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“To New York? The city?”

“That’s where your friend is, I’m assuming. I can’t risk you doing something stupid like running.” His gaze sharpens, an unspoken and very tempting threat between us.

I’ll hunt you down again, that look seems to say, and I stand frozen to the hardwood floor. Goosebumps rise all down my arms and breasts at the thought of him coming after me.

My eyes narrow. “You are impossible.”

“And you’re persistent.”

Timur clears his throat. I glance at him. He’s watching us with an expression that is far too interested.

Vasily notices and asks sourly, “Do you have something to say?”

Timur immediately looks down at the blueprints. “Nope. Just that you might want to let Arthur know you’re leaving the area.”

Vasily scowls at the suggestion, and it hits me then that I haven’t seen Art for a few days, not hulking around in corners or in Vasily’s private rooms. Curiosity coils in my gut, but I know better than to ask a Pakhan what he’s sent his most dangerous man out to accomplish.

Vasily turns back to me.

“Art is busy. I don’t trust you alone yet.”

“I’ve been here long enough.”

“And?”

“And I haven’t betrayed you.”

“That I know of.”

I roll my eyes. He sighs, then gestures toward the door.

“Get ready. We’ll leave this afternoon once I’ve wrapped up some loose ends and given directions.”

I stare at him, not expecting the response. “That fast?” Even Timur looks surprised.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

I turn to leave, but I catch Timur’s expression again. He’s looking between us like he’s just discovered something entertaining.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

His grin says otherwise.

I leave before Vasily can see me rethinking this plan. I do need to see Isla to clear things up with her. Between her, Emma, and my parents, I can’t cut ties with everyone I love. Especially when it’s starting to feel like the pot calling the kettle black.

* * *

The helicopter ride into the city takes just over an hour, and by the time we land, I’m restless enough to want to pace. Vasily, naturally, looks completely at ease.

We arrive at Isla’s apartment just after 2 p.m. on her day off, and I knock before remembering to breathe.

The door opens.

Isla’s face goes through several emotions in quick succession: surprise, embarrassment, and then something dangerously close to tears.

“Matty?”