“Agreed,” I agree immediately.
“Tony.” Dmitri fixes his gaze on the man beside me with a glare that could melt steel. “You’re responsible for my sister’s safety inside that house. Whatever else happens tomorrow night,whatever opportunities present themselves, Sasha comes home alive. Do you understand me?”
“I understand completely,” Tony responds without hesitation. “Nothing else matters if she doesn’t walk out of there.”
Boris promises to send detailed positioning plans within the hour, and the call ends with my brother extracting one final promise that I’ll contact him personally the moment we leave Adrian’s estate tomorrow night, regardless of what time it is or what has happened.
Tony sets down his phone and turns to face me. “That went about as well as could be expected.”
“Dmitri will worry himself sick until this is finished. That’s what he does.” I manage a small smile and add, “But he trusts Boris with his life, and Boris seems to trust your tactical assessment. That’s enough foundation to build on.”
We spend the rest of the day buried in preparation. As promised, Boris sends estate schematics with marked positions for each member of his twelve-man team. Tony walks me through the layout of Thornfield Manor based on property records and aerial photography, making sure I understand where the exits are and which rooms offer the best sightlines to the tree line. We discuss contingencies for various scenarios, from Adrian having more security than expected to the possibility that his coalition partners might attend tomorrow’s dinner.
By evening, my head aches from information overload and my nerves feel stretched thin. Tony orders room service that neither of us manages to eat. The food sits on the table between us, growing cold.
I try to go to bed around eleven, but my mind refuses to quiet down. Every time I close my eyes, I see Adrian’s face from the surveillance photos Tony showed me. Gaunt from weight loss. Hollow around the eyes. Consumed by obsession. After an hour of staring at the ceiling, I finally give up and slip out of bed.
Tony is sitting in the armchair by the window when I make my way barefoot into the living room. He’s changed into a worn t-shirt and gray sweatpants, and the city stretches beyond the glass behind him.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks without turning around.
“What gave me away?”
“Your breathing changed about twenty minutes ago, and then the sheets started rustling.” He glances over his shoulder and says, “You’re not exactly subtle when you’re restless, Sasha.”
I drop onto the sofa beside his chair and pull my knees up to my chest. “What have you been thinking about out here?”
“Honestly? I’ve been thinking about Moscow. About what happens when we go back, assuming everything goes according to plan tomorrow.”
“What about Moscow?”
“Your brothers offered me a permanent position. Head of counterintelligence for the organization.” He pauses before adding, “I haven’t given them an answer yet.”
This is news to me. “When did this happen?”
“Dmitri brought it up during our last tactical briefing, before we flew to London. He said if I proved myself during this operation, the job was mine.” Tony runs a hand through his hair. “It’sa good offer. Legitimate work, at least by Bratva standards. Steady. Something I could build a life around.”
“But?”
“But taking it means committing to your family’s world. There would be no exit strategy. No pretending I’m just passing through.” He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes search my face. “I wanted to know how you felt about that before I made any decisions.”
The question catches me off guard, though it probably shouldn’t. We’ve been dancing around conversations like this for weeks, trading hints and implications without ever stating anything directly.
“How I feel about you working for my brothers?” I ask.
“I’ve spent my whole adult life moving from one assignment to the next, never putting down roots anywhere or letting myself get attached to places or people because I knew I’d eventually have to leave them behind.”
“And now you’re asking if I want you to stay.”
“I’m asking if you want me to stay for you,” he clarifies. “Not just for the job. Not just because your brothers are offering good money and interesting work. I need to know if there’s something here worth building, or if I’m reading this whole situation wrong.”
I take a breath before answering. “You’re not reading it wrong.”
“Then tell me what you want, Sasha. Not what’s practical or what makes sense for the family business. What doyouwant?”
“I want you to take the job,” I blurt out before I can talk myself out of it. “I want you in Moscow, working with my brothers, being part of our lives. I want to find out what this could become if we gave it a real chance instead of treating everything like it might end tomorrow.”
Tony is quiet for a moment, and he swallows hard. “Your brothers might have opinions about us being together. Dmitri especially.”
