No reply from Max, though I can sense his irritation.
Mikhail leads us through the house toward Roman’s inner sanctum, the wood-paneled room where decisions are made, sentences are passed, and lives are altered.
I’ve entered countless times, always as Roman’s weapon. Never as a man with a woman of his own to protect.
The door opens, inviting us into the war room.
Glowing cherry wood panels with matching trim border the walls above and below the chair rail molding. The textured plaster design on the white ceiling is the only thing that keeps it from being too oppressive.
Chloe tugs on my sleeve. “Who’s that?” Her question rings half a decimal above silence.
She zeroes in on the lone wall decoration, a life-sized portrait of Roman’s late wife, Lilia. She’s occupied that spot for as long as I can remember, her beautiful face peering down on the proceedings without judgment. On the top left corner, an old key hangs on a chain, dangling just beside Lilia’s eye.
I drop my mouth to Chloe’s ear. “Later.”
Chloe nods, lips thinning as we approach Roman.
He holds court behind an enormous redwood desk. His short silver-streaked brown hair stands out against the earth-toned decor. Dressed impeccably in a tailored pinstripe suit, pointed chin lifted slightly and back ramrod straight, he rules the room without a single word.
Igor, Roman’s cousin and trusted second, hovers by his right side with the same pointed chin, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl on what might’ve once been a handsome face.
It’s the third figure that catches my attention.
Sasha, Igor’s son, rests against the wall with forced nonchalance, trying to hide a wince every time he shifts position.
Bruises mark his skin, and a fresh cut slashes his cheek. His brown hair is buzzed on one side, showing off a line of neat stitches. A bandage peeks out from beneath his sleeve. Battle wounds, worn with obvious pride.
The boy is striving so hard to belong among killers.
To be one of us.
When he spots us, the grin splitting Sasha’s pale face quickly morphs into a grimace as he tries to straighten. “The conquering heroes return.”
Max studies the boy, detailing Sasha’s injuries. “Surprised Igor let you go.”
Roman’s jaw tics. “It was time for him to start doing jobs.”
“I got my eye on him.” Max’s words come out like a threat, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize the undercurrent beneath the ice. The protective instinct of a man who’s seen too many young men die.
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise to monitor and mentor.
Poor kid.
Igor ignores Max in favor of Chloe, inspecting her clothing, her boots. His lip twitches.
I curve my free arm around Chloe’s back. She shoots me a tiny smile and inches closer, prompting Igor to slide his brown-eyed gaze to me. Then his eyes shift to the sunflower tote in my hand.
Roman’s attention journeys from my hand on Chloe’s back to my face. An unreadable expression flickers over his.He correctly reads my possessive gesture as a declaration to everyone in the room.
Chloe is mine. Touch her at your own risk.
To my surprise, Roman smiles. Not the cold, calculated smile of a man about to order a hit, either…a genuine one. More terrifying than his frown, quite frankly.
“Miss Davidson.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk. “Welcome to my home. I’m relieved to see you safe after your ordeal.”
Chloe blinks, clearly caught off guard by the warm greeting. “Thank you, Mr. Kozlov. I appreciate your hospitality.”
“Roman, please.” He sandwiches her hand between both of his. “Any friend of Kolya’s is a friend of mine.” His eyes flick to me with a message I can’t quite decipher. “I understand you’ve been through quite an experience. Is there anything you need? Anything at all?”
