I caught him at the end of the alley.
"Wait."
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"You can't just say something like that and walk away," I said, grabbing his arm. "What do you mean Dimitri is going to kill my father?"
He turned slowly. His grey eyes dropped to my hand on his arm, then back to my face.
"You should let go of me."
"Not until you explain."
"People are watching."
"Let them watch."
Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance. I couldn't tell.
He grabbed my wrist, pulled me into a doorway, and pressed me against the brick wall. His body blocked the rain. His face was inches from mine.
"You have no idea what you're doing," he said quietly.
"Then tell me."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he stepped back.
"Follow me. Don't speak until we're inside."
---
He led me to a black SUV parked two blocks away. I climbed into the passenger seat. He got behind the wheel and drove.
Neither of us spoke.
The rain pounded against the roof. The windshield wipers swept back and forth, back and forth. I watched the city lights blur past the window.
He parked outside an old apartment building. Not the kind of place I expected a mafia heir to live. No guards. No fancy cars. Just a grey building with chipped paint and a broken intercom.
"This way," he said.
We climbed three flights of stairs. He unlocked a door and gestured for me to enter.
The apartment was small. A couch. A table. A wall of monitors showing security feeds from around the city. A closet with the door slightly open.
I saw the guns inside.
My hand went to my hip.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.
"Then why do you have enough weapons to start a war?"
"Because I'm in one."
He walked to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water. Tossed one to me. I caught it but didn't drink.
"Sit down," he said.
I sat on the edge of the couch. He pulled a chair across from me. Close. Too close.
"Talk," I said.
He leaned back. "My name is Alexei Volkov. My father was Vladimir Volkov, head of the Bratva syndicate. My mother was Elena Volkov. Fifteen years ago, your father led a raid that got her killed."
"I know that part."
"No. You know what I told you in the alley. You don't know what happened after."
"Then tell me."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "After my mother died, my father became a different person. Cold. Cruel. He blamed your father. He blamed the police. He blamed everyone except himself."
"That doesn't explain why you're helping me."
"I'm getting there." He leaned forward. "Three months ago, my father died. Cancer. I inherited everything. His house. His money. His enemies."
"And his lies?"
His jaw tightened. "Yes. And his lies."
He stood up and walked to the closet. Pulled out a box. Wooden. Worn. He set it on the table between us.
"Open it."
I opened the box.
Inside was a photograph. A woman. Dark hair, grey eyes, a smile that looked just like his.
"Your mother?"
"Yes." He sat back down. "I found letters in that box. Letters my father wrote but never sent. In them, he admitted the truth. Your father didn't murder my mother. It was an accident. A stray bullet from one of his own men."
I stared at the photograph. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I spent fifteen years hating an innocent man. And I'm tired of hating."
I looked up at him. "What do you want from me?"
"Your father is going to die tomorrow night. Not by my hand. By my brother's. Dimitri doesn't care about justice. He cares about power. Killing your father would make him a hero to the family."
"Then stop him."
"I can't do it alone."
"You have Yakov."
"Yakov is one man. Dimitri has an army." He leaned closer. "I need someone on the inside. Someone who knows the police department. Someone who can get close to your father without raising suspicion."
"You want me to spy on my own father?"
"I want you to help me save his life."
I stood up. Paced the room. My mind was racing.
"If I agree to this, what happens next?"
"We gather evidence. We find proof of Dimitri's plan. And we stop him before he pulls the trigger."
"And after that?"
He stood up. Walked toward me. Stopped when we were face to face.
"After that, you can arrest me. Walk away. Tell your father everything." He shrugged. "I don't care. As long as he survives tomorrow night."
I searched his eyes for the lie. For the trap.
I didn't find anything.
"One condition," I said.
"Name it."
"No more secrets. No more lies. You tell me everything."
He nodded. "I promise."
"Then I'm in."
He didn't smile. Didn't celebrate. He just looked at me with those grey eyes and said, "Thank you, Kira."
And for the first time, I believed he meant it.