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Sometimes, things are exactly as they appear. Everyone around me—friend or foe—will take everything I’ve done today to mean the woman and boy in the car behind mine mean something to me.
The only living relative I have any real emotional attachment to is my mother. She’s a proud, obnoxious woman in her fifties who lives in a heavily guarded home in Moscow. Hardly ideal blackmail material. Not much of a weakness.
But a woman?
A son?
I picture Dmitriy cackling with glee when he finds out. He has a high-pitched, squeaky laugh that led to plenty of teasing when we were kids. I haven’t heard it in a long time. I can imagine it perfectly now along with him thinking he’ll finally gain the upper hand.
I still have more men and more resources. Respect.
But now, I also have something to lose.
I quiet the chaos in my head by enjoying the feel of being behind the wheel for a while. Once I’m past Moscow, I call Alex.
He blew my phone up with unanswered messages and calls the entire flight. I owe it to him to let him know they’re safe even if I’m also tempted to punch him in the face for setting off this entire mess in the first place.
I would still be in New York, not making a mental note of the best private schools in the area to call later and enroll Leo. This conflict with Dmitriy has dragged on for too many months. For his many faults, he’s not a complete idiot. He also knows our operations well—toowell. Catching and killing him won’t be a quick and easy task, which means Leo and Lyla won’t be enjoying a short stay.
Again, I’m conflicted. Lyla is angry with me—rightfully so. Leo has no idea why he’s here. They’ll leave as soon as it’s safe.
But something feels…right about having them both here now.
“What happened?” is how Alex answers the phone.
There’s no anger or accusation in his voice, but I hear both simmering underneath the question. He just knows better than to channel it into words.
“Bianchi.”
It’s not an answer to what Alex is really asking, but he doesn’t press me on it.
“Where’s Lyla?” he questions instead.
“With me.”
“With—Roman said you just landed.”
“We did.”
“You—she’s inMoscowwith you?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Bianchi sent men to her apartment. I need her—them—safe.”
Alex’s voice changes. Deepens. “You met the kid?”
“Yes.”
“And…”
“And what?”
“You don’t want to talk about it.” His tone is dry.
