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“But then he met Nadia and fell deeply in love with her. She was his sun, moon, and air. Their love was fiery and passionate—until it wasn’t. She wanted either to leave him or have a baby. And since divorce wasn’t something my father agreed with, and we needed an heir, the baby was the only option.

“Our father sat me down, discussed it, bought me a house, and booked the appointment for intrauterine insemination. It took two tries, but Nadia got pregnant. We all sort of hoped once my brother was a father, he would become more attached to his wife. More faithful. But, no. Ian wasn’t his. He was kind enough to Ian, played with him, read him books, but family was never a priority for Damian.

“Three years ago, Nadia was diagnosed with cancer. Surely this would change his perspective, and he would see the value in family. Instead, he sank deeper into the business and distanced himself from his wife and child. He and Svetlana started their affair around that time. The two of them made me sick, and I stopped caring about Svetlana or who she fucked—it just wasn’t going to be me.”

Well, that explains a lot.

He continues. “So I stepped in. The more my brother withdrew from Ian, the closer I became. He’s mine through DNA, but not on paper, and my brother has held it over me for years.” Dimitri stares at me, wide-eyed, an ache in his voice. “Katya, who did you call to save my son? Can we trust her?”

My mind spins with possible answers. I have no real evidence Alana King will come through and save Ian. It’s a gut feeling. I don’t know who I can trust inside the agency. We need someone on the outside with skills, but is Alana the right call? I’m not sure. She’s young, with little known experience. “I think so.” But I don’t know if Dimitri even trusts me, so how can I expect him to put his fate—and his family—in the hands of a total stranger?

Any second now, he’s going to demand to leave this room, buzzing with too much pent-up energy. But instead, he crawls back in bed and pats the pillow for me to join him. He rolls onto his good shoulder and spoons me. His head nestles in my hair as the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest presses against my back.

“Thank you, Katya.”

As he sleeps, I go to the lobby to grab food and return to the hotel room. He doesn’t move when I come back in. His massive frame is totally still. I panic—he’s dead.

I rush to the bed, but his chest moves in a slow, steady fashion. I almost cry, I’m so filled with relief. I really do love him. This isn’t some crush or misplaced emotion. I love him.

And he’s in danger.

Can I pick him over my duties? Over my country? Is there a way I can have both, or is that being too greedy?

I roll through the order of events, trying to figure out who I can trust, who is the mole, and why I was left alive. Was it a coincidence because I was supposed to be killed at the house? Or did they assume I was killed at the office? How deep does this go?

Our intel was wrong from the beginning, and the purple flames at the house have to mean something.

Big picture: First, we were sent here for guns and drugs because intel said the family was sending them to America. Two weeks of recon told us that was wrong. But they didn’t pull us, either. More information was fed to us from an anonymous but reliable source. Fifty percent of the information was correct, but we chose to go down the wrong path most of the time. We spent years on wild goose chases, dead ends, and misdirections.

Like my gut says I can trust Alana, my gut said Dimitri is a great guy. And now my gut screams there’s something much bigger going on.

After dinner, some distraction from reality, sex, and snuggles, my burner gets a text message.

Unknown: ETA at the house 10 hrs, approx. 3 am. Rescue 1 hour. Helsinki eta 5 am.

I send a message in the Reddit thread to Markus. He has twelve hours to get to Helsinki.

“Dimitri, in twelve hours, you can start your new life—with your cousin, son, and Nadia in tow.”

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. “You too.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

Dimitri

A very satisfied Katya snores quietly, more like a kitten purring. Do otters snore? If they do, then this is how they would sound.

Next to her, I’m buzzing with nervous energy. I can’t sleep, but I don’t want to leave this space we’ve created together. Waiting for what happens next feels impossible as I stare at the clock, willing each minute to go by. At two forty-five, I nudge Katya awake.

She rubs her eyes and does some spy shit with my brother’s phone. We’re watching a live feed of the house, switching from camera to camera. Mikhail isn’t in the house, and he doesn’t seem to be on the property either. One of my brother’s cars is missing from the garage, so it’s safe to say I know who took it. There’s a guy with a blowtorch still trying to get into the room. The walls are all singed, metal cylinders of what I assume are empty acetylene canisters lie scattered around the hall. Another guy is sleeping on the couch, while two others are doing patrol.

But I know this operation. One message will trigger a landslide of hell from Mikhail’s loyal men to come storming in.

“The security sensors were already cut off hours ago,” Katya says in a sleepy voice. Is she talking to me? Nope she’s on the phone.

The woman’s voice says, “It’s a three-person team. Lance and I are going to bring the kid and mother to Helsinki, but my other companion has business in Russia. He wants transportation as payment.”