Chapter Thirty-Three
Rurik
Satu Mare, Romania
Rurik hurried toward the circus parking lot, yanking at his tight shirt collar for the tenth time. It had to be the wrong size. It felt like it was cutting off the blood to his brain.
He pulled the van keys from his pocket and shoved them at the door lock. Missed. Stabbed again and missed. And then fumbled them into the grass.
When he bent to pick them up, he heard the telltale rip of threads from under the jacket’s arm. Dammit. First time he’d worn a suit. Who knew they were so flimsy?
“You’ll never get there at this rate.” Marva joined him at the van with Misha at her heels. She lifted Rurik’s arm, peered beneath, and tsked under her breath.
Misha bent and retrieved the keys.
“It’s a small rip,” Marva said. “No one will notice, but st
