“I just watched you kill four men,” I whisper, voice cracking. “And I’m carrying your child.” God, it feels so strange to say out loud.
Dmitri’s speaking on comms. “Bodies at Bethesda. Paint fake MS-13 tags, dump casings from a Hi-Point. NYPD will chase ghosts ‘til Easter.”
And with the simple orders, another murder scene is sanitized.
We cut off the main avenues and take side streets until stopping at an old brownstone on West 62nd.
“Angeloff property,” Dmitri explains.
Inside, a fire is going. Candles are lit. A med kit waits on the console table. Vlad goes straight to the kitchen and scrubs his knuckles. I go with him, watching as pink water spirals down the sink and disappears.
Then I drop onto a velvet sofa.Baby, blood, baby, blood.I can’t turn the loop off.
Dmitri comes in and plops on the couch across from me.
“Four this time,” Dmitri says flatly. “Next wave will be twenty. Volkov isn’t bluffing. If he’s willing to make a move like that in Central Park…” his voice trails off.
I look at Vlad. He’s stone-faced, drying his hands on a clean white towel.
“We don’t know if this is Volkov yet. But make sure our angels of death are ready for war. If this is indeed Volkov making his opening attack, it’s the last offensive he’s going to get. We’re going to make him pay tenfold.”
I’m barely listening. Four bloody bodies strewn in the snow keep stealing my attention.
Dmitri heads downstairs to coordinate teams. The room goes quiet except for the crackling of the fire.
I stand and face Vlad. “Is this our future? You killing, cleaning it up, me hoping each time isn’t the one when you run out of luck?”
His jaw tightens. “It’s always a possibility.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “But I will make the world safe for you and the baby.”
“I need more than that, Vlad. Does this end? Ever?”
He hesitates, then looks at my stomach. His hand cups me there, a hand that only a short time ago was snapping a neck. “I promise everything I have,” he says, softer than I’ve ever heard him speak, “that I will keep you and our child safe.”
My eyes sting. I nod. I don’t know what else to say.
Live news plays on the TV behind us. A reporter stands at Bethesda Terrace talking about “unidentified gang violence.” Vlad’s people shaped the story so efficiently it’s scary.
I hold one of the sonogram pictures. “Our baby will know love. Not just security from violence.”
He meets my eyes, nodding once. He doesn’t argue.
The basement door bangs open as Dmitri comes back, expression cold and serious. “We’ve got a line on a few targets. If we want to take this war to the next level, we’ve got options.”
Vlad doesn’t even glance at him. He looks at me instead. “You’re staying in the penthouse. No leaving. Not for work, not for coffee, not for anything.”
Heat rises in my chest. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not a request.” His tone is quiet, immovable. “Full detail on the door. If you need anything, it’s brought to you.”
“I have a job,” I shoot back. “A life. A baby on the way. I can’t just?—”
“You can,” he cuts me off, “and you will. I’ll move the office to you if I have to. But you don’t step onto a sidewalk without me.”
A blowing branch taps the tall windows like an ominous omen. “So I’m a prisoner now.”
“You’re protected.” He takes a step closer. “Targeted but protected.”
I cross my arms, angling away. “Protected feels a lot like controlled.”
