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Fuck. “Zaychik, I have to go. Get some sleep, and I’ll call you later today, okay?”

Not waiting for Chloe’s reply, I hang up and bring up Pavel’s phone to my ear. “You got the cameras all set up? And the live feed?”

Masha’s voice is as bright as ever. “Of course.”

“Send the recording to Konstantin for edits, and for the live stream, direct it to this phone. I don’t have mine on me.”

“No problem. Now, about Plan B—”

“Just focus on Plan A.” I need Bransford compromised, not dead, as per my bargain with Chloe.

Masha heaves an exasperated sigh. “I will, obviously. But if something goes wrong and I can’t contain him, you still want me to eliminate him today, right? I won’t be able to get this close again.”

I rub my left eyebrow, behind which the skull hammers are back at work. Valery’s asset has been crystal clear as to what she will and won’t do on this job, and while she’s not averse to having Bransford rough her up a bit for the sake of a convincing video, she won’t let him fuck her.

“Just do your best to ensure it doesn’t come to that,” I say finally. “And if you do have to go to Plan B, use the drug.”

Though it will be hard to explain Bransford’s death to Chloe, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

Even go back on my word to her.

42

Chloe

I wake up with my mouth dry and my eyes as gritty as if they’ve been filled with sand. Blinking against the bright light filling the room, I peer at a clock—and bolt upright in bed.

Five in the afternoon.

What the fuck?

Before I can gather my thoughts, there’s a quiet knock on the bedroom door, and Alina sticks her head in. “Ah, good. You’re finally awake.”

I grab a water bottle from the nightstand and chug it to ease the parched feeling in my throat. “What happened?” I croak when every precious drop of liquid is gone. I feel dazed and groggy, as though I’ve been drugged.

Alina strolls in, looking fresh and glamorous, as if she’s just stepped out of a full-service salon spa. I, on the other hand, feel—and probably look—like something the raccoons wouldn’t fish out of a garbage can.

“You couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, so you went to take a nap mid-morning, remember?” she says, gracefully perching on the edge of the bed.

I look at the clock again, as if doing so would change the time displayed on it. “But it’s already five. How can it be five if I went down for a nap in the morning?”

She grins. “What can I say? When you crash, you crash hard.” She crosses her long legs. “My brother’s called about ten times so far, demanding to speak to you. I told him I’m letting you sleep.”

My heart rate kicks up. “Is something wrong? Has Slava—”

“No, no, everything’s fine. They’re actually driving home already, should get here in less than an hour.”

“Oh. Is Slava—”

“Doing much better,” she assures me. “The doctor was going to keep him for observation until tonight, but he hasn’t vomited once since the morning and was able to eat some chicken soup and Jell-O for lunch, so they discharged him early.”

“Oh, thank God.” I can’t wait to hug Slava and kiss him silly. I only caught a glimpse of him last night as Nikolai ran out of the house with the child in his arms, but his pale, wan appearance has haunted me, making me feel exactly how Nikolai described: as if a dull blade were sawing apart my heart.

I guess my husband is not the only one who gets to feel like a parent these days. With each passing week, Nikolai’s son has crept deeper into my heart, and I’m now at the point where I couldn’t love him more if he’d come out of my own body—and would be devastated if anything happened to him.

“Do you have your phone?” I ask Alina. “I want to call Nikolai back.”

I want to talk to Slava myself and make sure he’s truly feeling better, and I’m also dying to hear Nikolai’s voice.

No matter how chilling I find those cameras, I can’t help missing him, craving him in the most visceral way possible—which is why the thought of our upcoming conversation kept me from falling asleep last night even after they’d safely reached the hospital and I knew Slava would be okay.

“I don’t have it on me, but I can get it,” Alina says, getting up. “I don’t know if you should call him at this point, though. They’ll be here soon enough, and then you can talk.”

I hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

She’s right. Now that they’re almost here, I might as well wait. As brief as our conversation last night had been, Nikolai somehow sensed I was upset, and if it weren’t for whatever had distracted him, I’m sure he would’ve pressured me for answers. That must be why he kept calling throughout the day, and why it’s best if I just talk to him in person.