That has always been the price.
I already know what waits there. Elena asking for confirmation. One of my men updating me on Oleg’s movements. The address for tonight, the security plan, the list of exits, the names of everyone who will be in the room. Useful information, all of it.
For the first time in a long while, I let it wait.
My gaze shifts, without permission, to the woman beside me.
Katerina is leaning toward the car window, one gloved hand pressed lightly to the leather seat, her face turned toward Moscow with open wonder she keeps forgetting to hide.
She has no idea she’s sitting beside a man planning the extinction of his own bloodline.
Katerina is a complication I did not plan for, and I do not tolerate complications well. By tonight, I need to be focused. Oleg will not walk into that meeting because of sentiment. He will come because he’s afraid, angry, and greedy enough to risk betraying the Morozovs. Men like that require pressure in one hand and an exit in the other. If I mishandle him, he will run back to my father, and I will lose months.
Possibly more.
“Everything here looks like a world heritage sight,” she says. “How does anyone get any work done around here?”
Then the car turns, and the Kremlin walls come into view.
Katerina stops speaking.
The red brick rises ahead of us, severe and unmistakable, cutting through the pale morning. Traffic slows near the square. Beyond the walls, the domes of St. Basil’s appear in color, strange and bright against the winter sky.
Her hand lifts to the window. This time, she touches the glass. “Oh,” she says softly.
The driver pulls closer to the curb.
I glance at him through the mirror. “Stop here.”
Katerina turns to me at once. “We can get out?”
“You wanted to see it.”
“I thought you meant from the car.”
“That would be a poor tour.”
Her face changes so quickly that I nearly smile. The fatigue, the caution, the weight of everything she’s running from, all of it lifts for a second.
The car stops.
My man gets out first. He checks the street with one calm glance, then opens my door. I step out into the cold, button my coat, and circle around before Katerina can open her own door.
She gives me a look when I offer my hand. “I can get out of a car.”
“I’m relieved.”
She places her hand in mine anyway.
The moment she steps onto the pavement, the cold hits her. Her breath catches, and she pulls her coat tighter around herself. “This is ridiculous.”
“This is mild.”
She stares at me. “Mild?”
“Yes.”
“I take back everything romantic I ever thought about winter.”
