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“How long were they watching?”

“The transmitter was installed at least four days ago. Possibly earlier.”

“And your cameras didn’t see them?”

“The neighboring roof was outside the original perimeter.”

“Was?”

“It’s not anymore.”

I had purchased access to the building through one of our holding companies this morning. Two Morozov guards occupied the roof now, the windows facing the alley had been treated with privacy film before sunrise, and retractable metal barriers now sat inside the frames, where they could be lowered without turning the townhouse into a visible fortress. None of it changed the fact that my enemy’s people had watched Alessia sleep inside my home.

She set her coffee on my desk.

“Are you going to send me to Maxim’s estate?” she asked.

I wanted to say yes. The estate had more land, more men, fewer neighboring roofs, and enough secure rooms to place three layers of armed protection between Alessia and any line of sight. I could move her there before nightfall, lock down the perimeter, control every vehicle and delivery, and quiet the part of my mind already cataloging every way this townhouse could fail.

But that was the problem. Alessia had spent too much of her life being watched, relocated, and managed by powerful men who called it protection. If I decided for her now, I would be doing the same thing with better cameras and a more convincing excuse.

I wasn’t going to be one of those men.

“No. I’m not going to send you there,” I finally answered.

Her brows lifted. “You considered it, though?”

“I did consider it,” I confessed.

“What stopped you?”

“You.”

Her eyes flicked towards mine.

I closed the image and reached for the narrow black box resting beside my keyboard. “I have another proposal.”

She studied me, suspicious now, as I opened the box.

I’d had a collar made especially for her.

It was crafted from smooth, supple leather, no wider than the velvet choker she wore at Nocturne, with the edges softened so they wouldn’t rub against her skin. The hardware was silver, simple enough to pass as jewelry. A narrow ring sat at the center. The clasp at the back was slightly thicker than an ordinary fastening, though not enough that anyone would notice without knowing what it contained.

Alessia looked from the collar to me.

“It’s a collar,” she observed, her voice flat.

“It is.”

Her gaze returned to mine. “You made this overnight?”

“I adapted an existing Morozov emergency device.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Sergei,” she scolded lightly.