Blyad.
I set my mug down.
The kiss was a mistake—not because I didn’t want it, but because it’s made everything harder and solved nothing. I could feel how much she’s been holding back. Four years of it, compressed into a few seconds on a balcony above Chicago. And then she walked away, which was the right call, and I stood there in the wind feeling the cold come back in like a door slamming shut.
I rake my hair back and force my attention where it needs to be.
Popov.
Elias has been right about this, even if I’ve been reluctant to admit it. Sergio Popov is not a man I’d choose to be indebted to under ordinary circumstances—he operates on self-interest alone, and alliances with him have a way of becoming obligations.
But these aren’t ordinary circumstances.
I need leverage against Aslanov, I need men, and I need them fast.
What works in my favor: Aslanov’s men killed Popov’s brother two years ago. That’s not the kind of thing a man like Sergio files away and forgets. He’ll want Aslanov dead as badly as I do, just for different reasons. Shared enemies make temporary allies, and temporary is all I need right now.
I push back from the table quietly, not wanting to disturb what Lauren has constructed—this careful simulation of an ordinary morning for Hannah’s benefit. It’s working. Hannah is chattering happily, completely absorbed. Lauren keeps her voice light and steady.
She’s remarkable at this. Holding it together while everything is falling apart.
I slip upstairs and close the door behind me.
I find Popov’s number and hit dial.
The line connects. Nothing.
Then: "Speak."
I almost grin. Some things don’t change.
“Severnyye vetry usilivayutsya,” I say.
Silence on the other end. Then—
“Rogov?” A long exhale. “Kakogo cherta?When did you crawl out of your grave?"
“Mind your tongue,dolboyob.”
A low chuckle. “So it really is you.” A pause, recalibrating. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Aslanov.”
“Ah.” His tone shifts—not surprise, something more like satisfaction. “Let me guess. He found out you’re alive and now he’s coming for you.”
I don’t confirm it. What Popov doesn’t need to know, he won’t know—and Lauren and Hannah sit firmly in that category. I’ve dealt with enough Bratva leaders to understand how that information could be used. Popov has always been a player, and players look for leverage wherever it exists.
“I need backup,” I say. “Men I can trust. And I need them ready to move.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
“Revenge.”
One word. I let it sit.
I can hear him thinking—not the question of whether he wants it, but the calculation of what it will cost him. His brother’s death hasn’t been forgotten. That kind of debt doesn’t expire. But Popov didn’t get where he is by acting on emotion, and he’ll be running the angles before he commits to anything.
Sergio exhales slowly. “What’s your plan?”
