what they need, it’s pretty easy.”
“What do you think of Titus?” My tone was loud enough that everyone in the room turned to us.
Danika leaned against the bookcase, face tight in thought. “There is no arrogance in the killings. This Titus doesn’t claim them—or make himself known. We only found out his name because of one of his followers. But the act of removing teeth post-mortem...it’s painless to the victim, but vulgar to the bystanders.”
Roman stopped pacing. “So we’re looking for a non-arrogant psychopath. That should be easy.”
Konstantin rose to his full height. “His ability to remain anonymous is impressive,” he said. “But no one moves through this world unseen. Not in this day and age.”
“He must be living somewhere, interacting with someone. He’s not a ghost,” Roksana agreed. “If we find those who follow him, perhaps we might have a better chance of drawing him to us.”
“How would we do that?” Roman asked. “We’d need to know every fucking mobster in the States.”
An image flashed through my mind. The piles of boxes, the dozens of USBs. All the secrets and knowledge in one room, gained via decades of watching and spying.
As the picture formed, so did the pain. My upper arm ached painfully, a strange contrast to the pleasurable aching I had experienced earlier in the day.
The sex…I could feel the pressure of Konstantin’s lips against my bundle of nerves, still feel the pleasant aftermath of the orgasm. I didn’t know what to make of it. It had been good, it had been a taste of what was to come, but the strange connection forming between us felt tender.
You’re leaving soon, Elena, I told myself, but I didn’t sound as determined as I had been previously.
Konstantin’s jaw tightened in response to what Roman had said. “My niece mentioned something similar happening back in Russia,” he said. “A woman was killed and had her teeth removed.”
“Any connection?” Tatiana asked. She raised her gaze up to Dmitri, like she couldn’t stand having Konstantin’s commanding attention on her.
“I’m not sure yet,” he replied. “But the coincidence is too great to ignore.” Konstantin cast his eyes out the window, seeing something we could not. “He also made his plans for New York clear. Watch him.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Serial killers, rival mob bosses,” Roman bitched under his breath. “It never fucking ends.”
“You would grow bored, Roman,” Artyom said.
That made a grin flash over his face. “Ah, you’re probably right. If I didn’t have to worry about Konstantin, then what would I do?”
“Steal syrup,” Danika muttered.
“Really?” He spun on his heel. “You’re still not over—”
“Enough.” The word cut through the room, Konstantin’s commanding voice refusing to be denied. Silence fell. “Ainsworth must have met Titus somewhere. I want to know every place he has been, every room he has ever walked into. Titus may be invisible, but his men are not.”
Artyom nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell Olezka he is going back into the business of tracking,” he said. “Give him everything we had on Ainsworth. Including his body.”
“Yes, sir.”
Still not resolved but now with a purpose in mind, the tension of the room had shifted considerably. The fear of Titus hovered above us all, shadowing our every move. And now we had lost our only connection to the man—leaving us back at square one.
Danika’s profile of Titus had left me with only one guarantee: Titus was not a mob boss.
Arrogance fueled the kings of the mafia; it came with the territory. Therefore, Titus was not one of them.
He was something else entirely. Maybe a disillusioned soldier or furious heir. Maybe even a scarred wife. But whoever Titus was, he was bloodthirsty and intelligent, cruel and calculating. The lives of children and honoring dead bodies meant nothing to him.
Titus was dangerous. Not only did he pose a threat to me, but to all the other women associated with the mafia. The loose sense of sisterhood I had felt with Eithne McDermott was replicated with all the other women in the same world as me. Sophia, Beatrice, Danika, Roksana...even little Marzia Vigliano.
I reached up to feel my arm. There was no real pain, it was all in my head, but it served as a reminder of what my brain had discovered.
After discussing a few more things, the meeting came to an end. Roksana turned to me as people began to file out, smiling elegantly. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for giving me that tonic. I feel so much better.”
“I’m glad.”
Roksana had been having horrendous nightmares, the attack triggering her violent past. I