"Maybe it should be."
"Maybe." He moves back to the table, his large frame making the chair creak. "But it's not. And pretending otherwise will get you killed. Will get her killed."
The threat, implicit but clear, makes my hands curl into fists. "Are you threatening her?"
"I'm stating facts." His dark eyes are steady. "You have enemies, Aleksandr. Real ones. And if they find out about her, if they figure out she matters to you, they'll use her to get to you. That's how this game is played."
I know he's right. The knowledge sits in my gut like poison. I pause. Aleksandr? I think that's the first time he's called me that. So Aleksandr is my true name? Not Alek. Not Sasha. Danil hasn't given me my full name because, apparently, it's very powerful and he wants me to remember it on my own.
Maya returns twenty minutes later, her cheeks flushed from cold, snow clinging to her hair. She stamps her boots on the porch. She's barely through the door when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps. Deliberate. Authoritative.
Danil's hand moves to his waistband, pulling a gun I didn't know he was carrying. The movement is smooth, practiced, the weapon appearing like magic.
My own hand goes to my hip automatically, reaching for a gun that isn't there. The muscle memory is so strong I can almost feel the weight of it, the cold metal against my palm.
We lock eyes across the room, then look back at the door.
27
LENA
Pavel stands on my porch, snow dusting his shoulders, his pale blue eyes darting between the door and the tree line like he expects someone to emerge from the woods with a gun. His hands shake as he adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses, and the nervous energy radiating off him makes my stomach clench.
"Maya." He clears his throat. "Can we talk? Outside. Alone."
Behind me, I feel Sasha's presence like a wall of heat and tension. His hand finds my hip, possessive and protective, and I hear the unspoken question in the way his fingers tighten against my sweater.
"It's fine," I say, glancing back at him. God, even stressed and suspicious, he's gorgeous. The thermal shirt clings to his chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry and my fingers twitch with the desire to feel all those muscles. "I'll just be a minute."
His gold eyes narrow, but he steps back. Danil appears in the doorway behind him, arms crossed over his massive chest, watching Pavel with the kind of attention a hawk gives a mouse.
I grab my coat and follow Pavel off the porch, trudging through snow that comes up to my shins. He doesn't stop until we're fifty feet from the cabin, far enough that our voices won't carry through the windows.
"What's going on?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself against the cold.
Pavel's gaze darts back to the cabin, to the two men watching us through the window. "Those men in there. Do you know who they are?"
My heart kicks against my ribs. "They're friends."
"Friends." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Maya, I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago, but I was trying to protect my cover."
"Your cover?"
He pulls off his glasses and wipes them on his shirt, a nervous habit I've seen a hundred times. "My name isn't really Pavel Galkin. It's Pavel Sokolov. I'm in Witness Protection. Have been for five years."
The world tilts slightly. "Witness Protection."
"I was an accountant." He puts his glasses back on, and his pale eyes are serious behind the lenses. "For a Bratva family in New York. I kept their books, laundered their money, hid their assets. And when the FBI came knocking, I made a deal. Testified against them. Put three families behind bars."
My mouth goes dry. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because that man in your cabin, the one with the dark hair and gold eyes? The one you call Sasha?" Pavel's voice drops to barelyabove a whisper. "I've seen his face before. In photographs. In surveillance reports. And the big one, the one who looks like he could break someone in half?" He swallows hard. "I remember him too. From meetings. From the books I kept."
Ice spreads through my veins, but I force my expression to stay neutral. "You're mistaken."
"I'm not." His hand finds my arm, gripping tight enough to hurt. "Maya, these are dangerous men. The kind of men who don't just hurt people, they destroy them. And if they're here, if they've found you, then you need to run. Now. Before it's too late."
