Mischa Stepanov, however, guards his secrets as closely as his family. In a word? The man is the definition of complicated.
In six years, I’ve never understood him, nor his past fully. Even the murky origins of his seemingly happy family are shrouded in secrecy—like the paternity of his firstborn son, and that of Willow, his adopted daughter. Logic dictates that those details shouldn’t matter as long as I can do my job and do it well.
And they haven’t.
Until now.
I suppose I can only blame myself for staying, though, to be fair, the job has been relatively boring prior to a week ago.
Donatello Vanici has brought an avalanche of drama upon the normally quiet household.
The aftermath of his attack on the Stepanovs has repercussions reaching far beyond the manor’s limits. With Willow’s disappearance thrown into the mix, our already strained resources have been pushed to their breaking point. Assigning me here could be interpreted as Mischa aiming to get me out of his hair, my expertise aside—but I’m not so petty as to ignore the bigger picture.
Protecting his wife is just as big a priority to him. The fact that he would station me here is a sign of trust, especially considering the job itself is no easy task. A squat four-story complex on the city’s outskirts, Mercy hospital is a challenge within itself to secure—including the private wing and dedicated team of staff commandeered by the Stepanovs.
Nearly an hour from the manor, the location isn’t ideal—in the heart of Saleri territory—and there is always a possibility that anyone with money and power can buy a guard or doctor to their side. All it takes is one faulty piece to topple a house of cards.
With that in mind, I take my time circling the building’s perimeter as the evening progresses, scanning the outside for any potential areas of breach. This armored van is one of four, each patrolling a different section of the parking lot. It’s mind-numbing work in comparison to the frantic search taking place for Willow. I don’t doubt they’ll find her; it’s only a matter of when.
And how much of her will be left when they finally do…
The thought gnaws at my focus, distracting me from the monotonous task at hand. While uneventful, it’s important given the week’s recent events. The last thing the Stepanovs need is another attack to go unnoticed.
Blinking, I force my attention through the passenger window of the patrol van, inspecting the horizon. A light rain drenches the landscape, rendering the outer complex virtually deserted—though even a torrential storm wouldn’t stop anyone determined enough to mount an attack.
“All clear, sir,” the man in the driver’s seat says. Mario, one of my best, hand-recruited after joining the manor’s retinue. He was a damn good informant in a previous life, capable of finding dirt on anyone with only a name to go off and little else.
Given Donatello Vanici’s pervasive reputation, I suspect finding information on him would be child’s play. If I had the time, I’d delve into the mystery myself. As it stands, there’s only so much I can do on my own.
“Ev?” Mario prompts. “Did you want to go around again before heading in?”
I wrestle with indecision for only a heartbeat. His primary focus should be Mrs. Stepanova—nothing else. Still, no one can garner better intel.
Willow’s life is well worth the risk.
Placing my hand on his shoulder, I incline my head, prompting him to switch off the headset affixed to his ear, linking our position with the other six guards spread throughout the perimeter.
“Sir?” he asks, his expression unreadable in the dark.
Sighing, I cut right to the point. “I need you to do something for me, but we keep this between us. Understood?”
He nods. “I hear you.”
“Here—” I reach into my pocket, retrieving a handful of rolled bills that I place in his hand. “I want everything you can get me on Donatello Vanici and the famiglia. Skip the basics. I know the surface level information, but there has to be more.”
“Such as…?”
I exhale in a rush. Fuck it. “I want to know if he ordered the hit on the Stepanovs, or if someone else did.”
“Shit.” Mario whistles through his teeth, cagily eyeing the money. “Ev, if you’re asking what I think you are, though I have to ask… Why go through me?”
“Mr. Stepanov has enough to worry about,” I say, opening the door to the van. A cool wind throws the rain in my face like a bracing slap. In the end, the shock only helps solidify my decision. “I’ll take the risk if anything comes of it. Think of it as nothing more than classic intel.”
He nods, but I can tell from his raised eyebrow alone that he doesn’t buy the explanation. “Anything else? The more specific, the better.”
I grit my teeth, again weighing the risks. Willow’s face appears in my mind, quashing any remaining doubt. Mischa may have barred me from the search party, but there are other ways I can assist. After all, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.
“I especially want to know if Vanici ever had any dealings with a young girl,” I say.
He grunts in surprise but hides it well. As long as we’ve both been in the business, nothing should shock us when it comes to the proclivities of men with power.
“How young we talking?”
“Any age. Any type of relationship. Give me whatever you can. I’ll pay the price.”
In more ways than one, if Mischa takes offense to my little quest for intel—a barrier I’ll deal with later.
“On it,” Mario says, nodding. “Otherwise, the birdcage is secure. The dove is resting. No update from the doctors as of yet. Kristoph is on watch. Nothing else to report from my end.”
“Good,” I reply, switching to a normal tone. “What about from base?”
He shakes his head with a sigh. “I’ve heard nothing from the Wolf—” our codename for Mischa. “But if anything major goes down, I’ll phone you from here.”
“Right.” I step out, drawing my hood low, though I’m sure Mario caught my expression anyway. I can’t shake the irritation that I’ve been shoved to the sidelines for a reason. Mischa’s private security is composed of some of the best men I know—many of them hand-picked by my recommendations. Even so, I’d go so far as to say that none of them care for Willow more than me. Why? It’s an entirely selfish reason—I’m the only one with a personal investment in her future.
Once she’s safe and sound, living out her sheltered life as a pianist, mine will finally mean something. What’s the word for it? Redemption.
I refuse to stand by as another innocent life is destroyed. Not this time.
“You okay, Ev?”
I blink to find Mario staring at me. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“Well, take care, then.” He rolls his window up, and I watch him drive off, presumably to repeat the same route until I return.
Alone, I enter the building through a locked stairwell that leads directly to Mrs. Stepanova’s wing. A key card gives me access, one of a few assigned to this wing. Even the hospital’s regular staff can’t enter these halls unaccompanied.
It’s a strict level of security well warranted by the number of mafiya enemies who might be looking to make their mark. Suspects who come to mind include Vanici and the famiglia or their associates.