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“No, but we need someone on the ground who knows shit. Do you have a better idea?”

“Actually, I do. I’m going to make damn sure that my baby girl is safe even when I’m not here.” I stepped past him and out of the shower.

I grabbed a towel, yanked it around my hips, and stood in front of the fogged mirror.

The lover—who’d been riding Yuriy’s dick ten hours ago—was gone. In his place was someone else entirely.

“Get dressed and meet me in my bedroom. I need to reach out to a former contact who may still be in the city.”

Behind me, Yuriy let out a low whistle. “There he is. Pakhan mode activated.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Only purpose.

Only resolve.

Only the man I had to become, to protect the people I cared about, which now included Yuriy. I did everything to mask the way I felt that someone had attacked him last night. He could have died. And although I knew the capable man Yuriy was, my mind was far from being at ease.

I left him in the bathroom and headed straight for my room, water still dripping down my back, towel barely holding on around my hips. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, thumb already punching in one of the numbers I had memorized.

Denis Petrov.

My sovetnik—my adviser—my most trusted man.

It rang once.

“Stanislav,” a low voice said, clipped and alert. “What’s up?”

“I need information.” I sat on the edge of the bed, towel dampening the sheets. “Your cousin Malik, who left us a couple of years ago, is he still in Kansas City?”

Silence.

“Yes. Lives on the outskirts. Wants nothing to do with the life anymore, but he keeps his ear to the streets.”

“Good. We’ve got a little problem, and I want it solved before it escalates. Set up a meeting.”

“What time?”

I opened my mouth to say “right now.” But then I pictured Yelena, who was probably already downstairs making breakfast. Her swollen belly. Her laugh when she burned pancakes. The baby’s ultrasound pinned on the fridge.

“At one,” I said instead. “Send me a secure location, and be on standby to get the men organized if we need to take some fuckers out.”

“Yes, Boss.”

I hung up.

The door creaked. The air heated a fraction behind me—Yuriy’s presence always did that—and sure enough, he padded into the room naked, rubbing a towel through his damp hair like he hadn’t just nearly given me a heart attack with his news. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, muscles on display like a damn temptation laid out by the devil.

“You calling your sovetnik?” he asked, frown cutting deep between his brows. “He’s in Kansas City too, isn’t he?”

“No, but he organized for some men to accompany me in secret.”

“When Yelena and Zasha decided to let us visit, one of their conditions was for it to be just us.” He pushed off the door and came toward me. “No men. Just the two of us, Stanislav.” His jaw flexed.

I snorted. “You expect me to believe you don’t have at least one of your men lurking around this city?”

“I don’t.”