"We will be." She kisses my chest. "Because I'm not losing you. Not losing Mila. Not losing this family I've found."
Family. The word settles over me strangely.
We lie there in the pre-dawn quiet, and I let myself imagine it. A future where Patrick is dead, where Valerie has earned back trust, where Mila has two parents who love her.
It seems impossible.
But so did surviving Katya's death. So did Mila learning to smile again. So did falling for a woman who was sent to destroy me.
Maybe impossible is just another word for difficult.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Mikhail.
I reach for it reluctantly, read the message, and feel ice settle in my stomach.
There is intelligence that Patrick is regrouping and gathering forces, but his hiding remains unknown.
Valerie feels me tense. "What is it?"
"Patrick." I show her the message. "He's not hiding anymore. He's preparing."
"To attack?"
"Not just to attack. He is preparing for war." I set the phone aside. "The Antonov hit tonight was a distraction. A test to see if I'm vulnerable. Patrick's the real threat. And he's coming soon."
Fear flashes across her face, but she doesn't pull away. "Then we prepare. Get ready. Make sure Mila is safe."
"We?" I raise an eyebrow.
"We." She says it firmly. "I'm in this with you, Lev. All the way. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
I pull her closer. "Together."
The word tastes like hope.
And terror.
Because Patrick O'Rourke doesn't lose gracefully. When he strikes, it'll be brutal and calculated and designed to destroy everything I've built.
But this time, I'm prepared. I've stopped hunting and am lying in wait instead. Waiting for him to make the first move.
Chapter twenty-three
Valerie
I'm bent over the toilet for the third morning in a row when I realize something is very wrong.
This isn't stress. Isn't anxiety about Patrick lurking somewhere in the city planning revenge. Isn't the constant low-grade terror of living in a fortress under lock.
This is something else.
I flush, rinse my mouth, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Pale. Dark circles under my eyes despite sleeping in Lev's arms every night. A persistent exhaustion that no amount of rest seems to fix.
And the nausea. God, the nausea.
I've been telling myself it's the pressure. The weight of earning back Lev's trust while knowing Patrick could strike at any moment. The emotional toll of loving a man who's still working through my betrayal.
But deep down, I know.
