“Yes, yes. It’s just work,” I say after a short hesitation. “It’s nothing. I just—I’ll be late.”
There’s a pause on the other end, a pause that tells me he doesn’t fully buy it, but he lets it go.
“All right,” he finally says, though his tone is suspicious. “Come home soon.”
I hang up and the weight of what I’ve just done hits me all at once, settling low in my stomach in a way that makes it hard to breathe, because the lie, the risk, the fear twisting through me, and the knowledge that this choice could break everything between us all hit at the same time, piling on top of each other until I’m not sure which feeling is worse. But I keep moving, because Lucas is my brother and I can’t just abandon him, not after everything we’ve been through, no matter how dangerous Artyom is or how much he expects obedience.
I’m not ready to let him decide the fate of the only family I have left.
I walk toward the meeting place Lucas texted me earlier, with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, my palms slick inside my pockets as I try to look normal, each step feeling like a countdown toward something I can’t predict or control, something that feels bigger than me, like fate tightening around my ribs with every block I cross.
I know I’m in too deep with Artyom, and I know I’m in too deep with Lucas, and the truth is I’m in too deep with everything, way past the point where I can untangle any of it cleanly. As I cross the street, the sun dipping behind the buildings and stretching long shadows across the pavement, that familiar dread washesover me again—the one that makes it feel like the ground is shifting right under my feet and that nothing, absolutely nothing in my life, will ever be the same again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Artyom
Mikhail stands across from me in my office, scrolling through messages on his phone with that tight frown he gets when something isn’t adding up, and the longer I look at him, the more I feel the same pressure building in my chest. Two days and still, we’re no closer to knowing who tried to take Kira outside the club. Two days where I’ve been forcing myself to stay calm, so I don’t burn the whole fucking city down for answers.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Mikhail mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Boris knows better than to risk this. He wouldn’t touch your woman. It would be suicide.”
“Itlookslike him,” I say, because the pattern fits—timing, territory, method—but my gut rejects the idea entirely. Boris is many things: greedy, arrogant, reckless when he feels invincible. But this? Grabbing Kira and going after me through her? That would be a declaration of war, and even he isn’t stupid enough to break our alliance like that over nothing.
“Unless someone wants it to look like him,” Mikhail adds, and that’s the only explanation that makes the slightest bit of sense, but it’s not enough. I need more than a theory before I put a bullet in someone’s head.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I check the screen immediately.Kira.I feel something shift low in my stomach, irritation mixing with something I don’t want to name. I pick it up.
“Where are you?” I ask immediately.
She should be at the hospital now. I told her to call me if anything felt off, and I’ve been thinking about her all morning even though I tried to convince myself I wasn’t.
“I got held up,” she says, too light, too casual, her voice stretched thin. “I’ll be home a bit later.”
My eyes narrow. “Held up by what?”
There’s a brief hesitation on the line, small but sharp enough to cut through whatever patience I had left.
“Work,” she says. “It’s nothing. I just—I’ll be late.”
I stare at the floor for a long beat, listening to her breathing, measuring every small tremor in her voice. She’s lying to me. I don’t know why yet, but I know she is, and the awareness hits me fast and sudden, like a gunshot.
“All right,” I say slowly, even though nothing in me is all right. “Come home soon.”
I end the call and keep the phone in my hand because I don’t trust myself to put it down without throwing it across the room.
Mikhail watches me, his brows raised. “Problem?”
“Yes,” I say, already grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. “She’s not at the hospital.”
He straightens immediately. “What do you mean she’s not? Her shift shouldn’t be over yet.”
I give him a sharp look and pull out my phone, dialing the hospital with the calmest tone I can manage. “Let’s find out.”
Collins answers immediately, her voice stiff and overly polite in that way people get when they’re scared they might say the wrong thing. “Mr. Morozov, of course, how can I assist you? Everything is in order with Ms. Jones—no issues at all.”
“I’m calling to make sure our arrangement stays the same,” I say smoothly, as if that’s the only thing on my mind. “She shouldn’t have to deal with any unnecessary problems at work.”
“Absolutely not,” the woman rushes out. “We respect her completely, and I personally let her leave early today. Anything she needs, anything you need—please don’t hesitate to tell me.”
