Chapter 17
Kolya
Chloe punches in the security code.
The house is one of a dozen on this side of the street. White siding, blue shutters, gray shingles.
Cookie-cutter. Quiet. Safe.
Once the lock clicks, she pushes the door open and glances back at me like she needs my permission to enter her own friend’s home.
I nod, scan the street behind us, and follow her inside. The cool air is scented with jasmine and laundry detergent. Nothing like the fear-sweat drying on Chloe’s skin.
We don’t belong here.
Chloe wades through the darkness with familiarity while I assess the space.
Two exits. Front door. Sliding glass door in the kitchen. Three windows in the living room, low to the ground and easy to access. Sight lines clear across the open floor plan. Decent defensive position, if necessary.
Which it won’t be, because we aren’t staying.
The living room bleeds into the kitchen, all clean lines and neutral shades.
My gaze pauses on a refrigerator plastered with photos.
Chloe and a blond woman at a beach, at a concert, hugging in graduation gowns.
A life documented, preserved, treasured.
A ceramic bowl sits on the floor, MILO written across the front in block letters.
A cat. Of course there’s a fucking cat.
This was a mistake. Breaking into a civilian house is sloppy, the kind of action that gets people killed. People who aren’t involved. People like Bree with her cat food bowl and her jasmine air fresheners.
“We should go.”
Chloe shuffles into the living room and reaches for a lamp on an end table.
I cross the space in three quick strides, my fingers closing over hers. “No lights.”
She flinches. Her skin is warm under my palm, her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings against my fingertips. Hours ago, I had that same pulse beneath my lips as I kissed the hollow of her throat and drove her to gasp my name.
Focus.
A flash of movement catches my eye.
The headlights slicing the living room wall cast long shadows that crawl across the ceiling.
We spin in unison, her body pressing into mine.
Tires crunch. A car door slams.
I grab my gun.
“It’s Bree,” Chloe whispers. “She wasn’t supposed to be home.”
I tuck her against me, protecting her with my body.
She twists and shoves at my chest. “I need to be in plain sight. If I hide, she’ll know something’s wrong.”
What a mess. This is how frightened homeowners end up shooting people.
After I release my grip on her wrist, she strides into the kitchen and gestures with frantic hands. “You can’t hide either. I can’t explain hiding.”
Every nerve in my body protests.
Never expose yourself or present an easy target.
I follow her anyway, obscuring my gun while keeping it accessible.
She flips on the kitchen lights, and the sudden brightness momentarily blinds me.
After a few seconds pass, the front door swings open. Footsteps enter, then stop short as Chloe’s friend notices the glow. “Hello?”
I brace myself for what will surely happen next. The moment Chloe remembers I brought bullets and blood into her life and sprints back to the safety of her suburban world.
“Bree. Thank God.” Chloe hurries out of the kitchen. “I’m so glad you’re home. I’m so sorry for coming in without permission. I just… Things are crazy out there.”
Bree comes into view, tossing a purse on the counter and kicking off her white tennis shoes.
Blond hair hangs from a high ponytail, still wavy from a tight bun.
She hugs Chloe, her blue scrubs rumpled.
“I know. My shift got cut, and I came home to, like, ten car alarms going off when I drove in. And cop cars. What’s going on?
Are you…” Her green eyes widen on me, and she pushes Chloe half behind her, using her taller frame as a barrier.
I stand perfectly still, letting Chloe handle the situation.
Her hands flutter in a display of frantic energy that’s half real, half performance as she moves back around in front of her friend.
“Bree, it’s a long story, but I think someone’s after me.
” She gestures. “This is Kolya. A friend. He’s helping me.
” She gives a flawless performance, selling the glass-thin lie with just the right touch of fear and desperation.
She could’ve told Bree to call the police while declaring, “This man brought killers to my door.”
Instead, she protected me.
I don’t know what to do with this information. And I really don’t know how to deal with someone who isn’t Bratva protecting me.
We protect our own. We don’t deal with strangers.
But this woman defended me.
The truth slaps me across the face, but I have no time to consider the implications.
Bree draws Chloe into the hallway. I move to the window in the darkened living room, sliding heavy blackout curtains back with a knuckle to peer out while staying focused on their conversation.
“What the hell, Chloe? ‘A friend’? You mean the guy you mentioned on the phone that you didn’t have sex-sex with? He reeks of danger.” Horror colors Bree’s voice. “No. You need to cut him loose.”
Sex-sex? I cock my head, intrigued.
“He’s helping me.” Even out of sight, I’m certain Chloe’s flapping her hands.
“Helping you do what? He’s staring out my window like he’s anticipating an airstrike.” Bree lowers her volume, and I strain to hear. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know.” Chloe’s voice cracks. “It’s just…chaos. Like my life isn’t my own anymore.” A beat. “I haven’t felt like this since…”
Silence. I continue to peer out the window, scanning for threats, wondering what she’s talking about.
“Since the island?”
My body stills.
The island?
Chloe responds in a frantic whisper. “I mean, I should be over it, right? It happened a long time ago.”
“But it’s like it was yesterday.” Bree’s voice placates. Soothes. “I know. It’s like that with trauma. Look, you told me you had nightmares for years. Hell, you had one last year. It’s okay.”
“Is it, though?” Chloe releases a heavy sigh. “People experience stressful events all the time. It’s not like I went through combat.”
“Don’t invalidate your trauma.” A pause. “What happened to you…it sounds terrible. That ordeal would be a lot for anyone, let alone a young girl. I read the newspaper article you showed me. Tropical storms, that fire, guys running around with guns… The whole thing sounds hellish.”
My blood freezes in my veins. This can’t possibly be related.
But how could it not be?
Bree shares my thoughts. “You don’t think this has anything to do with all that, do you?”
My heartbeat slows to a crawl, each thud distinct and heavy in my chest.
Island. Tropical storm. Gunfire. Fifteen years ago.
No. Fucking. Way.
No way is Chloe connected to the island from the Kozlov’s past. The past MJ’s research dug back up. The island Roman hasn’t willingly talked about…for fifteen years.
“No, Bree. It has nothing to do with that. That’s over. I just need…”
Their voices drop again, too low for me to parse.
Doesn’t matter. With some of the pieces falling into place, I’m forming a picture I never expected.
Chloe’s not just a random kindergarten teacher. Somehow, she’s connected to my family’s past and the island where everything went wrong.
Through the window, I spy a sedan parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. Lights off. Angled for a speedy exit.
My muscles tense as I survey the area, identifying not one but three watchers positioned around the house.
They know Bree is Chloe’s friend.
These are professionals settling in for a siege. Patience is the mark of a trained killer. Whatever they’re waiting for, they believe it’s worth the risk of lingering in a residential neighborhood where any nosy neighbor might spot them.
I march through the kitchen to the formal dining room, lifting the curtain a fraction to peer out. Across the street, a dark figure lurks under a tree. Unnoticeable if you don’t know where to look.
Farther down, another shape moves. A man walks like he’s out for an evening stroll while casually scanning houses.
My mind whirls, analyzing the situation from every angle.
Who’s after me? And why track me all the way out to the damned suburbs? It would be easier to hit me in the city, on my own turf, where they’d have a dozen escape routes and the chaos of urban crowds to disappear into.
Unless they don’t want me at all and simply trailed me to find Chloe.
I try to fit more puzzle pieces together. If she was on the same island fifteen years ago, she might have seen the diamonds. Might’ve taken them, even accidentally.
Suka.
I have no idea who’s out there—Falcones, I initially thought—but maybe I’m wrong. Whoever they are, they’re killers. And Chloe’s their probable target.
I thought I needed the kindergarten teacher with me to get answers, but now I can just let her go.
The play is simple. I can leave her behind and melt into the night. Allow the monsters to chase her down—she’ll never escape—while I figure out where the diamonds are.
That’s the kind of brutal calculus my father lived and died by.
Logical. Efficient. The best move.
“Don’t get attached.” Roman’s voice pops into my head, a ghost from years ago. “Go, Kolya. Now. Attachments are weaknesses.”
He saw how my hesitation when the Falcones came for us back then nearly got me killed.
I know the right choice.
Let Chloe go and secure the objective.
In my mind’s eye, Chloe’s on her knees on the floor, dabbing at my knuckles with ridiculous, tender focus. She’s leaning over a small child, comforting him in a hobby store.
The guys after her won’t kill her, not right away.
First, they’ll force her to talk.
Then, they’ll make her regret ever saying a word.
They’ll break her and obliterate her light.
A protest roars through me like a flooded river.
No. She’s mine.
A lifetime of logic fractures. I can’t betray Roman or my father’s legacy.
But I can’t abandon Chloe either.
So I lie to myself instead.
Chloe is the link from the island to the diamonds. My job is to retrieve those diamonds. Can’t let the other guys have her. What if she possesses valuable information?
The excuse, while paper-thin, is the only thing holding back the truth.
I’m choosing her over my mission. Over Roman’s approval. Over my father’s ghost.
The hushed murmurs of Chloe and her friend continue from the hallway. I approach them, my shoes silent on the carpet.
They stop talking to stare.
I jerk my chin at Chloe. “We need to leave.”
Bree’s eyes narrow with suspicion while bewilderment creases Chloe’s brow. “What’s wrong? Why? We can spend the night—”
“No. We can’t.”
Color drains from her face. She rests a hand on the wall, steadying herself. “What? How—”
“Doesn’t matter. We go.”
“I can’t abandon Bree!” Panic edges her words.
Bree purses her lips. Our eyes lock.
I know what she sees. A dangerous stranger who’s brought trouble to her door and put her friend at risk.
She’s right to be afraid. To want me gone.
“Call the cops.” Not for her sake, but to get Chloe out of here without me having to throw the woman over my shoulder.
Bree’s face blanches, her eyebrows dipping in confusion. “Why?”
“There’s someone outside your house. Watching.”
She scrambles for her phone, fingers trembling as she dials. Chloe’s frozen in the hallway, caught between her friend and me.
Trapped between safety and danger. Between her old life and whatever the hell this is becoming.
I hold out my hand.
Both an invitation and a demand.
Chloe hesitates, watching as her friend babbles to the 911 operator about the men outside the house. Then she looks back at where I stand, waiting, with my hand extended.
The struggle wars in her eyes.
Chloe can stay here. The police will come, and she’ll be safe. Well, as safe as anyone can be with killers on their trail.
Or she can leave and face the unknown with a man who’s brought nothing but chaos and violence into her life.
Her cool fingers curl against mine, her grip firm.
Certain.
Bree presses the phone to her shoulder to muffle her voice. “What are you doing, Chloe?”
“I’m going so those men outside won’t have a reason to hang around you.” Chloe tightens her grip. Then, quietly, “Please don’t mention Kolya. He warned me about coming here, about bringing my trouble to your door, and I didn’t listen. This is my fault.”
She’s protecting me again. Even now, knowing the danger, she’s choosing to shield me.
The way family does.
We hurry out the back door, into the comfortable darkness.
But for the first time in my life, I’m not running alone.