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“You’re leavin’ now?”

“Yes.” I step closer and lower my voice. “Roman needs me.”

“Everything okay?”

I should tell her the truth. Not the details, because I don’t have them yet, but enough that she understands today may not be simple. I should tell her Enzo is talking, that Roman is waiting, and that this may finally lead us to the person who’s been circling my family.

Instead, I look at Ivy, who is carefully feeding Winston a piece of pancake beneath the table while Mrs. Bennett pretends not to see it.

“Business,” I say.

Maggie’s face tells me she doesn’t believe me. It also tells me she knows why I’m not saying more in front of Ivy.

“That word is doin’ a lot of work lately,” she murmurs.

“I’ll meet you at the shelter before we leave for rehearsal.”

“You better.” She tries for teasing, but the worry remains beneath it. “I don’t know how to attend a six-year-old dance rehearsal without Russian security commentary.”

“You’ll manage.”

“I always do.”

I touch her cheek, unable to stop myself. Her skin is warm and soft, and for one second, her eyes close. When she opens them again, something passes between us that belongs to neither fear nor desire. Trust. Fragile, stubborn, and undeserved in ways she doesn’t understand.

I bend and kiss her. Not long enough to alarm Ivy. Not lightly enough to make it meaningless.

When I pull back, Maggie’s fingers rest against my wrist.

“Be careful,” she says.

I almost smile. “That’s my line.”

“Then I’m borrowin’ it.”

I kiss Ivy’s forehead next. “No terrorizing Mrs. Bennett.”

Ivy points toward Winston. “He started it.”

“Then supervise him.”

She straightens proudly. “I can do that.”

Mrs. Bennett mutters from the stove, “Heaven help us all.”

I leave the kitchen before the warmth of it can make me hesitate. Luka waits in the foyer dressed in dark trousers and a black polo, his posture relaxed enough to fool anyone who’s never seen him work. I see the tension beneath it. He’s already checked the hallway, the front entrance, and the approach outside.

We step through the front doors into the morning heat. The estate looks peaceful beneath the sun, all manicured lawns, white stone, blooming hedges, and oaks dripping moss along the drive. Men occupy positions that would seem casual to anyone not trained to understand a defensive perimeter. One near the fountain. Two by the far hedge. Another at the edge of the garden path.

Roman’s black SUV waits near the guest house.

Viktor stands by the porch, both arms finally free of slings and bandages. His face gives nothing away, but seeing him whole again is reassuring. His presence also tells me that Roman didn’t want this meeting to be delayed.

“What did Enzo offer?” I ask Luka as we walk.

“He says he has proof.”

“Of what?”