"You?" She's looking at me like I'm insane. "You're the reason I need protection in the first place!"
"Yes. And I'm the only one who can keep you safe now." I pull her closer, ignoring the sound of protest she makes. "You don't understand what you're involved in, Mara. What world you've stepped into."
"But there's a body?—"
"Which I'll handle. He’ll disappear, like it never happened." I can see the horror on her face, but I don't soften the truth. "The alternative is you get questioned, maybe charged with manslaughter or murder, definitely exposed. Your name in the papers, your face on the news. Every enemy I have will know exactly who you are and where to find you. And what happens to your career then,kotenok?"
The words are harsh, but she needs to know what’s happening. She needs to understand that her only hope for protection, for afuture, is with me.
"This can't be happening." She's shaking her head, backing away from me again. I let her go this time, confident that I can grab her if she tries to run. "This is insane. I'm not—I can't?—"
"You already did." I gesture at the body. "You killed a Bratva enforcer. You're in this now, whether you want to be or not."
My phone buzzes. It’s Kazimir, letting me know they're two minutes out.
"My men are almost here," I tell her flatly. "They'll clean this up and make it disappear. But you can't stay here, and you can’t go back to your apartment. Sergei definitely knows where you live, where you work, everything about your routine. You're in danger every moment you're not protected."
"Protected by you." Her voice is disbelieving.
"Yes."
"The man who's been stalking me. Who cut off someone's hand. Who beat a man bloody for kissing me." She laughs, and it sounds slightly hysterical. "You want me to trust you to protect me?"
"I don't care if you trust me. I care that you're alive." I move toward her, and this time she doesn't back away. "I'm taking you somewhere safe. You can come willingly, or I'll carry you, but you're coming with me either way."
"You can't just?—"
"I can and I will." I'm close enough now to see the way her pupils are still dilated with shock. Her face and clothes are smeared and spattered with blood, and some things that look worse. She needs a shower and a safe place to sleep. "You're in my world now, Mara. A world with different rules. And the first rule is that I protect what's mine."
She lifts her chin, a defiant glare breaking through the shock. "I'm not yours."
"You are. You have been since Boston. You just didn't know it yet." I reach out and touch her face, gently, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "And now there's no going back."
I see the moment it hits her, the full weight of what's happened. Her eyes move from my face to the body to theblood on her hands. The gallery that was her safe space, now contaminated with violence and death.
"What happens to me?" she whispers.
"I protect you. That's what happens." I hear vehicles pulling up outside—my men, arriving to clean up the mess. "I keep you safe from Sergei, from anyone else who might try to use you against me. I give you everything you need, everything you want. And in return?—"
“In return I go with you.” Her voice has that hollow quality again, and her face is so bloodless I’m worried she might pass out.
The door opens, and Kazimir enters with three other men. They take in the scene with professional calm, no shock or surprise on their faces. They've seen worse.
Kazimir approaches, his eyes moving from the body to Mara. "Is she hurt?"
"No. The blood isn't hers." I see her staring at him, her body tense, but she doesn’t speak or move.
"Good." He switches to Russian, speaking quickly. "We'll handle the cleanup. Scrub the security footage, dispose of the body. It'll take a few hours."
"Make it fast. And thorough. I don't want any trace left." I turn back to Mara, who's watching this exchange with growing horror. "We need to go."
I shrug off my jacket and drape it around her shoulders, covering the blood-stained clothes. She doesn't resist, just stands there in shock as I guide her toward the door.
"My things," she says weakly. "My phone, my bag?—"
"Kazimir will bring them." I keep my hand on her back, steering her through the gallery toward the exit. "Everything else can be replaced."
Outside, my car is still at the curb, door open, engine running. I help her into the passenger seat, and she movesmechanically, like a doll being positioned. The shock is setting in fully now, her body shutting down.
