is a touchy subject we should avoid discussing.” At hearing the name, Yasmeen lifted her head and came around.
“Are you talking about my Miranda?” There was a sleepy note in her voice, the raspy threads much too intimate a sound for Lucian to be okay with other men hearing them.
“Sorin, take Yasmeen upstairs.”
“Are you not going to introduce us?” Gheorghe drawled.
“No.”
Paying no attention to the exchange, Yasmeen placed her hands on his chest. “Wait. Is Miranda okay?”
“Yes. Your friend is fine. She is worried about you. We will take care of that when I join you in a few minutes. You can call her and reassure her you are not being tortured in my dungeon.”
Happiness burst to life before him. Her smile was so genuine, small lines fanned out in the corners of her eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, pet. Really.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him full on the mouth in front of the others. “Thank you.” After daring to squish his face between her hands, she skipped to the door. She waved at Gheorghe and Claude but saved her smile for Sorin. “Lead on, Heimdall.”
Sorin gave her a funny look as he turned.
“What.” She questioned it—of course. “You don’t know who Heimdall is? Guardian of Asgard? Thor? Loki? Come on, Sorin. You don’t live in a cave.”
As they left, Sorin merely grunted.
“So, be honest.” Her voice drifted back as they went down the corridor. “Have you had any personal interactions with any of the ghosts who live here?”
“Only the ones I killed myself,” Sorin muttered.
Yasmeen’s shocked laugh faded as they moved further away.
Gheorghe was looking at the empty doorway. “Is Sorin making jokes with your playmate?”
Lucian picked up the poker, but rather than take out his cousin’s knees, he stoked the dying fire. “Aside from my personal business, what brought you here, Gheorghe?”
“I wanted to see for myself how you were doing.” He added to that when Lucian slowly turned cold eyes on him. “Also, the time has come to decide how we will deal with this situation once it unfolds.” He took a seat at the table. Claude stood rooted to the spot just inside the door. Lucian knew better than to ask the sentry to sit. If they were women, he’d have asked Claude how he was doing.
“You were right when you said Pivchenko wasn’t done,” Gheorghe said. “He is planning on striking one last time at his family. You were also right about the means he would use. Artur Baikov received a call.”
Lucian hung the poker on its hook and turned. “Artur is your contact? Is he a reliable one? What does he have to lose?”
“I dispatched Zlatan yesterday morning to pick up a young girl by the name of Karina. She is sulking her bitchy ass off in a safe house in Newark. Her surname? Baikov. Loving brother? Artur. He can be trusted.”
Satisfied with that, Lucian moved on. “And what did Sergei ask of him?”
“He requested a small team brave enough to go up against Vasily and Alek. Artur told Sergei he would get a crew together and would be in touch. He is waiting to hear back from me before he does anything more.”
Disgust filled him, sickening Lucian’s stomach. Disloyal people had that effect on him. “What is happening in Vasily’s camp?”
“The Tarasovs are doing as we were doing. Waiting. They have found a trail of bodies Sergei left behind, but their hands are tied because the coward has gone to ground. None of our hounds have picked up his trail, which means he buried himself and hasn’t come out since.”
Nothing new. That was frustrating, but Lucian got past it to outline exactly what he wanted ready when the time came to move on Sergei. Actual plans couldn’t be made until the time came, but being prepared was smart.
He remained in the room with his brother’s partner for as long as he could before excusing himself. Thirty minutes was all he could take with such a trigger. He took the back stairs two at a time, slowing once he reached the second level and had gone halfway down the south corridor.
Six days had passed since he’d identified Markus’s body at the morgue. Six days since he’d made that call to Claude, telling him of Markus’s death. Six days since he’d brought Markus’s body home, welcomed Claude into his house and led him to Markus’s bedroom where a fucking coffin had taken the place of his brother’s bed. He’d closed the Frenchman into the room and