I let her go.
Told myself she needed space. Deep down I knew that I couldn't keep her prisoner just because I was terrified of losing her. Insurance investigators needed her signature—legitimatebusiness. I'd planned to follow in the evening, collect her myself, bring her back where I could keep her safe.
Five hours later, I'm regretting that decision.
My phone buzzes at 3:20 PM. Sonya's name on the screen—but Maya's voice when I answer.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Petrov—" Maya's voice cracks."This is Maya."
My blood goes cold.
"Excuse me," I say to my men, already moving toward the hallway.
"It's Sonya. She collapsed at the gallery. Her tea was poisoned. They're taking her to the hospital now, but she's—she's not conscious and they don't know—"
Not again.
Not another ballerina dying because I couldn't protect her.
"Which hospital?" My voice sounds distant, mechanical.
"Mount Sinai West. On 58th and—"
"I know where it is." I'm already moving back into my office, grabbing my jacket. "I'm on my way."
"Mr. Petrov—"
I hang up. Turn to my men. "The meeting's over. Sergei, with me. Now."
We're in the helicopter within ten minutes. My pilot doesn't question the urgency, just files the flight plan and lifts off.
Forty minutes to Manhattan. Forty minutes of imagining the worst. Forty minutes of fifteen years of trauma crashing back.
Elena bleeding out in my arms. Our daughter dying with her. My failure to protect them.
And now Sonya. Sonya who I took in Elena's studio. Who I claimed in the bed Elena and I shared. Who I called a mistake because I was terrified of losing her.
Who might be dying right now because I wasn't there to protect her.
The helicopter can't go fast enough.
I stare out at Pennsylvania turning into New Jersey turning into New York, my hands clenched into fists, tracing her name on my thighs without conscious thought.
S-O-N-Y-A. S-O-N-Y-A. S-O-N-Y-A.
Not a mistake.
The woman I’m falling in love with is dying, and I called her a mistake.
"Faster," I tell the pilot.
He pushes the helicopter to its limits.
It's still not fast enough.
Chapter eight
