“You will be under twenty-four-hour surveillance, do you understand? You are not allowed to go anywhere without someone with you. I want to know where you are at all times.”
“What? No. You have no right to take away my freedom that way. I don't give you permission to do that.”
“Someone just tried to kill you, Clara.” Dmitri's eyes are wild. “I'm not letting you out of my sight.”
“I'm not yours to command. I'm an employee, not your property.” I wish the words sounded more assured, but I'm starting to shake and can't stop. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling cold and vulnerable.
Dmitri advances on me. “You will do as I say,” he hisses. “I will keep you safe, however I see fit.”
I want to argue. I want to scream at him. But I can't. Everything is too much, and I'm shaking so hard, my teeth are chattering. I wish I were nowhere right now. I wish I were nothing. I fight back my tears, refusing to let them fall. But one escapes, and I feel it tracking down my cheek, tasting the salt on my tongue before I can wipe it away with a sharp flick of my wrist.
At the sight of the tear, Dmitri stops. He watches me, and little by little, his eyes regain some of their humanity.
“Clara—”
I wipe away another tear, and another. Before long, there are too many for me to wipe away. When Dmitri steps toward me again, his expression has lost its fury. The anger is gonefrom hiseyes, and when he reaches out to me, I let him take me into his arms.
He pulls me close, holding me tight and folding me into him, tucking my head under his chin. “Hush,” he murmurs. “Hush. You're safe. I have you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I let him hold me until I'm cried out, until his warmth and his presence calm my shudders. Part of me wants to stay wrapped up in his arms forever, because I don't think I've ever felt so safe.
But I also know I can't stay. I refuse to end up like Lauren, dead because I've fallen in love with the wrong man, or have my baby die because of who its father is.
I'll be smart, and I'll be swift about it.
I have to leave before I end up dead, and the man in whose arms I feel so safe burns down the city for it.
20
DMITRI
The hush in my office is absolute—no music, no distractions, barely even a hint of the hum of the city below. Everyone has gone home for the evening, and the executive floor is quiet and dark.
My desk lamp casts a circle of pale light across my desk, blurring paperwork that had failed to have any meaning as soon as Pavel came into my office to tell me that there had been an attempt on Clara’s life.
I haven’t lost myself like that since I heard the shot and found Lauren on the ground in a growing pool of blood.
And the only thing that pulled me back, that kept me from charging out of here like a madman and going after Andrey Mikhailov, was Clara’s tears and trembling shoulders. They had cooled the inferno to sparks, holding her in my arms, feeling her shaking and crying until there was nothing left.
A headache pounds behind my eyes, and I rub at my temples, willing myself to focus, to compartmentalize.
But that ability has deserted me tonight.
I lean back, the leather of my chair creaking in protest. My gaze on the brilliant Manhattan skyline before me, I take a slow, deliberate sip of the three fingers of scotch, a heavy-handed pour tonight. I don’t want to get drunk, as I did the other night when Clara came to confront me about the Mikhailovs. But I need something to take the edge off, something to make it disappear before I feel too much.
A knock precedes the door opening. I don’t turn around because there is only one person it can be at this time of the night.
“Dima.”
Pavel’s ghostly reflection watches me in the window glass, like a specter come to drag me to hell. But if death were here to drag me to hell, Pavel would be right by my side, as he has always been.
When he moves to come stand by my side, I know instantly there’s something on his mind. Pavel is many things—ruthless, physically imposing, serious, and unendingly loyal—but when he has something to say, he doesn’t hold back.
“Clara?” I sit up, scotch sloshing over the rim of the glass and leaving dark drops on the arm of my chair.
He shakes his head. “She’s fine. I waited at her apartment until our men were in place. A friend named Emily came to check on her, too.”
“Thank you,Pashka.”
