I let out a shaky laugh and cross the sea of gray rug to meet him. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“No,” he deadpans, “just a professional mover, apparently.” He sets the box on the coffee table, then glances over at the massive sofa.
“Sit before you keel over,” I say.
We both drop onto the couch, the cushions plush and soft. Dmitri rests his forearms on his knees, giving the living room a slow once-over. “You think you can be comfortable here?”
“It’s stunning.” My voice is small in the vast room. I clasp my hands together, trying for composure. “Thank you, for getting my stuff. I know it’s late.”
He shrugs. “Boss says move, we move.” A faint smile forms. “Besides, I prefer your mugs in the kitchen to his crystal. Makes the place actually feel lived in.”
I manage a real smile, grateful. The skyline beyond the glass pulses in quiet rhythm, and for a moment the weight lifts just enough that I can let my shoulders slump and simply breathe.
The box on the coffee table looks sad and lopsided, but when I peer inside a sprig of green waves back at me. My rosemary plant, still alive, though one branch is bent at a dramatic angle.
“My little survivor,” I say, cradling the pot. Dirt’s scattered across the packing paper, and it smells like pine and nostalgia. “Pretty sure even you can’t kill him, Dmitri.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t challenge me. I had a plant once, a cactus. Managed to kill that somehow. Plants are not my thing.”
Instead of carting the plant to my room, I cross to the huge corner window and set it on the steel ledge. Manhattan lightsfan out below, and it suddenly looks heroic, claiming its stake against a backdrop of skyscrapers.
“Front-row seat,” I murmur, patting the pot. “Grow big. Prove we belong.”
Behind me, cabinets open with a soft hiss. Dmitri rummages inside, produces a crystal decanter, and pours himself two fingers of amber. “Nightcap?”
I shake my head. “Just water. Alcohol’s been off the menu lately.” I’ve never been a huge drinker, but lately even the thought of alcohol has been enough to send a tinge of nausea through me.
“Smart. Clear head, steady hands.” He fishes a chilled bottle of spring water from the refrigerator and brings it over, clinking it with his tumbler in a muted toast. We sit down once again. He sips his whiskey while I hug the bottle of water as if it’s a life raft.
A long, unhurried silence unfolds. It’s surprisingly comfortable, cozy even, if a multi-million-dollar living room can feel like that. The fireplace flickers, a low ribbon of gas flame.
“So,” I finally say, twisting the cap, “this arrangement. You really think me being here in the penthouse will keep the wolves out?”
“One wolf at least,” Dmitri answers. “Not sure how your brother got into the other apartment, but not a chance he’s getting into this one.”
I nod though anxiety still flutters under my ribs. “I appreciate what he’s doing, looking out for me. But sometimes it feels like Vlad always chooses protect over explain. I don’t know how to read him.”
“He’s protective by design.” Dmitri swirls his drink, ice chiming. “Look, the boss built an empire by minimizing chaos. Violence is bad for revenue streams, bad for morale, bad for banking relationships, bad for sleep. Not to mention the little detail of keeping you alive.”
“And you?” I ask, one brow raised. “You buy that logic? Or are you just here because the pay’s good?”
“Money’s a perk,” he admits. “But Vlad saved my skin when I was sixteen and stupid. Since then, I watch his back, he watches mine. Square deal.”
I study his face. Tough, but there’s real kindness there. “Loyalty like that is hard to find.”
“Tell me about it.” He tosses back the last of his whiskey and sets the glass down. “Meanwhile, I can see you’re busy plotting escape routes.”
My cheeks warm. “Am I that obvious?”
“A little.” He shrugs into his jacket. “It’s fine. Plan all the exits you want, smart people do. Just remember the safest door might be the one that leads back in.”
Easy for him to say. Still, the words stick.
Dmitri heads for the elevator, pausing at the threshold. “Boss is on his way. Thirty minutes, maybe less. If you need anything before then, hit zero on the house phone.”
“Thanks, Dmitri. For everything.”
He offers a half-smile—warm, quick, gone. “Good night.”
