Liliana
The explosion at the Petrograd Hotel lit up Moscow sky like a second sunrise. From the safe house windows, I could see the orange glow reflecting off the clouds, and I could hear the sirens wailing in the distance. The building where Mikhail was supposed to meet with the other crime families was now a pile of smoking rubble.
"How many people were inside?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"We don't know yet," Dmitri said, his fingers flying over his laptop keyboard. "But the hotel had at least two hundred guests, plus staff."
I felt sick. All those innocent people, dead because of a war they didn't even know was happening. Dead because Lucian Winters wanted revenge against a man who had been in the grave for years.
"This is my fault," Mikhail said from behind me. "If I hadn'
