“Even now?” Petro asks, straightening up. He seems to have forgotten the still-burning cigar dangling from his fingers. “With the wolves at our gates?”
“You know I hate it when you get dramatic.”
But Petro barrels ahead, keeping the urgency in his tone. “We got another message from the Semenovs.”
“Burn it and bury the ashes,” I snarl. “I’m not entertaining any kind of correspondence with that outfit of f*****g goons.”
“Then why are you making me repeat myself, sobrat?”
“Because this time…” He produces a letter from his back pocket. “… he wrote it himself.”
That gives me pause. I take the letter from Petro and frown at the handwriting slashed across the back of the envelope. Gregor used his own personal stationery for this one. The Semenov crest glares from the flap in green and red.
