Wicked Mafia Prince (A Dangerous Royals Romance, #2)(42)

We crouch in the dark. “We really need to get out more often.”

I smirk.

When Santino gives the flash signal, we rush up and begin to scale the side of the building. Tilt-concrete construction. The surface is rough with few handholds. This part is dangerous; not so much for falling, but if caught, we are so easy to shoot. Santino is in the chimney next door, covering us with a long-range rifle. It’ll help. A little.

We get up the side and scramble over the top, out of breath. Quietly we pull up the gear. If we make noise, we’ll have to rappel down. Again, easy to shoot.

We lie side by side on the soft, still-warm rubberized surface of the roof. The stars are bright, the air thin.

“When we hit this place, we should bring some of the American Russians,” Aleksio says. “We let them keep all the money.”

“It can’t look like charity,” I say.

“But if we worked it right?”

“Then yes,” I say. “It would make our friendship more solid.”

We crawl on our bellies toward the mechanical plant. The sliver hole will be in the seal around the HVAC equipment.

Creeeeeeak.

I freeze and shut my eyes. It was loud—much too loud. It’s not just about the dangerous people inside; the roof may be unstable.

I catch Aleksio’s eye. He shakes his head grimly and pulls out his phone to call Santino, who sees nobody coming out of the doors. We’re okay. For now.

Santino thinks we should come back. The roof sags ahead; it’ll mean more creaking.

“Fuck that,” Aleksio whispers. He points out a slight ridge. That would be the support. “We’ll be safe if we stay right on that.”

A lot of tundra to cross. Fifty feet, perhaps.

We crawl slowly, head to toe now, Aleksio in front. The massive mechanicals that supply heat to the space below are housed up ahead in silver casing. He reaches the plant first, sits up, and opens his pack. The camera is on the end of a small cable. He unspools it, fits it into the hold, and lowers it.

I come up next to him and watch the view on my phone. It’s a long process. Slow.

“Still, there’s one thing I’ve been wondering,” he says, unspooling it one centimeter at a time, lowering it down into the space. He twists to change the view.

I peer through the lens via my iPhone. “Keep going.”

He unspools it more. “Your endgame.” He continues to work calmly. “What’s your endgame with Tanechka?”

“It’s under control.”

“Is it?” He whispers. “Because I was sitting there thinking, what the f*ck is Viktor’s plan? What the f*ck happens when Tanechka remembers everything? When she realizes she’s a stone-cold killer instead of a nun. And oh, look, Viktor isn’t my heartbroken boyfriend after all, but rather the man who f*cking tried to kill me!”

I focus on my phone, speak under my breath. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? Because when she remembers, won’t she be pretty mad? A killer, mad at you? But then I realized, oh, that’s your plan.”

I turn to him. “That’s not my plan.”

“Maybe not your plan,” he clarifies. “More like your unconscious agenda. You don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you? Fucking unconscious agenda.”

“You Americans,” I spit. “You American and your psychological…cotton candy,” I say, unable to find a better word. “Just cotton candy.”

“No, I think I’m onto something. You told the nun she’s a killer. What the f*ck is that?”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“Fine, she put it together.” He uses air quotes. “From something you said. Hmmmm.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“No? ’Cause here’s my question: What’s the one thing you aren’t telling her?”

I give him a look, there in the dark.

“The one thing you’re not telling her is that you f*cking threw her over that cliff.” He whisper-shouts that last phrase. “Why not tell her that part?” He tucks a curl into his dark cap and continues to unspool the cable, expertly, quietly. “Tanechka the nun would forgive you for throwing her over the cliff, wouldn’t she?”

My head feels strange from his words.

“But you don’t want forgiveness. It’s the last thing you want. You need Tanechka to remember she is an assassin before she finds out you threw her off that cliff.” He turns to me. “That’s your f*cking plan, isn’t it? You don’t want the nun to find out you killed her. You want the assassin to find out.”

“No.”

He unspools the line. “This is a f*cking death wish is what this is.”

“If I wanted to die I’d be dead already,” I growl, pulling up the images on the app. All dark.

“Right. This suits you more. Way more twisted.”

I snort, concentrating on the feed from the camera now inside the warehouse. Nothing.

“Let me ask you a question—how would it feel if she plunged a blade into your gut?”

I still, stunned by the question.

“Come on, be honest.”

I imagine her coming after me with a blade. I imagine her sinking it under my ribs and…it feels right. Good. Warm, somehow. As though the world became cold when I killed her, and her blade in my belly would make it warm again. Right again.