“Dmitri’s opinion on my love life stopped mattering a long time ago.” I allow myself a small smile. “Besides, Katya likes you. That counts for a lot in our family.”
“And Alexei?”
“Alexei will come around once he sees you’re serious. He’s protective, but he’s not unreasonable.”
The rest of the night, we sit together in the quiet of the hotel room, not talking about tomorrow or Adrian or the plan. Tony tells me about an apartment complex near Patriarch Ponds that he noticed during one of his early surveillance runs in Moscow. Good neighborhood, reasonable security, walking distance from several galleries that might need authentication consultants.
We stay up talking until the city outside begins showing signs of approaching dawn. By the time my eyes finally grow heavy, I’ve learned that Tony hates mushrooms, prefers whiskey to vodka, and once got lost in Prague for six hours because he was too stubborn to ask for directions.
Small things. Ordinary things. The kind of details that only matter when you’re planning to keep someone around.
I haven’t let myself want something this badly in years, and I’m not sure if that scares me or thrills me more.
32
Tony
Sasha hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes.
She stares out the window of our rented car as the London suburbs give way to the countryside with her fingers laced together in her lap. I know she’s running through the same scenarios I am. What Adrian might say. How his guards might be positioned. Which exits we can reach if everything falls apart.
I take the turn onto the private road that leads to Thornfield Manor and feel my stomach tighten. We’ve planned for this moment. We’ve discussed contingencies and backup options and worst-case outcomes until my head spun from the weight of it all. But planning and execution are two different things, and right now, we’re driving to the home of a man who wants to destroy everything Sasha loves.
“Boris confirmed his team is in position,” I state, breaking the silence. “Six men in the tree line on the eastern perimeter and six more staged near the service road for extraction.”
Sasha nods without looking at me. “What if we can’t reach the windows for visual signals?”
“Then we improvise. Boris knows to breach if we’re not out within three hours. But if things go wrong before that, I’ll say we’re done here.’ Boris’s spotters should be able to hear through the study windows, and that’s their signal to move.”
“Three hours is a long time.”
“It’s also enough time to let Adrian talk himself into a corner.” I glance at her profile. “You ready for this?”
She finally turns to meet my eyes. “The real question is whether Adrian’s ready for us.”
The manor comes into view as we round a bend in the road, and I take my first look at our destination. Thornfield is everything I expected from a man like Adrian Belmont. Georgian architecture, immaculate grounds, and a long gravel drive lined with manicured hedges. It’s the kind of estate that screams loud power.
It also screams fortress.
I count eight guards visible from the front approach alone. Two at the main gate, two flanking the entrance, and four more patrolling the perimeter in pairs. Adrian spent serious money on protection for this meeting.
“Eight that we can see,” Sasha mumbled, echoing my thoughts. “Probably twice that inside.”
“At least.”
We pull up to the gate, and one of the guards approaches the driver’s side window. He’s built like a rugby player, with a shaved head and the dead eyes of someone who’s seen combat.
“Names?” he demands.
“Tony Haugh and Sasha Kozlov. Mr. Belmont is expecting us.”
The guard checks a tablet, then nods to his partner. The gate swings open, and he waves us through. “Park in front of the main entrance. Someone will meet you there.”
I ease the car up the drive, keeping my speed slow and my movements predictable. No sudden actions. Nothing that might spook the armed men watching our every move.
A woman in a dark suit is waiting on the front steps as we park. She’s got the same flat affect as the gate guard, and I’d bet my last dollar she’s carrying at least two concealed weapons under that jacket.
“Mr. Haugh. Miss Kozlov.” She doesn’t offer her hand. “I’ll need to search you both before you enter.”
