“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.”
I don’t doubt it. Even if his girlfriend wasn’t sleeping in our guest room, he’s the most trusted man I have. If anyone wants to get to my family, they’ll have to do it over his dead body.
Which means I have even more to lose than I thought.
The streets are quiet. Not deserted—Manhattan never sleeps, after all—but less crowded than usual. No cars stick to me for longer than a block or two. It’s a quick drive to the safehouse.
I still take the roundabout way, just in case.
Outside, Nikita greets me. Though “greet” doesn’t feel like the right word for the venomous glare she shoots my way.
“Come to lay me off for good?” she asks.
“I’m not here for you.”
“Good, because I’m not moving,” she declares. “Zhenya’s my division boss. I’m not leaving her side.”
She crosses her arms, shoulders squared. Her jaw is set, her expression unflinching. The bags under her eyes are deep enough to hold water.
Earlier, I snapped at her. Accused her of letting Desya go on purpose. My instincts tell me I wasn’t entirely wrong, but I might have jumped the gun. She hesitated—that much is undeniable.
But so did I.
Twenty years ago, I could have ended this thing before it even started, but I didn’t. I could have made better choices then, but I can’t change that. I can’t change the past.
I can only make better choices now.
No—Ihaveto.
“Keep your post.” I don’t let any emotion seep into my voice. “I’ll expect you back at the penthouse tomorrow.”
After Nikita’s performance tonight, I can’t take any chances in the field. But she’s proven herself to be a reliable bodyguard, and a good friend to Mia.
Right now, Mia needs that.
Nikita’s shoulders relax slightly. “I’ll be there.”
I nod and walk inside.
This safehouse isn’t anything special. An old bunker converted for our needs, with a few bunks and a barracks-like atmosphere. Last night, I had it fitted with state-of-the-art medical equipment. The second Zhenya was rolled out of surgery, we brought her here.
Hospitals aren’t safe for people like us. Not for long stays, at least. The cops will already be there, asking questions, but that’s not the real danger.
Prizrak is.
Monitors are beeping as I enter. Half the bunker has been walled off with glass, made sterile and safe for Zhenya’s recovery. She’s hooked up to a million different machines, all humming with the effort of keeping her alive.
My fists tighten.
He did this. He put two of mine in the grave and one in a hospital bed.
And he’s not going to get away with it.
I push the door open.
Two heads spin towards me: Kazimir, with his bandaged foot lifted up on a spare chair…
… and Anton.
