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Because when he figures out all of this is completely my doing, he’s going to want to dump me in the first shallow grave he can find.

“When I get home tonight, you’re going to tell me what’s rambling around in that head of yours.” He taps my temple. “No more secrets.”

“Okay,” I agree with a whisper. “Tonight. We’ll talk tonight.”

“Max.” Rurik turns his attention to the footsteps behind me. “You’re on Mira-duty today. Keep your eyes on her at all times and take her wherever she wants to go.” He pauses to give me a look. “Within reason.”

“Of course,” Max answers.

“I need to call Megan, see if she wants to meet up for lunch.”

“Take Sergei with you,” Rurik adds before turning back to me, his gaze sultry and dark as they meet mine. “I’ll be late tonight. When you’re done shopping, if you want to go to Alexander’s, I can pick you up from there.”

I nod. “I’ll text you. Megan might have plans.”

He pauses a moment, like he’s not sure he buys my words. “Fine. Text me.”

“Yes.” I smile. “Promise.”

He hesitates only another second before turning and walking from the kitchen. He stops to talk to Max quietly, then disappears down the hall.

“I just need to get my stuff, then we can go.” I hurry from the kitchen and run up the stairs, my phone fisted in my hand.

With my heart doing the conga all the way up my throat, I type out a message and wait. There’s not enough air in this room. Pacing doesn’t help, but sitting still will probably leave me in a full-blown panic attack.

Instead of a text, he calls. I answer on the first ding of thenotification.

“You could have just texted back,” I whisper, checking the hallway before shutting the bedroom door. I can’t chance being overheard.

“I needed to be certain it was you reaching out.” Detective Calloway’s condescending tone drips through the airwaves.

“Who else would be–– you know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s me. I’m reaching out to you.”

“And Mr. Mikhailov? Is he aware?”

I growl, a low, annoyed sound because Rurik has managed to even get the police to believe that I answer to him.

“This has nothing to do with Mr. Mikhailov.”

“What is it you want to tell me, Ms. Pierce? Are you ready to tell me what happened with Nico?”

“I’ve already told you everything I know about that. Which is nothing.” I glance back at the door and walk further into the room. “I’m not talking to you about Nico.”

“Oh? Then what did you want to talk about?” His snobby, condescending tone is as pleasant as freshly manicured nails dragging down a chalkboard.

I take a steady breath. “Marco DeAngelo.”

“And you think this guy can help?” Megan lifts her eyebrows while flashing my own phone at me. “I think you’ve lost your marbles.”

I reach across the small bistro table and grab the device from her.

“Of course I have!” I hiss and glance over at Max and Sergei, who sit three tables over. They’re far enough away they probably can’t overhear us, but I don’t want to take any chances.

“Mira.” Megan grabs my hand. “Nico is the one who dragged you into all of this. Just because it all went sideways after that doesn’t mean it was your fault. You have to stop blamingyourself.”

“You don’t understand. I could have helped him, Mira.” I whisper, ducking my head. “Nico’s dead because of me.”

“What? How?”