Page 88 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Dmitri’s voice stays flat. “Kitchen staff saw you take the service passage. Abramov had you on camera before you reached the stairs.”

My stomach drops. All that sneaking. All that careful breathing. Pretending to be a woman with towels and a job. Everyone knew.

Dmitri lowers his voice. “I let you reach the yard because I needed to see where you’d go.”

“Patrick wants exactly this,” he says. “He wants you scared, moving, and alone.”

“Patrick found the only part of my life that matters.”

Dmitri’s hold changes. “What?”

“Move.” I shove at his chest.

“No.”

“Dmitri.” I stop half an inch from saying please, but the word sticks.

His attention drops to the ground. The table knife lies near my boot. Dmitri releases one wrist, bends without taking his body out of my way, and picks it up. I stay against the truck, shivering, because he’s still between me and the lane.

“You walked into a delivery yard during an active threat with a table knife,” he says.

“I had to get home.” My voice comes out rough, and I hate how much it gives away.

Dmitri holds the table knife at his side, blade pointed down. “You have no phone, no passport, no coat for the road, and no way to know which cars outside this estate belong to Morozov.”

“I would’ve figured it out.” I push my shoulder harder against the truck.

“You would’ve been taken before the trees.”

His eyes stay on mine, and I hate that part of me believes him. That hurts more because he doesn’t sound angry now. He sounds right.

I press my back harder against the truck. “You left once.”

Dmitri goes very still.

My hands curl against the cold metal. “No note, no call, no proof I was anything past one night.”

His eyes stay on mine. “Cara.”

I swallow hard and keep my chin up. “You lost almost everything that night. I know that. But you had me, and you decided I didn’t count.”

Dmitri sets the knife on the crate beside him, slowly enough that every man watching can see him do it. Then he eases his grip on my wrists without letting go. “I didn’t throw you away.”

My fingers press harder into the side of the truck. I turn my face away. “You left.”

His hand drops to his side. “I buried wanting you.”

“That doesn’t answer me.”

Dmitri looks toward the falling snow for one second, then back at me. “Every time I thought of you, I made myself think of the fire instead.”

My throat tightens. “That was your grief.”

“Yes.”

I shake my head. “You turned it into punishment.”

“I know.”