldn’t afford to look weak. His men tended to look down on any weakness.

“I will send them all then. I wouldn’t want my dear niece to think that I’ve forgotten her.” Mikhail leaned forward, his elbows on the concrete wall that kept them from falling in. “I had the same intelligence. I sent a few to America yesterday. It’s good to know we can trust each other.”

It was good that, for once, telling the truth got him somewhere. He was more enamored of lying out his ass. “I would never give you anything less.”

Denisovitch tipped his head. “It is good to have friends. Perhaps we should help each other out again.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. This was what he’d really come all this way for. A way to get rid of all of his problems. He schooled his expression to a polite blank. “What do you mean?”

Denosivitch laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “I mean you have a problem and so do I. Our problems are very likely screwing each other as we speak. It should be easy to take them out, no?”

So easy. Now Denisovitch could deal with this shit and he could get back to his real score—India and that fuckwad royal from nowhere Loa Mali. “Taggart has been an issue for a while, but if you kill him, the rest of that team will come after you.”

Denisovitch snapped his fingers and the stoic-looking goon in a suit stepped forward, a file in his hand. “This is an issue I have already thought about. Will this do?”

Nelson took the folder and quickly flipped through it. Sean Taggart. Alexander McKay. Liam O’Donnell. Jacob Dean. Adam Miles. Eve St. James. “What about the Brit? He hired a Brit a couple of months back.”

“Do you really think he’s loyal?”

The bastard had been MI6 and given up his place to follow Taggart. Sure as fuck he would be loyal. Taggart commanded nothing if not a crazed sense of loyalty from his men. It had been that way during his Army years. Luckily the CIA discouraged loyalty to anyone but the Agency. “I think it’s safe to say he could cause trouble. Kill him, too. Accidents would be best but assassinations are fine.”

Denisovitch pointed to the picture of Eve St. James, who had recently changed her name back to McKay. “You really think the woman is a threat?”

He couldn’t let the man back out now. “Don’t underestimate the women. Didn’t your brother make that mistake?”

Denisovitch grimaced as though he’d smelled something rotten. “I told my brother not to marry that American whore. When she ran off, I told him to let the cow’s children go, but he had to punish her. All right then, I’ll kill the woman, too.”

“Grace Taggart,” Nelson said. “Don’t forget about Sean’s wife and child. It’s always best to take out the entire line. After all, your brother killed his disloyal wife only to be killed by a disloyal daughter.”

Nelson had unfinished business with Grace and Sean. Oh, he wished he could see Sean’s face when his wife and baby were gone and he realized he was next. That would be a lovely day, but he had better things to do. He would just have to imagine it.

“All right. But Charlotte is first. She will die and then her sister and then the rest will follow shortly after. I insist on this.”

If the fucker didn’t get Ian and Sean first, there would be a war on his hands. But then again, a war with the syndicate would keep Taggart occupied and allow Nelson to work freely. Not such a bad thing.

Nelson held out a hand. “I’ll leave it all to you then.”

“I will take these people down. Anyone who is involved with Charlotte and her sister will die. This I will swear when I pray today.”

The Russian started talking about vengeance and God, but Nelson stared out into the city. Off in the distance were the high spires of the Church of the Spilled Blood. Nelson stared at them.

It was fitting since he was going to make Taggart bleed.


* * * *


Ian came awake to the smell of bacon frying. And promptly wanted to vomit. Oh, he joked about vomiting a lot, but today was the real thing. His stomach rolled and rumbled and threatened to blow.

How much fucking Scotch had he gone through last night? Enough to have had the craziest dream. Charlie had come back. She’d walked right up to his house and dropped to her knees and sucked his cock in that enthusiastic, crazy-hot way of hers.

And she’d had strawberry blonde hair and new scars.

And she’d punched him in the face.

He reached up and felt his nose. Yep. No dream.

“You might as well wake up. The sooner you give in, the quicker you can move through the hangover, brother.”

Sean. This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. He forced his eyes open and sure enough, his brother was sitting across from him, one leg negligently crossed over the other. The sun was streaming in through one of his bedroom windows. It must have been courtesy of Sean because he never opened those blackout drapes. He liked it dark, but the sun shone in and practically gave his younger brother a halo. “What the fuck are you doing here? Come to think of it, how did you get in?”

Everyone was getting through his security these days.

“You let me in, Ian. I showed up at the gates. You buzzed me in after making me promise I was the pizza man.”

It was worse than he thought. “I did not.”

Sean nodded, his eyes wide and an amused grin flashing on his face. “Oh, yes, you did. You got the munchies somewhere around midnight. It’s all right, man. You were very controlled and perfectly manly when you threatened to shoot me if I put anchovies on your pizza.”

His stomach rolled at the thought, but he made sure his face was perfectly clear. “All right, I’ll rephrase the question. Why are you here?”