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“Done,” Markus says, and the line goes dead.

I place my hand over Dimitri’s. “You okay?”

“Hmm.” He stares at my hand before looking at me. “Did you know about Svetlana?”

“I knew she was cheating on you and that neither of you were happy. But I never thought she would betray your family.”

He says nothing, and we sit in silence until his coffee and porridge are cold.

Chapter

Sixteen

Dimitri

My head is a swirl of a million emotions, and they all come back to her. Hatred, confusion, gratitude, heartbreak, and the most painful of all—hope.

We leave the coffee shop and wander around the town. But there’s one place no one would expect a disgraced Bratva and a spy to go—a family-friendly tourist area.

Katya takes control again. She finds us a hotel, sweet-talks the clerk, and gets us a room. I’m exhausted, my body hurts, and I don’t know how much more I can take.

She taps the key card to unlock the door, and sweeps the room, doing some spy shit, while I rest my head against the wall and count my blessings. Uri and I are alive, I have enough Euros to start over and live comfortably wherever I want for years. I don’t have to spend the rest of my life with Svetlana, nor do I need to feel any guilt about her death. And I have Katya to thank for all of it.

She pops her head out of the room. “Good news, bad news.”

Seriously? How much good and bad news can I get?

She’s all smiles. “Good news, it’s safe. No clear eyelines to get shot—yay!” She waves little invisible pom-poms. “Bad news…”

She steps out of the way, and I see the single queen-size bed.

Fuck.

She stares at it. “I can call the front desk and see if we can get a different room.”

I resign myself to my fate. The universe wants me indebted to this woman, connected to her, and with her, no matter how much it confuses me. “It’s fine.”

She motions to the bathroom and grabs her bag. “I’m going to take a shower and wash off the last twelve hours.” She steps inside and locks the door.

It’s the time that hits me. My father gave me forty-eight hours to get my future in order, and now that’s shattered, leaving me with no other option than to forge a life I never could have imagined. I don’t know what my next move should be. I’m frozen with indecision, but all the answers lead back to her.

The shower turns on, and she yelps. “Why can’t there be one fucking standard for water? Why does every hotel shower have to be a fucking IQ test?”

The snort leaves my nose and mouth at the same time. How is she doing it? Staying positive and level-headed in the midst of chaos and violence. She flows like water. She really is an otter.

Who am I if I’m not the son of the Bratva? Could I just run a club? Actually care about its success and not constantly fear being caught in a lie or crime? Could I have a boring life—nice and quiet? How long before I ruin it for a little adventure and chaos, the kind I’m used to?

But clearly, I didn’t thrive on it.

What about Katya? Does she fit into the equation? Is this just a job to her? Is any of this real? What will she do once she gets to the embassy with Markus, and I have Uri? Will we part ways,or will we head down the same path? Does she want a boring, normal life? Does she want it with me?

Maybe I should tell her I’m not planning on hurting her anymore.

The room is small, standard for a European hotel, the closed blinds only letting slivers of light through the dark space. I hear sounds from behind the shower door. At first, they’re quiet squeaks, like she’s stifling tears. Should I go in there? Hold her and tell her it’s okay when we both know it isn’t? I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle my own issues, let alone hers. No. She’s a big girl, she’ll come out when she’s ready.

Sitting on the bed, I stretch, reaching for a pillow, and pain sears through my shoulder. Yep, I tore open my stitches. Taking off my shirt without getting blood everywhere is an exercise in precision and contortion. There’s a box of tissues near the bed, and I press the paper cotton to my wound. Katya has the medical kit in her bag.

My go-bag has three changes of clothes, enough Euros to comfortably start a new life, five fake IDs, and condoms—but no med kit. Of course not.