“He’s good at that,” she says. Flat.
Jennifer lowers her cup. “Roman, you sayprotection. Describe it without turning this place into a prison.”
“You keep as much of your routine as you can,” I say. “But you don’t walk alone. You vary routes in ways that look ordinary. You text when you leave and when you arrive. You don’t open the door unless you’re expecting someone. We add a real lock to this door by morning and a camera that looks like a light. The men outside will behave like neighbors.”
“Like saints,” Jennifer says dryly.
“Yes.”
Mina watches my face. “Are you angry with me? For not calling.”
“Does it matter?
“It matters to me.”
Fine. “I’m angry I wasn’t there when my sons were born. Angry that you found a pediatrician alone, and I carried none of the weight. Angry that I couldn’t help you through the pregnancy. Angry at my son for scaring you. Angrier at myself for not knowing sooner. But I’m not here to scold you. I’m here to fix what can be fixed.”
“I didn’t know how to find you without finding him,” she says. “And I didn’t know what you or he would do with the news.”
“I would have been there for you.” I blow out a breath, trying to diffuse my anger. “But you didn’t know that.”
Jennifer watches how I say it. She gives a small nod. “What about tonight? If he comes here?”
“If he comes, he meets two men who will tell him to leave and make him leave if he doesn’t. You will not open the door. You will not talk through it.”
“The door wouldn’t stop him,” Mina says.
“I know. That’s what my men are for.”
Somewhere above us a neighbor drags a chair. A siren lifts and fades. One of the boys sighs in his sleep. I see my life split into two lines: the one where I look at this room and leave, and the one where I refuse to leave them here another night. Only one of those lines exists after this minute.
“You look different,” I say before the thought can stop. “Stronger.”
“I’m tired,” she says. “Maybe that reads as strength.”
“It does.”
Mina glances at the door again. “Do you always travel with guards?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you bring trouble with you or keep it out?”
“Both.”
She nods like she expected that and would have distrusted a softer answer. Her eyes flick to mine. The room changes. Not warmer. More exact. Mina’s hand flexes once on the table. She isn’t a woman who cries in front of a man she doesn’t trust. “What you’re asking is a lot, Roman.”
“I’m not asking, Mina. These are my sons. They will be protected.”
“You will put your name on their papers,” Jennifer says. Not a question. A condition. “We left the father’s name on the birth certificates blank.”
“Yes. I want them legally tied to my family.”
Mina studies me. “What else do you want?”
It’s the question that snaps everything into place.
This apartment will not keep Vitaly out. My men are good, but useless if he comes through the fire escape when they’re in the hall. Or worse, if he pulls the same maneuver he did in Prague and gases the entire building at night. There, no one woke up in the morning. I cannot allow that to happen here. Vitaly isn’t one to repeat his methodology, but maybe using a different gas would satisfy his creative urge.
