“You’re quiet,” I comment as we ride the elevator up to our room. “What’s bothering you?”
Tony doesn’t look at me as he replies. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out the same things you are. Who’s behind this.”
Another lie. Or at least not the whole truth. I’m collecting them like evidence.
Back in the room, I pace while Tony sits on the bed watching me work through the problem.
“I exposed Adrian’s operation at Christie’s,” I say aloud. “He lost everything because of what I reported. Six months later, someone’s investigating my family’s connection to him and trying to kill me.”
“You think it’s Adrian?”
“Who else would it be? He has motive. He knows about my family’s purchases through his operation.” I stop pacing and look at Tony. “But why wait six months? Why not come after me immediately when he lost his position?”
“Maybe he needed time to plan. To gather resources. You said he lost everything.” Tony stands and walks to where I’ve stopped. His hand comes to rest on my lower back, a touch that’s becoming familiar. “Or maybe he needed to figure out how to hurt you without it being traced back to him.”
“By making it look like someone’s investigating the Kozlovs for money laundering.” The pieces slot together. “He documents my family’s purchases, makes it look like we were knowingly involved in his operation, then eliminates me before I can prove otherwise.”
“It’s a theory.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. Tony sits beside me, close enough that our thighs touch. “This is never going to end, is it? There will always be another threat. Another person who wants me dead because of something I saw or something I know or just because of my last name.”
“That’s the world we live in.” He reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and his fingers linger against my cheek.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
He doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“In Chechnya?”
“In Chechnya and other places.” He looks straight ahead, not at me. “The mission I told you about—the one that went wrong. People died. Some of them because I pulled the trigger.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Every day, but I don’t know if I’d do differently if I had the choice again. That’s the thing about this life. Sometimes, there are no good options. Just different versions of bad, and you pick the one you can live with.”
“How do you live with it?”
“Some days better than others. Some days not at all.” He takes my hand and slides his thumb over my palm, sending goose pimples across my skin. “But I’m trying to be better than I was. Trying to make choices that matter instead of just surviving.”
I squeeze his hand and lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “Is that why you’re helping me? To be better?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just selfish enough to want to keep you alive.” He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer against him.
We sit holding hands while London goes on outside our window. The conversation feels too intimate for what we are—whatever that is—but I don’t pull away.
Tomorrow, it’s back to dealing with the danger of being a Kozlov. But tonight, we can pretend we’re normal people on a normal trip to London.
So, we order more room service and watch more terrible television, and for a few hours, I let myself believe the lie.
10
Tony
Adrian knows I took Sasha to see Petra before I even tell him.
“The British Museum café,” he says the moment I answer his call. “Charming choice. Very public. Very safe.”
I step out onto the hotel balcony and close the door behind me. Sasha’s in the shower, giving me maybe ten minutes before she wonders where I went. Through the bathroom door, I can hear the water running.
