“Hi, darling!” Mom’s voice is warm, but her face immediately paints with worry at the sight of mine. “Oh, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I pull her into a hug and bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her familiar scent. It comforts me instantly. “It’s just good to hear your voice.”
I usher them inside.
And, just like that, I remember what it’s like to breathe.
38
YULIAN
THE NEXT SUNDAY
I wish Mia didn’t have to look so goddamn good while defying me.
She’s wearing a tight black dress that does nothing to hide the swell of her pregnant belly. On the contrary, it juts out proudly, like her chin when she faces me. “Ready to go?”
I’m not. I’ll never be ready to put Mia in harm’s way. Even now, I’m fighting the urge to crush all the work we’ve done to repair our relationship and lock her up in my penthouse. Better yet, put her on a plane with her son and never see them again, so long as I know they’resafe.
But she won’t have that.
So I stride past her and head out the door.
I hear her steps behind me. Not heels, but flats—better suited to running if the situation calls for it. First smart choice she’s made all week.
A small part of me whispers,That’s unfair.She’s doing this for you.
But I don’t want her to be doing things for me. That’s not how this works. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, not the other way around.
And yet, Mia’s as stubborn as they come.
“Not gonna speak to me?” she needles on the way over.
“Got nothing to say.”
“Right. Silent treatment.” Her lips press into a thin line. “Real mature.”
About as mature as shoehorning your way into a death trap while pregnant?The words are on my lips, but I don’t say them. Right now, I can’t afford to lose myself in another argument. I need to keep my head, keep my cool, and survive the night.
We both do.
We take the elevator to the rooftop terrace. The sun slants over the horizon, daubing the sky red with the last rays of sunset. Against the glare, countless rooftops surround us, lower by a story or ten.
Every single one of those rooftops is manned by my people tonight.
By the time we step onto the terrace, the gala’s in full swing. I spy a couple of investors I know, but the others must be last-minute admissions from the waitlist. Probably the only ones willing to drop everything on such short notice to attend.
“Hi there!” Tikhon’s voice trills. “What a party, huh? Lots of new faces! I’msoglad I got to see you again, Mia. How’s little Eli? Oh, oh, almost forgot! That prototype you pitched me? The ingestible chip for monitoring vitals?Hugesuccess.We’re working on accelerated FDA approval for medical use. And that’s not all! I’ve been toying with the idea of ingestible equipment for covert ops: mics, scanners, frequency jammers. Well, not ingestible exactly—they’d stick to the inside of your cheek—but how cool would that be? I’ve already made a couple of prototypes and set up remote stations for real-time download of the collected data. Here, take a sample, we’ve got loads. We’re waiting to pitch this to the CIA?—”
“Tikhon, shut up.”
“Got it.” He takes a step back and motions a zipper across his face. “Shutting up now. Enjoy the party!”
Once he’s gone, Mia scolds, “That was rude.”
“Didn’t hear you chime in with praise.”
“You didn’t exactly give me the time.”
