The plane ride didn’t faze him. Or the train ride out of the city. Jake had been swept along for the past twenty-four hours by a cold, quiet fury. But now, as he stared up at the building in front of him, the icy calm was burning away.

He had questions, and by god, he was going to get answers.

Just a few minutes longer, he promised himself. Keep up the act just a few minutes longer.

They let him in. They searched him, of course. They searched everyone. But they let him keep the revolver in his boot. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen it dozens of times before. He was family. And because he was family, they didn’t escort him upstairs.

One of the guys watched him come off the elevator, bright eyes doing a sweep of Jake’s person before jerking his chin down the hall.

Jake nodded. He paused in front of the door, reaching down as if to scratch his foot but palming the small gun before straightening back up. Then with a quick breath and a glance down the hall, he opened the door.

Inside, it was quiet except for the soft strains of something that might have been Liszt coming from an actual turntable in the corner. Lucjan was leaning back in his chair, comparing two sheets of paper, his eyes flicking back and forth between what looked like two long columns of numbers. When he saw Jake, he set the papers down and got to his feet with a smile but no surprise. Lucjan would have known he was here from the instant he emerged from the cab that had brought him from the train. Hell, he might have known the moment his plane touched down on Polish soil.

“Hey, Lucjan.”

“Brother.” Lucjan watched him approach, his smile still in place, but not stepping forward to embrace him as the man usually did. Jake’s heart kicked up a notch but he moved closer anyway. “I heard about the trouble in New Orleans. I’ve already spoken to my men. Seems they saw you enter Ms. Gracen’s room and foolishly assumed they could relax their vigilance. I’ve—”

Jake said nothing, casually reaching out an arm to clasp the other man to him, the metal of the gun warm in his free hand. Lucjan didn’t resist, even when the snub-nosed pistol pressed hard against his ribs. Jake turned it in just a hair, making sure it was aimed toward the heart.

His brother-in-law shook his head, his voice soft. “What are you doing, Kuba?”

“We need to talk.”

“A talk that requires the threat of a bullet?”

“It would seem so. You’ve been keeping secrets, brother.”

Lucjan laughed. “You will have to be more specific than that.”

He dug the muzzle of the gun in deeper. “Sit down but keep your hands on top of the desk, where I can see them. No sudden movements. Are we clear? You know how good of a shot I am.”

“Of course I do.” Lucjan sat, leaning back again, watching Jake through slitted eyes. “Just as we both know that should you pull that trigger, you’ll never leave this building alive. So why the dramatics?”

“Because I still believe you love my sister. Which means you won’t kill me.”

“Hard to protect you from my men if I’m dead.”

Jake smiled. “Oh, I won’t kill you, I’ll just aim for something painful.”

Lucjan sighed. “So talk.”

“Darnell. He was behind the attack on Charlie. The attack you let happen.”

For the first time, Lucjan looked angry. “I told you, that name means nothing. He’s a ghost . . . no. He is the rumor of a ghost. And I won’t endanger my whole organization or your sister poking at—”

“I know, Lucjan.”

When Timor had lifted his hand to taunt Jake, his sleeve had fallen back, revealing a scar, a thick, horrible one, like a burn. But it was actually a brand, one he knew a certain faction of the Russian mafia used on their grunts.

Jake knew because he’d seen it before.

On the back of his brother-in-law’s neck.

With a long-suffering sigh, Lucjan lifted his big shoulders. “What is it that you think you—”

Lightning quick, Jake slammed Lucjan’s head into the desk, pinning him flat while the other man cursed. Jake pressed the gun hard against the raised scar. Lucjan went still. “This, you motherfucker. One of Darnell’s men is sporting this same piece of artwork. One of the animals that was there the day my mother died. So spare me the tight-lipped crime lord act. You know these motherfuckers. You always have.”

He gave Lucjan a rough shove and took a seat across from him.

Lucjan straightened slowly, watching Jake as he rubbed a hand over his bleeding mouth. “Tell me. Does Nastka know about this man?”

“She was the one who remembered seeing him there.”

With a roar, Lucjan swiped one hand across his desk, sending cups, coins and paper flying. Jake’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Are you a fool?”

“Seems I’ve been a trusting one.”

Lucjan leaned over the desk, shoulders hunched, his eyes mad. “And the Bratva mark, does she know this as well?”

It was a gamble. Obviously, Stacia was aware of her husband’s mark, but Jake had deliberately chosen not to tell her of Timor’s. Not until he figured out what the hell was going on.

Knowing he could be signing his own death warrant, he still chose not to lie. “No.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the record skipping lightly in the background.

“Are you planning on telling her?” Lucjan’s voice was whisper soft.

Jake gave him a level stare. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Lucjan nodded once. Then again. He sat back down. “I am not the enemy.” Lucjan looked directly into the gun aimed between his eyes. “Truly I am not.”

“Convince me. How do I know you haven’t been protecting him all along?”

Lucjan sneered. “The Russians haven’t controlled me in over a decade, not that they ever did. I’ve never met your Darnell.”

“But you know people who have, don’t you? You could have helped us get to him all along. And yet you did nothing.”

Lucjan watched Jake, then motioned at the table behind him. Jake jerked his head. Lucjan grabbed a bottle of blackberry brandy and poured two tumblers half full of the dark purple liquid before pushing one across to Jake. “You know how the Bratva works?”

Holding the gun steady in one hand, Jake reached for the liquor with the other. “I know there is a boss, like a godfather.”

“The papa.” Lucjan nodded and kicked back a shot. “And under him, you have the . . . Well, I know your Russian is not so good. Let’s call them generals. The big commanders, security and support. And the moneyman, of course.

“Then there are brigadiers. These are the backbone of the structure. They each run a group of men, street warriors. The men working the muscle of the body—pulling the hits, doing the dirty work. Below them, at the very bottom of the heap, is the shestyorka, the ‘six.’” He tapped the back of his neck, twisting so Jake could see the brand again. “I was six for two years. Only a few of the brigadiers brand their sixes, and of those that do, they each favor a particular body part. Where is your man’s brand?”

“The forearm.”

Lucjan’s lips twisted, then he finished his brandy. “It is as I suspected. And it changes nothing.”

“It does for me.” Jake lifted the gun. “You need to tell me who was lending his men to Darnell. If he was using one of these ‘sixes,’ then someone somewhere knows something. Either I can find out myself, or you can share what you already know.” Jake got to his feet, the cock of the hammer loud over the strains of Paganini’s ‘La Campanella.’

“You won’t shoot me.” Lucjan poured more brandy, his hand rock steady.

“Sure of that, are you?”

“Sadly, no. But they are.” Before Jake could blink, he was surrounded. He hadn’t even heard the creak of the door, or footsteps. One second they were alone and the next they were not. He could barely see Lucjan through the bodies, but their eyes met.

“You knew.”

“I know the stink of desperation on a man,” Lucjan said, waving a hand. “The look in the eyes.”

In seconds, Jake was back in the chair, the gun knocked away. A fist caught him in the face, a glancing blow that nevertheless split his lip. Lucjan slapped a hand on the desk.

“Stójcie! No blood, he is family.”

The men around him pulled back, but hard hands remained on his shoulders, more than one muzzle pointed at his head.

“Family? Is that what you call this?” Jake spit blood-laced saliva onto Lucjan’s carpet. “I thought you loved my sister, but you’ve been playing her all along.”

Lucjan pressed his lips together as he waved the men off. “Idźcie precz.”

One of Lucjan’s men set Jake’s gun on the desk in front of his boss. As soon as they were gone, Lucjan leaned over the desk, his eyes glittering in the low light. “It is because of how I love Nastka that I’ve worked to keep you both as far from this Darnell as possible. You cannot find him, you will not touch him. Ever.”

“We tagged him in the States.”

“Ah yes, when you got shot.” Lucjan gave him a hard look. “And you did not tag him, you merely got close to a subordinate. And even then I had to rescue you, no?”

Jake frowned. “You were watching us that night?”

“Why do you think Matthias was able to respond so quickly? You are lucky it was him on the ground. Not all my men are such excellent medics.”

“How long have you worked for Darnell?”

Lucjan’s spine stiffened. “I told you, I do not work for him. I have long been done with Bratva. I have never even seen this man. Only heard the rumors.” He snorted, took another drink of brandy. “He has his quirks, like many men. He wants to be seen as elegant. A man of refined tastes. Sophistication. So he dabbles in the arts. But it’s not who he is. He runs guns. For a time it was drugs, too. But now only the guns. More money in it and less risk. He is untouchable.”

“No one is untouchable.” Jake accepted the handkerchief Lucjan tossed his way and pressed it to his lip. “I’ll find a way.”

“Are you not listening? Going after him is suicide.” Lucjan threw the pistol at him as well. “You might as well put a bullet in your head right now, because that is where you’re going to end up if you pursue this.”

“I won’t quit.”

“You must.”

Jake laughed, harsh and bitter. “You want me to just give up? I watched my mother die, you son of a bitch. Watched her raped, beaten and shot in the fucking head.”

“And you wish to see the same happen to my Nastka?” Lucjan’s words were low and hard. “Or perhaps your little artist?”

Jake’s head came up. “That’s what they were after in New Orleans, wasn’t it? He’s trying to hurt her because of me.”

It wasn’t a question. Lucjan didn’t pretend it was. His eyes were cold. “They won’t stop. He won’t stop—not until you do. Give up on Darnell and get your life back, Kuba.”

“I can’t.” But his shoulders slumped. “I . . . can’t.”

Lucjan leaned forward. “Think on this. Think hard. Sometimes revenge does not pay a debt, but only incurs others. Unless you are willing to pay them all—to watch others pay them—you need to walk away.”

“And you would let someone do this to your family, you would let them go unpunished—”

Lucjan’s teeth ground together and his hand slapped down hard on his desk. “I pick my battles. This one cannot be won in the way you have imagined.”

Jake frowned. There was something odd in the other man’s tone.

While his own eyes narrowed in question, Lucjan’s stayed steady and hard and unreadable, as did his voice. “The only way to best this Darnell is to be happy. To live the life your mother would have wanted for you.”

Jake closed his eyes. “I’ll never know what my mother wanted for me.”

“That is a lie. She loved you, did she not?”

“Of course.”

“What do loving mothers want for their sons but love in return? A happy life. A good life. Not this life. You have pushed the boundaries, most recently at my request, but you can still get out. It is not too late for you.”

Lucjan’s face was dark, inscrutable but Jake wondered, for the first time ever, if Lucjan had ever thought about getting out. If that was part of why he had let Stacia leave him, why he’d not tried harder to pull her back.

Then Jake thought of Charlie and what he felt beginning between them. He could have Charlie, or he could continue to chase Darnell.

But he could not have both. That was what Lucjan was trying to tell him.

“Let Darnell go, my brother,” Lucjan said softly. “Men like him will meet a bad end, with or without your help. It is their destiny.”

Does that include you? Jake almost asked, but he held his tongue instead and got to his feet. He dropped the handkerchief to the desk. “She isn’t mine, you know. Charlie.”

Lucjan smiled, his first true smile since Jake had walked through his door. “Then make her yours.”

“I thought love was stupid.”

“Oh it is. But that stupidity is the only thing that has ever made life worth living.”

Jake shook his head and headed for the door.

“Kuba.”

He looked back over his shoulder.

Lucjan was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “What will you tell Nastka about our talk?”

“The truth.” Then he touched his lip and winced. “Or most of it.”

Lucjan nodded, then poured himself another glass of brandy, staring into the glass with the air of a man who would have happily drowned himself in it.

“And, Lucjan?”

His brother-in-law glanced up, the harsh light on his face making him look a decade older.

“Thank you. For not killing me.”

Lucjan laughed softly, staring back into his brandy. “As I said, you’re family.”