"What kind of something?"
"The Petrovics have gone quiet. No chatter, no movement, nothing." His jaw tightened. "That's not good. It means they're planning something big."
I stood, setting the phone on his desk. The brief moment of normalcy was over. Reality was back, with all its sharp edges and dark corners.
"Then let's go find out what they're planning."
He looked at me, something flickering in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or respect.
"You don't have to be part of this," he said.
"Yes, I do." I moved past him into the hallway. "It's my life they're planning to destroy. I'd rather know what's coming than hide in a room and wait for it."
He fell into step beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
"I'm starting to think I underestimated you," he said.
"Most people do." I glanced at him. "It's one of my few advantages."
He smiled at that, and something in my chest loosened slightly. We weren't okay—not yet, maybe not ever. But we were something. Two people moving in the same direction, facing the same threat.
It wasn't love. It wasn't even trust, not fully.
But it was a start.
Chapter 15 - Rodion
Kirill was waiting in the study when we arrived, standing at the window with his back to us, his posture rigid with the particular stillness that meant his mind was working through problems most people couldn't comprehend.
He turned when we entered, his pale eyes moving from me to Keira and back again. If he noticed anything different between us—any lingering tension from the kiss, any new intimacy from the conversation in this very room an hour ago—he didn't show it.
"The Petrovics have gone dark," he said without preamble. "No communications on any of the channels we monitor. No movement at their known locations in New Jersey or Staten Island. No contact with their usual associates."
"How long?" I asked.
"Thirty-six hours. Maybe longer."
"That's not good."
"No. It's not." He moved to the desk, where he'd spread out several documents—maps, photographs, what looked like surveillance reports. "Silence like this means one of two things. Either they've been hit by someone else and are licking their wounds, or they're consolidating before a major operation."
"And since no one's hit them..."
"They're planning something. Something big enough to require complete operational security." He glanced at Keira. "I'll be staying in the building until we have a better sense of what's coming. The family keeps an apartment two floors down for when any of us are in New York. I've already had my things sent there."
Keira nodded, and I saw her file away this information—the reminder that my family owned not just this penthouse but multiple properties in the building, that our reach extended further than she'd probably realized.
Kirill turned back to the documents on the desk. "I've been cross-referencing our intelligence on Petrovic operations, but there are gaps. Things we don't know."
Keira had moved closer to the desk, studying the documents with an expression I couldn't quite read. She picked up one of the photographs—a grainy image of a warehouse somewhere industrial.
"I know this place," she said quietly.
Kirill's eyes sharpened. "How?"
"One of my patients described it. A woman who escaped their trafficking operation about two years ago." She set down the photograph and picked up another. "This one too. She said they moved her between three locations before she managed to get away. She described them in detail—the layouts, the security, the routines."
"You remember all of that?"
