“Mmm-hmm,” she says like her mind’s not here, and simply stares out the window for the rest of the drive. When we get home, I can see the tiredness on her body, in her eyes.
I help her shuddering body out of the car, and she leans against me as I lead her in through the house, up the stairs, straight to her bedroom.
“Sit,” I tell her, easing her onto the edge of the bed. “I'll get you some tea.”
By the time I return with a steaming cup, she's changed into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She looks so small, so innocent, sitting on that big bed in a Taylor Swift t-shirt, and once again, I want to burn the men who scared the daylights out of her.
“Here,” I hand her the cup and settle down beside her. “Drink this. It'll help you relax.”
She takes it gratefully and helps herself to a long sip. I feel relieved when she takes a second one soon after.
“Thank you,” she whispers at last.
“For what?” I ask, incredulously.
“For coming to get me, even though we fought. For not saying 'I told you so.'“
I push a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would never do that.”
She rests her head against my shoulder, and I immediately reach over to take her spare hand in mine. My heart still hammers with rage, but my body wants to stay right next to hers, to keep her safe. It’s a strange feeling, this need to protect her from the world.
“I was so scared, Valentin.”
“I know.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “But you’re a smart woman, Gela Jones. You did the right thing calling me.”
She nods against my shoulder, sipping her tea in silence. I wait until her breathing evens out, until some color returns to her cheeks.
“You should rest,” I tell her, taking the empty cup from her hands. “I'll be back to check on you later.”
“Where are you going?” she asks, sleepily.
“I’ve just got some business to handle,” I say casually. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
She nods, yawning now.
I wait until she's settled under the covers before leaving the room. Once I'm in the hallway, I pull out my phone and call Leonid.
“Leonid, I need you,” I tell him when he picks up. “Meet me at the Zakharov warehouse we’ve been staking out in twenty minutes.”
“Valentin, what happened?”
“The Zakharovs came after Gela, and I'm done waiting. I’m going to hit them where it fucking hurts.”
“Valentin,” he tries to appease me. “We can’t just go in guns blazing without talking about this. Just tell me what happened, okay?”
“Look,” I hiss, before he can talk me out of it. “Either you’re with me, or you’re not, okay? If you are, you know where to find me.”
I end the call and don’t pick up when he calls back. I’m fuming when I rush to tell the security team to stay alert and instruct the maids to check on Gela every hour.
I’m ready to kill by the time I peel out of the driveway.
I’m so fucking sick and tired of all this Zakharov bullshit. We’ve stayed quiet too long, trying not to stoop down to their level, but enough is enough.
After tonight, they won’t dare come after Gela.
The drive to the abandoned warehouse is quick, considering my driving speed. We've been watching this particular building for weeks because it’s a storage facility the Zakharovs use for their most valuable goods.
I park a block away and go on foot, carrying a backpack with enough explosives to turn the place to rubble. Tonight, I’m going to show them what happens when they threaten what’s mine.
