“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not the point.” I guide him to the couch and go to his bathroom for the first aid kit. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was leaving Elena’s place around nine PM. Three guys came out of nowhere. Started asking questions about the family business. When I wouldn’t answer, they got aggressive.”
I’m cleaning the cut above his eye, and my hands are steady, but inside I’m calculating.
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“No. But one of them had a tattoo. Russian style, on his neck.”
Kozlov.
Of course it’s Kozlov.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Like I said, I fought back. I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. I can handle myself.” He winces as I press antiseptic to the cut. “I gotin some good hits. Broke one guy’s nose. They ran when sirens started nearby.”
“You should have called me immediately,” I say.
“I handled it.”
“This time. But if they come at you again?—”
“Then I’ll handle it again.” He looks at me, defiant. “I’m not running to you every time something happens. I’m twenty-two years old. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” I finish bandaging the cut. “But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Yes, it does.” He stands, ignoring the pain. “You taught me to be strong. To handle my own problems. I’m not going to start being weak now just because some Kozlov asshole wants to send a message.”
He’s right. I did teach him that. Taught him to fight, to defend, never to show weakness.
Now it’s coming back to bite me.
“Just be careful,” I say finally. “And if they come at you again, you call me. Immediately.”
“Fine.”
After I leave his apartment, I sit in my car and call Silas. “Find the three men who jumped my son tonight. Russian tattoos. Asking questions about the family.”
“Kozlov’s people?”
“Most likely. Find them. I want to know who sent them and why.”
“What do you want me to do when I find them?”
“Nothing yet. Just locate them.” I start the car. “I’ll handle the rest personally.”
The next day, Savannah is back to avoiding me. Takes the stairs. Works through lunch at her desk. Leaves at 8:00 PM through the side exit, which she thinks I don’t know about.
I watch it all, but my patience is wearing thin.
The kiss in Chicago changed something. She remembers pieces now. The dancing. The proposal. The hotel room. I saw it in her eyes when she pulled away.
She remembers, and it scares her.
Good. Let it scare her. Let it make her uncomfortable. Because comfortable isn’t going to bring her back to me.
