Page 23

I frown. “Of course I do. Don’t be dramatic.”
“No, Tara,” Gavriil's voice is soft as he pulls me into an embrace and whispers. “You are carrying a bratva heir, and that is not to be taken lightly. We have enemies everywhere and this baby…” He clears his throat and steps away, releasing me. “Just by being pregnant with it, it potentially puts you in a dangerous line of sight.”
“Which is why I’m the only one who can do this for you and Irina,” I point out. “I know the risk and who you are.” I cup his face in my hand. “If I’m feeling threatened, you’ll be my first call.”
“I hope so,” Gavriil says, his eyes holding mine.
“Now, go home to your wife,” I order as the driver opens the back door of the car for me. “And be hopeful. In two weeks, we’ll know if there is a baby Mirochin on the way.”
As we drive away,, I turn to see Gavriil standing, staring after the car, and the look on his face sends a cold shiver down my spine—he looks like a man who has just thrown a loved one to the wolves. And suddenly the gravity of the situation hits me.
Fuck.
My hand instantly goes to my stomach. Gavriil is right, if anyone finds out about the baby, if the pregnancy takes, I will become a target for all the Mirochin enemies.
8
RUSLAN
Drako Kremlin, Dragunov Village, Russia
The clang of steel and grind of stone drown out everything else. Sweat clings to my back as I hoist the broken slab with two of the men, guiding it into place above the archway. Drako Kremlin rises piece by piece—just as I imagined. Just as I promised.
This fortress was stolen once. It won’t be again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, a sharp vibration against my thigh. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again. Persistent. Relentless.
I pull off my gloves and check the screen.Konstantin.
A cold weight drops into my stomach.
He’s not due to report in for another week.
“Da,” I answer in Russian, stepping out into the cold wind cutting across the coast.
“I couldn’t stop it.” Konstantin’s voice is tight. Regretful.
My jaw locks. “Stop what?”
A pause.
Then: “Gavriil and Tara. They spent the night together at the Diamond Hotel last night.”
Everything inside me stills. The wind, the waves, the fortress behind me—all disappear under a surge of blood pounding in my ears.
My grip on the phone tightens. “Do you have proof?”
Another pause. “Da.” A chime. My phone pings. “I’m sorry, Rus.”
His voice is soft, his words sharp. He knows, without me even having to tell him, that Tara had gotten under my skin after just one night. Even if I refuse to admit it out loud, and try my best to bury it.
I don’t look at the pictures yet. I can’t. Not yet.
“Anything else?” I ask, the words jagged in my throat.
“Yeah.” Konstantin’s tone shifts—careful now. “The day you left Vegas, I made contact with Tara.”
I turn and brace one hand on the cold stone wall of the Kremlin. “And?”