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My mind flashes to the sixteen broken women from three years ago and all the others I’ve left with Sophie over the years. Her therapist’s heart, her inherent goodness, and her husband’s almost limitless resources—make her the perfect place for the women I save.

But Luna? She’s not in trouble. Sheistrouble. The kind a man could die getting into. And death is not a luxury I can afford right now.

“She can’t stay with you.”

“Why not?” Sophie sounds more amused than concerned.

“Because she’s She’s Pascal Romano’s niece, Soph. “

I hear Sophie’s breath catch, almost as if she can still feel Pascal Romano’s hands around her throat.

Three years ago, Pascal Romano killed Nico’s best friend and almost crushed Sophie’s windpipe. Even if Sophie can forgive, I don’t expect Nico would ever let a Romano get within shooting distance of her.

I’m surprised when Sophie says, “I’ve dealt with it, Cade. Besides, this woman isn’t responsible for her uncle’s sins. You can bring her to one of the safe houses. Nico doesn’t get involved with our women—he won’t even know she’s there.”

I huff out a breath, trying to sidestep the real issue. “Her family tree isn’t the only reason she’d be a bad fit.”

“What do you mean?”

I scramble to explain. “She’s . . . difficult. Contradictory. Acts on impulse. Probably borderline unstable.” I pause, searching for more ammunition—more reasons why she can’t stay under my sister’s wing. “Hell, she’d stir up trouble just by walking through the door.”

Sophie’s laugh comes through the line, soft but pointed. “Wow, Special Agent Quinn. You make her sound like a terrorist you’re dying to pin down. She must really be getting under your skin.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to take the bait. Arguing with Sophie when she’s on her psychoanalyst kick is like wrestling with quicksand. “Just get me the clothes.”

She chuckles again. “I’ll have them delivered in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks, Soph.”

There’s a pause, and then she adds, “And Cade?”

I sigh, already anticipating the dig. “What now?”

“Don’t mess this up. I like her.”

I kill the call, but Sophie’s words linger.

Take her to Moscow. With Scar and Kat? Not a fucking chance. Not in a million years.

Back in the living room, I find Luna pacing, her heeled boots clicking a staccato rhythm that echoes my own restlessness. I watch her for a moment, noting the droop in her shoulders and the way her fingers fidget with her pendant. She’s exhausted and scared, even if she’s doing her best to hide it.

She stops mid-step when she sees me. “So. Is anyone following us? I assume that’s what the phone call was about?”

I shake my head. “No trail, but you can’t stay. I leave for Moscow in a couple of hours.”

A flicker of something crosses her face, quickly hidden—but not before I catch it. Another crack in her careful facade.

“I see.” She turns toward the windows to watch a group of kids playing soccer in the street, their laughter and shouts breaking the stillness. “Well, could I borrow your phone, then?”

“Who do you want to call?”

“Uncle Jacques—Oh, wait. I don’t have his number memorized.”

She frowns, thinking it over. “I’ll email him, to pick me up then. You can at least drop me off in Paris on your way can’t you?”

“Sure, I can. We’ll send the email when I get back.”

She whips around to face me. “Get back from where?”