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He answers on the first ring. “I heard you nearly made Rafael Cordero shit his pants.”

“News travels fast.”

“Like you said in our last call, Nikolai, we’re in the same industry. Or, we were.”

“You’ve got friends in his crew?”

Dmitry laughs coldly. It’s probably the only way he can laugh. “He took men from us. Contractors. Then he made it clear that Miami wasn’t the place for us to be.”

So, I was right. He did chase them out. But I’m not going to make the same mistake I did during our last call. I can’t rub it in his face or let my anger take over. I need to remember I’m wearing the crown. I need to be more like Maksim.

“He used his numbers,” I say. “And he used the fact that the Volkovs weren’t with you. I’m here, Dmitry. You don’t have to run anymore. I used my name tonight. And look what it did. It made them scatter like rats.”

“What about your brother?”

“We don’t need him,” I say. “You, me, Anton, Igor, Yaroslav. One Bratva man is worth three Marlin, so we’ve got… hell, math has never been my strong suit.”

Dmitry laughs again. It sounds warmer this time. “You don’t need to say anything,” he replies. “After what you did, all to save innocents, we have to help you. We’d be cowards if we didn’t.”

And if there’s one thing the Sokolov brothers are not, it’s cowards.

“We’ll be there in the morning,” he says.

“All three of you?”

“Yes, prince,” he replies, with a note of sarcasm.

He hangs up. A smile touches my lips, though that’s probably foolish. Three more men aren’t an army. But it’s a start.

CHAPTER 17

SERENA

Idrop Zoe off at school, my eyes heavy and tired. Zoe miraculously fell asleep in the car on the way to the temporary house. A beachfront property, no less… a forty minutes drive to school. Despite all this, Zoe is bright and energetic in the back seat.

“A disaster,” she says, grinning. “Mama, we’re in a real drama. Like in a book or a movie or something. Gas! Does it stink very much?”

She doesn’t know much about gas leaks, thankfully. Otherwise she’d be worried about her stuff blowing up. I just told her that the smell the old oven used to make is going through the whole house and we need people to clear it out. Nice and simple. And a lie.

“Not as much as Mama,” I reply, making a face in the rearview.

After hugging and kissing her – and seeing her inside – I leave the gates, park, and walk across the street. Anton is still behind the wheel. He looks up at me, his scarred, bald appearance no longer intimidating me. He looks tired too.

“I need her watched,” I tell him. “This is all getting serious, and I don’t know how far this madman will go.”

“I'll stay,” he replies. “And later, there will be others.”

“Others?”

“Trusted men,” he says. “Bratva men.”

My head spins. I feel like Alice falling into Wonderland. “You say that like you’re talking about the knights of the round table.”

He shrugs. “To us, the Bratva is sacred. Your daughter will be safe.”

I nod, turning back to my car, trying not to tremble in fear. In a world where everything has suddenly tipped upside down, I can’t afford to be picky about how my baby girl stays safe.

In the car, before starting the engine, I text Nikolai.