I’ve never lied to him before and don’t intend to start. “Seattle.”
Several seconds tick by before he releases a long, drawn out exhale. “You went after him.”
Irritation buzzes at the base of my skull. “I intercepted him.”
“You put yourself at risk.”
Is he serious? “You trained me to handle danger.”
“Not Max. That man is beyond dangerous.” His words crack like a whip. “You should have waited for me. We had a plan, Kai. A good one.”
The irritation fades, and I close my eyes, hating that I upset the only person I have left. “I had to do this alone, Dima.”
He grunts in response.
I put the phone on speaker and return to setting my trap. Max will arrive at any minute.
“Why?” The question comes out quieter. Almost gentle. “Talk to me. Why did you have to do this alone?”
“Because it’s Max.”
Max Belov. My father’s weapon. The man Roman uses to enforce his will, eliminate threats, and do the dirty work that keeps the Kozlov empire running.
If I can destroy Roman’s most menacing asset, that’s a victory worth the trouble. “I’m going to take down Roman’s berserker and send him back one piece at a time.”
“Kai—”
“I’m handling it, Dimitri.”
His breathing rate slows, becoming more measured. The same technique he taught me to ease panic or stress.
“If anything happens to you…” He pauses. When he speaks again, his voice softens. “You’re all I have, Kai. You understand that? You mean the world to me.”
I brace myself against his unspoken plea that I stay safe.
For the first time, I have to deny him. “I know.” And I mean it. “But I can do this. You trained me for this.”
“I trained you to be smart. To calculate risk. Not to?—”
The elevator at the end of the hall dings. “He’s here.”
Standing on the ottoman, I smash the overhead light with the butt of my knife. Glass rains down as the room plunges into blackness.
“Kai, wait?—”
I hang up and silence the phone before running my thumb over the wicked blade. With six inches of surgical steel, weighted perfectly, the molded handle fits my grip. I flip the weapon once and catch it, feeling the familiar balance.
Footsteps stop outside the door.
I crouch beside the couch, angling the blade downward to avoid reflecting any stray light.
As I wait, my heart hammers against my ribs. Though adrenaline sings through my veins, my breathing remains slow and silent. In through the nose and out through barely parted lips.
The lock chirps, and the handle turns.
At first, the door only opens a few inches. A few seconds tick by before the crack widens, eventually revealing Max’s silhouette in the threshold between the suite and the hallway.
I tighten my grip on the knife and smile.
