Her eyes flash. "Like hell I am."
"Anton Kozlov accessed your building, your security, your life. He's planning something worse, and you know it."
"So I abandon everything I've built?"
"You survive." I move closer but don't touch her. Can't trust myself to touch her. "You live to fight instead of becoming his next victim. He killed my wife. He tried to destroy you. He's been hunting ballerinas for fifteen years, and he's not going to stop."
The fight goes out of her. She wraps her arms around herself again, and I see the moment she accepts it.
"I'm not leaving tonight." Her voice is firm despite the trembling. "This is my home. My gallery. I won't be driven out of it by fear."
"Sonya—"
"No." She meets my eyes. "You want me to come to Philadelphia? Fine. But not tonight. Tonight I will stay here. In my apartment. I'm not running from my home in the middle of the night."
I should argue. Should insist. Should throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the SUV.
But I find myself respecting her stubbornness. Her refusal to be completely broken by this.
The broken ballerina is replaced by the successful businesswoman who built this place from nothing. "I have appraisers scheduled for next week. Three auctions I'mcoordinating. Collectors flying in from London and Tokyo to view pieces. Maya can't handle all of that alone—she's good, but she's not ready. And the insurance investigation for tonight's damage needs my direct involvement."
"All of that can wait—"
"It can't. This gallery is how I survive. How I've survived since Anton destroyed my career. You're asking me to just abandon it, abandon my entire life, because you think Philadelphia is safer?"
"I know Philadelphia is safer. It's my territory. Every street, every person—"
"Answers to you. I know." She wraps her arms around herself. "But this is my territory. My city. My home. Anton killed your wife in Philadelphia fifteen years ago, then went back to Russia where he destroyed me five years ago. Geography doesn't stop him. Running to Philadelphia won't make me safer—it'll just make me a prisoner in a different city."
We stare at each other across the wreckage of her gallery. Both stubborn. Both right in different ways.
"Guards outside your door," I concede. "And in the gallery lobby. You don't open that door—no one gets through except me or Sergei. Understood?"
"Understood."
"And tomorrow morning, you're coming to Philadelphia. No arguments."
"We'll see about that."
Sergei approaches. "Pakhan. We should secure the perimeter before the media gets worse. And Ms. Morozova needs protection tonight."
"She's staying here," I tell him. "Call the Brooklyn crew. I want two men outside her apartment door and two in the gallery lobby. Armed. No one gets past them."
Sergei's already pulling out his phone. "They can be here in forty minutes."
"Make it thirty." I look back at Sonya. "Lock every door and window." My voice hardens. "Anton Kozlov has been in your building, Sonya. If you're staying here tonight, you're staying protected."
She's smart enough to know I'm right.
"Fine," she says. "Guards outside. But tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow. Nine AM. I'll be here."
"To drag me away?"
"To convince you that staying alive is more important than staying in New York." I move closer, close enough to see her pulse jumping in her throat. "One night, Sonya. You get one night to sleep in your own bed and prove to yourself you're not running. But tomorrow morning, we do this my way."
"We'll see about that."
