Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(69)

“I didn’t push him away,” I argue. “It’s him. He’s the one who won’t make a choice. He could have avoided this.”

Mischa shakes his head. “It was never his choice to make. And if you don’t know that by now, then you will never survive in this world.”

“If you love someone, then you find a way. It might not be easy, but you can if you want to. And it has become clear to me that Nikolai doesn’t want to.”

“That is only what a hypocrite would say,” Mischa observes.

“I am not a hypocrite. You told me yourself I had to get away.”

“Riddle me this, princess.” He leans forward, humoring me with unrestrained animosity. “How do you believe this fantasy relationship of yours would work? You would go back to being a dancer, and Nikolai could paint pictures of flowers and ponies while traveling around the world with you?”

“Of course not. I know it wouldn’t be like that—”

“There is the small matter of having a bounty on both of your heads to consider. In addition to the fact that no matter where in the world you went, you wouldn’t be safe. But you don’t think about these things in your fantasy, do you?”

“I’m not ignorant,” I choke out. “I know it isn’t that easy.”

Mischa softens, the way he always eventually does. “It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

I fall onto the couch beside him, attempting to contemplate a world where Nikolai doesn’t exist. But I can’t. And I don’t know how it happened. One minute, he was stealing me away from my life, and the next, I was falling in love with him. There are so many complications between us that we can never overcome. His impending marriage. My impending death. His desire to murder my father. Every possible card is stacked against us, but still, I would fight for it if he did too.

“You know what it’s like to lose your mother,” Mischa interrupts my thoughts.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“He lost his mother too, you know. His entire life, he’s been told that she walked away from him. Nikolai is good at holding onto things. He’s good at pushing people away before they can hurt him like that again. It’s why he’s so quick to believe the worst in people. It’s why he will turn on you when you least expect it.”

“If you’re trying to convince me that he’s not good for me, you can save your breath. I already know these things.”

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” he says. “I’m just telling you that until you, his relationships were nonexistent. You were the first woman to get under his skin. If nothing else, you should know that it does mean something.”

I offer him a weak smile, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

“I know that I need to go,” I tell him. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me out with that again?”

“After what happened last time?” He shakes his head. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Besides, he would definitely know it was me this time.”

I shrug. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

He gives me a sideways glance. “You’ll figure something out. I’m sure of it.”





During Nikolai’s absence, it has come to my attention that there is a two-hour gap throughout the day in which I’m alone with Nonna. At all other times, there is a Vory appointed guard loitering throughout the house. One who doesn’t speak or dare to look at me.

Mischa drops in usually every other day, but his visits are unpredictable. My window of opportunity is a small one. Since Nonna has the house locked up tighter than usual, I’m not able to get to the office to use the phone. So I have two options. Either the guard, or Mischa. I’ve been studying their every move, attempting to predict the most opportune moment. But when it finally presents itself, I’m not prepared at all.

It happens on a Sunday, in the morning, on the happenstance occasion that I cut my time in the gym short because my ankle is bothering me. Nonna always comes to lock up when her timer goes off, so I don’t bother to alert her. But when I leave the room, I bump into the guard as he’s racing toward the bathroom.

He looks like hell, and it’s apparent that he had no consideration for his duties this morning because he still reeks of alcohol from the night before. The bathroom door slams behind him and the sound of his retching follows me down the hall.

I’m content to continue on my merry way until I notice that he left his things behind on the sofa. Specifically, his cigarettes, some change, and a phone.

I glance back at the door down the hall. He could be in there for a while. This could be my only opportunity. Or it could backfire spectacularly. Either way, I know I have to try.

I scoop up his phone and dart into the closet, huddling into the corner among the coats, hoping I can be quiet enough. My fingers tremble as I dial Gianni, and it seems to ring for an eternity before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” I whisper. “I need your help. Can you get me out of here?”

He’s quiet for a beat, and I hear shuffling on the other line as he moves somewhere so he can talk. “Tanaka?”

“Yes. Please, Gianni, I don’t have long. I need your help.”