He tilts his head. “If she’s a threat—”
“I’ll handle it.”
A soft, lethal pause settles.
“Will you?” he asks.
My silence betrays me. Vaska adjusts his shirt slowly, deliberately, like he’s giving me time to think; or choke.
“I’ll run her,” he says. “If she fails, I’ll have Dimitri handle it. Quiet. Clean.”
“You don’t touch her.”
“Maksim.” His voice sharpens. “If you can’t—”
“If you find something, you come to me first.”
His gaze doesn’t waver.
Finally, he nods once.
“Fine. Then we’ll see if you’re capable of doing what needs to be done.”
“Get out,” I say.
He holds my stare. A long moment.
Then he pushes off the counter and moves toward the door.
“When this goes bad,” he says, “it’s on you.”
He pauses at the frame.
“She’s pretty,” he adds. “Pretty doesn’t live long with us.”
The door shuts.
I stand there, staring at the broken glass on the floor.
He’s right.
Fuck.
Silence settles heavy in the townhouse. I stand there a second longer than I should. Then I head for the bedroom. I don’t knock, just open the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Phone in her hand.
Still.
Just… staring at it.
She looks up when I enter.
There’s something in her expression.
Loss.
It hits me wrong.
I cross the room in three strides and take the phone from her hand before she even blinks.
