“Yes,” I say. “Really.”
He wipes his nose with his sleeve.
“Okay.”
Kids are strange. Sometimes the simplest truth is enough.
I stand and take his hand.
“Let’s go see your mom.”
We head downstairs. My driver opens the back door for us.
I’m helping Noah into the seat when I see them: black sedans turning onto the block. Too fucking many.
My stomach drops.
Russians.
“Go,” I snap at the driver.
The engine roars. The car jumps forward just as the first sedan screeches to a stop behind us.
I glance back through the window.
Men getting out.
Dark coats. Hard faces.
Pavlov.
So they know.
All this time I thought distance would keep Izzy and Noah safe. Turns out it only gave my enemies time to find them.
I look down at Noah beside me. He’s watching the cars shrink behind us.
“Bad guys?” he asks.
I don’t lie to him. “Yes.”
“Are we gonna win?”
I stare out the window for a moment.
“Yes,” I say finally.
Because now I have no other choice.
By the timewe reach the penthouse, Izzy is already waiting.
Noah runs inside the second he sees her. “Mom!”
She’s standing in the middle of the living room holding a heavy glass paperweight like she’s ready to throw it.
When she hears him she drops it instantly.
“Noah!”
