I believe him with my whole heart.
22
SHADOWS
DOMINIC
Ileave Enya alone for the day because I have meetings at Sentinel—ones that don’t happen unless decisions are being made, and money, influence, or lives are on the line.
She’s thrilled to have the apartment to herself.
Me? Less so.
The past few months have been a journey of understanding and getting to know myself better. Now, I sometimes forget I used to be someone else. Someone dangerous. Someone who didn’t get distracted by onesies and baby booties.
But the moment I’m back in a sleek office and at a mahogany boardroom table—sitting across from people who don’t show up unless they’re shaping policy or controlling outcomes—it all snaps back into place. The cadence. The tension. The unspoken hierarchy.
It’s like riding a bicycle.
My pulse kicks up, excitement threading through me as I realize I haven’t lost it. I’m still trusted with the kinds of conversations that don’t make the papers and don’t come with second chances.
I just don’t live here anymore. This doesn’t drive me. I can take it or leave it. I am not the man I used to be is the biggest and most important self-realization.
But on the drive home late that evening, the past reminds me it isn’t finished with me—even if I’m finished with it. My phone rings, and I recognize the number.
Global Threat Recovery.
Which means this isn’t routine.
“Delacour,” I answer.
“Dom, it’s Director Han.” Her voice is clipped, precise, never wasted. “We have an issue.”
My spine straightens. “What kind?”
“A name we hoped was buried has resurfaced.” She pauses, not for effect but for me to prepare myself. “Viktor Laskov.”
Laskov, Viktor.
Russian-born, black-market broker, ex-intelligence ghost, arms dealer, and the reason I almost died in Paris. A man with no allegiance except to chaos. A man who once told me I had three weaknesses: my arrogance, my loyalty, and the people I cared about.
At the time, that list was short.
Now….
Enya.
The baby.
“How solid is the intel?”
“Confirmed,” Director Han replies. “He’s stateside. He made contact with someone in diplomatic circles.”
My pulse kicks hard. “Why wasn’t I told sooner?”
“You’re not an active field agent anymore,” she reminds me acidly, and then adds somberly, “Look, I’m already stepping outside the lines by calling you now.”
“Why tell me at all?” I accelerate; I want to get to Enya now.
