The call from Dmitri comes an hour later.
"Brother." His voice is calm, measured—the voice he uses when he's assessing a situation before committing to a response. "I've heard interesting things about Sergei Morozov's travel itinerary."
"What have you heard?"
"My sources have been tracking the Morozovs for years. Sergei's sudden interest in coalition-building didn't go unnoticed." A pause. "Las Vegas. Seattle. Possibly Portland after that. He's making the rounds."
"Building an army."
"Building something. The question is what he plans to do with it."
I already know the answer. So does Dmitri. But we circle it anyway, the way we always do—approaching the truth from multiple angles, testing its weight before we commit to carrying it.
"He wants her," I say finally. "Bianca. This isn't about money or territory or business. He was promised a bride, and I took her. He won't stop until he gets her back or I'm dead."
"Or both."
"Or both."
Dmitri is quiet for a moment. I hear movement on his end—pacing, probably. He paces when he thinks.
"This is my fault," I say. "I acted without thinking about the consequences for the family. If you want me to handle it alone—"
"Don't be stupid." His voice sharpens. "You're my brother. Whatever enemies you make are my enemies. Whatever wars you start, I fight beside you." A pause. "That said, I'd prefer to avoid a war if possible. The Morozovs are not the Ivanovs. Viktor is a man of honor compared to Anatoly or Sergei. These people are rabid dogs."
"I know."
"Do you have a plan?"
"I'm working on one."
"Work faster. Sergei isn't going to give you time to find your footing." More pacing. "I'm sending you men. Twelve of my best, plus additional surveillance equipment. They'll arrive tomorrow."
"Dmitri—"
"This isn't a request. You're under-resourced for a siege, and that estate has weak points you haven't addressed. The north wall, the east gate—I've seen the schematics. You need more bodies."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
"Fine. Send them."
"Good." His tone shifts, becomes something closer to curiosity. "How is she? The girl."
"Bianca."
"Yes. Bianca. How is she adjusting?"
I think about her in the greenhouse, surrounded by dead things, looking for something worth saving. "She's adapting."
"Is she going to be a problem?"
"No."
"You sound very certain."
"She's stronger than she looks. Smarter than anyone gives her credit for." I pause, aware that I'm revealing more than I intend. "She'll survive this."
Dmitri is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer.
