Page 91 of Sinful Betrayal

I put the car in drive.

Mikhail’s jaw is clenched as he stares straight ahead. He’s so still he could be carved from stone.

“No.”

“I can go alone if you want.” I pull away from the curb and swing the car around.

After the informant he asked me to speak to gave us a recent address for Lev, I figured that as the head of the family, he would want to go and check it out himself, but according to Alexei’s wife, Bianca, he’s been trying to delegate more so he can spend more time with his family.

“Alexei asked me to go,” Mikhail says, his voice gruff.

“What if Lev’s there? Are you sure you can trust yourself to hold back?” I think of what happened with Maxim and pray that we don’t walk into a similar situation.

I could really do without killing my cousins’ half-brother because Mikhail decides to lose his temper.

“No.” Mikhail’s hands ball into fists.

“Mikhail,” I warn.

“I don’t need a lecture, Anton.”

We drive the rest of the way in silence, but I’m used to Mikhail’s moods.

He gets caught in internal battles with himself, and there isn’t anyone or anything that can snap him out of it, except maybe his wife, Lucia.

Eventually, I park outside a desolate-looking apartment block. Many of the windows are boarded up and the red bricks have faded to a dirty brown color.

“This is it?” Mikhail peers out the window. “It looks shady as fuck.”

“I really hope this isn’t a waste of time.” I check my pockets for weapons. There’s no way I’m not going in there without a loaded gun.

For all we know, this could be a set up, and we’re walking into a building with dozens of Igor’s men inside, and I really don’t feel like getting shot today. I have a beautiful woman to get home to.

I follow behind Mikhail as we head inside.

The front door to the apartment block is hanging off its hinges and the moment we step inside, I’m hit with the smell of piss and stale vomit.

“Fucking hell.” I cough into the crook off my arm.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The stairwell is littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts. The fact that a son of a Koslov Pahkan lives somewhere like this when the rest of his family resides in luxury penthouses and mansions makes me feel uneasy.

We climb the stairs until we reach the fourth floor and as we approach apartment 4C, Mikhail and I both ready our guns.

Mikhail glances at me, and I nod once, signaling for him to do the honors.

With a deep breath, he slams his foot into the door, and it flies open.

The place is virtually empty, and it smells stale, as if it hasn’t been lived in for a long time. There’s barely any furniture, with only a single bed in one corner and a moth-eaten couch in the other beside the small kitchenette. The refrigerator is making aloud humming noise that makes me think it might explode at any moment.

“He’s not here,” Mikhail huffs as he glances around.

“Looks like he hasn’t been for a while.” I walk over to the bed.

It’s unmade with a pile of clothes screwed up at the end.

“Fucking waste of time,” Mikhail grunts as he kicks the couch.