"Now. Within the hour."
"Why? What's happened?"
I'd already decided not to tell her about the planned attacks. She had enough to worry about without adding the knowledge that everything I'd built was under siege. She needed to stay calm, stay safe, focus on the baby growing inside her.
"Business that requires my personal attention," I said. "Nothing dangerous. But I need to be there."
She studied my face, and I saw the doubt flickering in her eyes. She knew I was holding something back. But she also trusted me enough not to push.
"How long?"
"Two days. Three at most." I took her hands in mine, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers. "The security here has been tripled. Kirill has strict orders. You'll be safer on this island than anywhere else in the world."
"I'm not worried about me."
"You should be." I pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "You're carrying my child, Gabrielle. That makes you the most important person in my world. Everything else—the business, the empire, all of it—means nothing if you're not safe."
"Then stay." Her voice cracked slightly. "Send Semyon. Send anyone else. Just—don't go."
"I can't." The words tasted like ash. "There are things only the Pakhan can do. If I'm not there—"
"I know." She pulled one hand free to touch my face, her palm warm against my cheek. "I know you have to go. I just hate it."
"I hate it too."
We stayed like that for a long moment, her hand on my face, my hands wrapped around hers. The sunlight through the windows painted her in gold, and I memorized the sight—filed it away in the place where I kept everything precious, everything worth fighting for.
"Come back to me," she whispered. "Promise me."
Something passed between us—something neither of us was ready to name. It hung in the air, unspoken, too fragile to voice. I felt it pressing against my chest, demanding release, but the words wouldn't come. Not yet. Not like this, in a rushed goodbye with danger waiting on the other side.
Instead, I kissed her forehead and pressed my hand to her stomach one last time.
"I'll call every few hours," I said. "And I'll be back before you know it."
She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Go. Before I do something stupid like lock you in the wine cellar."
I laughed despite everything—despite the dread coiling in my gut, the voice in my head screaming that this was wrong. "I'd like to see you try."
"Don't tempt me."
I made myself walk away. Made myself leave her standing there in the golden light, her hand raised in a small wave that I'd see every time I closed my eyes for the rest of my life.
At the door, I paused. Turned back.
She was still watching me, her dark eyes bright with tears she was trying not to shed.
"Soon," I said. "I'll be back soon."
Then I left, before the sight of her broke my resolve entirely.
The helicopter carried me to the mainland, where the private jet was fueled and waiting.
I spent the first hour of the flight on the phone—coordinating with Semyon, reviewing defensive positions, ensuring every contingency was in place. The New York operation would be ready for Pankratov. Whatever he was planning, we would meet it with overwhelming force.
But even as I issued orders and analyzed strategies, something nagged at the edges of my consciousness. A wrongness I couldn't quite identify. A piece that didn't fit.
I ended my last call and sat in the leather seat, staring out at the clouds without seeing them.
