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Little falcon.
The baby was kicking furiously, as if he or she had heard the message too.
She put her hand on her swollen stomach. Had it been just a dream? Or was Lyon out there, sending her a message, answering the questions she’d asked as she fell asleep.
Come now, malen'kiy sokol. I am ready.
She didn’t know, couldn’t know, but whether it was a message from Lyon or her subconscious desperate to do something or a message from some unknown guide in the universe, it felt right.
There was no indecision as she swung her feet over the bed and reached for her phone.
The phone only rang once before Alek’s voice came on the line.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said. It was still black beyond the shades in the bedroom. She hadn’t even looked at the time before dialing Alek’s number. “Call the men to the warehouse.”
“Now?” Alek didn’t seem surprised, only curious.
“Now,” she said. “I’ll be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.”
They were spread thin, yes. Too thin for two separate and simultaneous rescue attempts.
She would get buy-in from the men. Ask them if they were willing to take the risk to save their pakhan.
To save Lyon.
The answer would be yes. She had saved their wives and children during the invasion at the wedding, had proven herself a capable leader in Lyon’s absence.
It had only served to cement the respect and loyalty Lyon himself had built among the men before he’d been taken.
They would agree. She knew it.
And she would do what she could to get them help.
She dialed another number as she dressed, one even Lyon didn’t know she had.
“What’s happened?” The voice was low and gruff.
“I’m sorry to call so late, Roman. I need your help."
Whatever it took, she was going to get her husband.
5
Roman Kalashnik looked out at the city from the passenger seat of the Jaguar F-Type. Pedestrians swarmed the sidewalks like ants and dodged cabs in the crosswalk, all while staring at their phones. He watched several of them step over a man bundled in a trench coat and propped against the exterior of a trendy restaurant while his friend and right-hand man Max tried to inch the Jag over for an ambulance.
Roman hated Manhattan.
Here, everyone wanted to see and be seen, all while pretending not to see the people who actually made the city run. The noise of cabs honking and sirens blaring was so incessant, its residents hardly noticed it anymore. It was a city populated almost exclusively by the wealthy climbers looking to become wealthier and the poor who made it all possible.
There was no middle ground.
So why are you here? Again?
It was an easy question to answer, although he had no desire to answer it.
It was her. The woman in the coffee shop.
