“I…Anya, I can’t let you leave here without protection.”
“You can’t,” I agree without argument. “I thought you could have guards fly with me there, maybe even Uncle Lev or Mikhail. But they wouldn’t stay. They’d fly back after handing me off. I could ask Nico to meet us at the airport with his team. They’ve already guarded me before, I bet he would do it again. I could offer to pay him this time.”
“Fly back without you?” He draws his eyebrows in, looking supremely uncomfortable at the thought. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head at his implication. “I don’t think I could stay more than a day. I doubt I’d be able to sleep in a hotel room and I don’t want his whole family to know I was there, so I couldn’t sleep at his house either. I would sleep on the plane home; I’ve slept in that bed in the back before and I was fine.”
“You want to fly to Philadelphia—a five-hour flight—then spend the day with Matteo, and come home after—another five-hour flight? You want to spend ten of twenty-four hours on a plane?”
I frown, not liking the sound of that at all.
He catches my disappointment and releases a slow breath. “I can’t believe I’m suggesting this, but do you think you could sleep in a hotel room if your uncle stayed with you? I would tell him to leave you and Matteo alone while you’re there. But I think you would stress yourself out with back-to-back flights,dochen’ka.And if you have him waiting for you in the hotel, he could also have extra medication for you on hand if you need it.”
It’s…not a bad idea.
“Which uncle?” I ask, considering it.
“I would say Lev, but he’d never agree not to follow you around. Mikhail would do it if I asked. He wouldn’t stalk you while you saw your friend, either.” He practically grumbles the last part and I have to smother a smile.
“Okay,” I finally agree. “Can we go tomorrow?”
His jaw flexes and he shakes his head in disbelief. “So soon?”
“Zhizn’ korotka, a del mnogo, Papochka.”
Life is short, but there’s a lot to be done, Papa.
He softens, hearing the Russian proverb that our family is fond of.
“If Nico is available to receive you and keep an eye on your safety while you visit, then I can’t find a reason to refuse you.”
“Thank you, Papa.” I jump up from my seat to hug him hard, and he accepts the embrace, sighing as he hugs me back.
“You keep growing up,solnyshka.I wish you wouldstop.”
“No, you don’t,” I tell him, tucking my head into his neck. “You just don’t want me to leave you. And I’m not going to.”
“You don’t know that,” he argues stubbornly. “You’re learning to spread your wings, Anya. Eventually you’ll want to fly away for more than a day or two.”
“I don’t think so,Papochka.”
“We’ll see.” He cups the side of my face. “Go make your plans with Nico. I’ll call your uncle.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I can’t believe that everything went so according to plan. Nico’s agreement, Uncle Mikhail’s willingness to tag along, and my ability to get on the plane without being afraid. There was too much excitement bubbling inside of me to leave any room for fear.
My uncle is the first one off the flight when we land, taking two guards with him to scan the area before they let me follow behind. The high noon sun is still beaming bright despite the chilly, late winter weather. Visiting Matteo in the Northeast during the second week of February probably wasn’t the best choice when it comes to weather, but the cold couldn’t bother me if it tried. Honestly, part of me wishes I arrived in time for snow, but none is forecasted, nor is there any on the ground to see.
The sunlit tarmac is completely empty, save for the team of Moretti men waiting for us. Nico and his team, and anotherfamiliar face. Dante Moretti stands by his son’s side. He’s impeccably dressed in a black designer suit, looking every bit of the esteemed Capo that he is. I knew that Father and Nico coordinated this visit with the man, as protocol requires, but I didn’t know that he would come to meet us with his son.
I don’t find myself being upset by the appearance of him; rather the opposite, in fact. He exudes an almost frightening air of power, yes, but he’s the man who raised Matteo. The man who raised Nico. The beloved grandfather to the sweet little Moretti-Morozov twins.
He’s a comforting presence, even if I’m a little nervous as I walk over with Uncle Mikhail to greet him.
“Anya,” Nico grunts in acknowledgment.
“Nico,” I reply, smiling hesitantly. “Thank you for meeting us here. This is my Uncle Mikhail.”
