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Rurik collected his weapon from the table and secured it beneath his arm. “We can remain here and increase the guard, but moving more men into the area may expose the house before the Society finds it on its own. Boston remains unsafe because we don’t know who is watching your family. Maxim’s estate is fortified, but bringing an active containment order near Henry is a risk neither of us will accept.”

“No. I won’t risk my son.”

“I didn’t believe you would,” Rurik fastened the remaining buttons of his shirt. “The Bratva controls Pier 87. It has armed men, secure communications, reinforced structures, and several routes out through the city and harbor. Vladmir is already there. Maxim is moving additional men into position.”

“You want to take me to the pier.”

“I believe it gives us the best chance of keeping you alive.” He held my gaze. “But I will not put you inside the car until you decide.”

Three weeks earlier, he would have made the decision while I slept and explained it after the doors were locked. The man standing before me possessed the same instincts and the same desperate need to protect me. What had changed was his understanding that survival purchased with the loss of my will wasn’t protection.

It was another form of containment.

“How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know.”

Salvatore had been given thirty-six hours between the first authorization and Nolan’s betrayal. Perhaps he had known. Perhaps every window he searched and every phone call he ended when I entered the room had been measured against the time remaining.

My name had been on the page for less than three hours.

“They won’t ask for the files, will they?”

“No.”

“They aren’t coming to frighten me into stopping.”

“No,” Rurik’s voice lowered. “The order is not a warning.”

The truth should have terrified me. Instead, everything inside me became painfully clear.

I had spent years believing Salvatore’s death was the worst thing the Society could take from me. It wasn’t. Henry lived. Mom and Cian had found their way back to each other. Rurik had placed his life between mine and danger so many times that sacrifice had begun to resemble habit. Killing me would only be the beginning if the people I loved were standing close enough to be used.

Pier 87 offered distance from all of them except Rurik, and he had already proven no argument could make him leave.

“If I stay here, will you stay?”

“Yes.”

“Even if they find us?”

“Yes.”

“And if I choose the pier?”

“I go with you.”

“There isn’t an answer that gets you away from me, is there?”

“No.” His expression softened with something too painful to become a smile. “You already know that.”

I did.

Salvatore had asked me to fight if death came. Choosing the pier wasn’t walking toward him. It was choosing the place where death would have to pass armed men, reinforced doors, and Rurik Ryabkin before it reached me.

“I need five minutes.”

Rurik stepped away from the doorway. “Take whatever time you need.”