Kosti rolls a cigarette and lights it. I grimace. The smell of it makes my mind go to Feliks. Kosti got word to him for me, somehow, some way. He’s camped out in a Bronx safehouse, living under cover of darkness, waiting for my orders.
What those orders are and when they’re coming is a mystery to us both. I’ve been foaming at the mouth with thoughts of getting back to New York and putting a knife through Dragan’s throat.
The first time I snatched the car keys off the kitchen table and tried to go do exactly that, Kosti told me it was too soon. “Your body is broken, Sasha. Push too hard and it’ll fail on you when you can least afford it.”
“My body will do what the f**k I tell it to.”
He found me an hour later, kneeling in the dirt, unable even to finish the walk to the truck.
I had no
