Sergei
Kirill doesn’t knock.
He never does when it matters.
I look up from the report in front of me. He’s already crossing the room, another folder in hand, expression tight enough that I don’t bother pretending this is anything but bad.
“We have a problem.”
We always have a problem. “Just once, I would like you to start with something else.”
“And for just once, I’d like to have something else to lead with.”
“Yuri?” I lean back slightly. “Talk.”
He drops the folder on my desk and taps it with his finger. “Look.”
Copies of the Craigslist ads.
I flip through them, slower than I need to. Not because I don’t understand what I’m looking at, but because I do.
The hair at the back of my neck stands. There’s a familiar tingling sensation rushing over my body.
“That’s not possible,” I say even when I know it is.
“He’s alive. The account linked to his reply is active. Very recently active.”
Of course he is alive.
“The Ghost lives,” Kirill says.
I should have known better than to believe that was over. Men like him don’t die in alcoves. They don’t die messy. Not unless someone makes damn sure of it.
He’s still coming. Not for me. That goes against the established rules within our treaty.
Yuri doesn’t play by our rules. He’s not part of our treaty.
And the Ghost doesn’t care about rules at all. He’s going to keep coming until he succeeds.
“Get a message to him. I’ll pay the contract.”
“You think it’ll stop him?”
“He doesn’t care who she is. He cares about the money. Fuck it. I’ll double the contract.”
“You want me to have him handle Yuri.”
“No. That one is mine.”
“Speaking of.”
“You found him?”
“Not this minute. But we know the houses he’s moving between. He’s shifting every few hours. He knows we’re looking.”
“Obviously.”
“But that’s not what I came in here to tell you,” Kirill says.
Of course it isn’t.
“Stop fucking around and just tell me.”
“Yuri knows about the POA.”
Everything in the room stills.
“Mikhail?”
Kirill nods. “Yuri was at the Baranov estate.”
Of course he was.
Sick, dying, and still managing to do damage from a chair.
I look down at the folder again, but I’m not seeing it anymore. I’m seeing the bigger picture. The fact that Sofia just made herself untouchable on paper—and a target everywhere else.
“Yuri knows he’s fucked,” I say.
“Legally,” Kirill agrees. “Not physically. She might control the legit businesses, but Yuri doesn’t need those. He’s still running that organ ring. Smaller, but it’s moving. He’s going for the bratva.”
“And that will destroy the legitimate businesses,” I say. “Death by a thousand cuts.”
“His guy talked to one of our spies.”
Spies. Women. Women paid very well to get close to our enemies.
And every one is an enemy. I have a woman on my payroll that’s been sleeping with the underboss in the Italian mob for two years.
They’re everywhere, which is why my men know better.
It’s the oldest trick in the book. Don’t fuck with anyone you don’t mind cutting your throat and never, ever talk business.
“She just locked him out of everything,” Kirill says. “He’s not going to wait.”
“He’ll come for her,” I finish.
Kirill nods once. “Soon.”
“She’s not leaving the house,” I say.
Kirill raises a brow. “You think she’ll agree to that?”
“I’m not asking.”
He smirks. “What flowers do you want on your casket, assuming she leaves us something to bury.”
I ignore the comment. He’s right. Sofia isn’t someone who accepts no, especially not from me.
“We don’t wait for him,” I say. “I want the fucker. I want him dead.”
“I agree. He’s proven to be a hard target.”
“Get me everything we have on Yuri’s movements. Every location. Every contact. We’re going to be ready. The second we find him, we move.”
Kirill nods. “I’ll get the men moving.”
I’m already heading for the door. There’s only one thing left to do before this starts. I need to find my wife.
She’s had two days to process. I know she’s gone through a lot, but it only gets worse before there’s a chance it gets better. The last time I hesitated, she was nearly killed.
I find her in the guest room, laptop open, focused on whatever she’s working on. She looks tired. More than tired—worn down. Exhausted. She’s been fighting for too long. I want to give her peace.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her for a moment.
“We need to talk,” I say.
She looks up, meeting my eyes. I see the wariness there. She’s still processing everything I told her two days ago. She’s still deciding if she can forgive me for keeping secrets.
“Okay.” She closes the laptop.
I walk into the room and sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. I expect her to stay in the chair, to maintain distance. Instead, she moves to sit beside me.
“Yuri knows about the POA,” I say. “He was at your father’s house. Mikhail told him everything.”
I watch her process this. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t look surprised.
“Of course he did,” she says quietly.
“Yuri is going to come for you. Soon. He’s planning.”
She nods slowly. “I figured as much.”
“I need you to understand something.” I turn to face her fully. “This isn’t a negotiation. You don’t move without me. Not until Yuri is dead. I don’t care if you have class or meetings or anything else. You stay here, where I can protect you.”
I brace myself for the fight. For her to tell me I can’t control her. She makes her own decisions.
Instead, she surprises me.
“What do you need me to do?”
I blink. “What?”
“What do you need me to do?” she repeats. “You’re the one with experience. You know how these things work. So tell me—what do I need to do to help you keep me alive?”
I stare at her. This woman who fought me every step of the way is suddenly letting me lead. I don’t want her defeated.
“You trust me?” I ask.
“I trust you to keep me alive,” she says. “That’s what you’ve been doing for eight years, right? So tell me what you need.”
I reach out and cup her face in my hand. She leans into the touch.
“You stay alive. That’s the only instruction I’m giving you. I don’t care what you have to do. Who you have to hurt. You survive. Understood?”
“Same goes for you,” she says. “We’ve got some stuff to work on, but we have to be alive in order to do that.”
I’ve never had someone need me before. I’ve never needed anyone.
I need her. I cannot lose her.
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist and presses her face against my shoulder.
We sit like that for a long moment. Neither of us speaking. Just holding each other.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally. “For keeping secrets and not telling you about your mother sooner. I didn’t want to hurt you. You were so young and then you seemed to be moving forward. I didn’t want to bring you back down.”
“I know.” Her voice is muffled against my shirt. “I’m still angry about it. But I understand why you did it.”
I lean down and kiss her. Soft at first, then deeper. She responds immediately, her hands coming up to thread through my hair.
I need to feel her alive and warm and mine. She may not understand it yet, but I know I might not get the chance again.
I pull her onto my lap, my hands sliding under her shirt. She gasps against my mouth when my fingers find bare skin.
“Sergei,” she breathes.
“I need you,” I tell her. “Right now. I need to feel you.”
She doesn’t argue. She just pulls her shirt over her head and reaches for my belt.
I lay her down and strip off my clothes. She’s already working on her jeans, pushing them down her hips.
When we’re both naked, I cover her body with mine. Her eyes flutter closed, and her mouth falls open on a soft moan.
“Look at me,” I demand.
She does. Those blue eyes lock on mine.
"I love you. I know you're not ready to say it back. Take all the time you need. I've already waited eight years for you. A little longer won't kill me."
This is my goodbye. If I never get the chance to be with her again, I need her to know I loved her.
I make love to her slowly. I have spent years learning every pattern, every habit, every weakness. This is different. This I want to remember by heart for entirely different reasons.
This is my goodbye.
I don’t say it out loud.
I just make sure she feels it.