Page 179 of Only for Him

“Birthday?” Teddy reads aloud from the screen.

Dakota swallows:July 19.

For a long second, nothing happens. Dakota’s breathing slows to a stop.

Then.Ping.

ACCESS GRANTED.

Dakota gasps and Teddy punches the air. “Yes! Fucking yes. You just broke a billion-dollar firewall. I could kiss you, but I value my remaining teeth.”

Dakota laughs and sobs at the same time.

“Start logging everything,” Arata says, ever concerned with paper trails. “Every time you get a pop-up, screenshot it.”

Giselle takes a step forward, hope leaking through her guard.

“Should I be scared?” Dakota asks. She seems to be talking to the room at large, but I can tell she’s asking Teddy.

And he responds almost immediately.

“You should be proud,” he says, softly. “You made it this far. Not many people could.”

“That’s not what she asked,” Arata says. “You’ll need protection, Dakota. Do you have a plan?”

I want to speak for her: she’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it. It’s no one’s business but mine, hers, and Giselle’s.

“I haven’t thought about after,” she shrugs, hiding a pain point. “I never do.”

Teddy puts a hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch skin. She doesn’t jump or twitch away, which is nothing short of a fucking miracle.

“I can get you into protection,” he says. “Real protection. New name, new place, all of it. No more Bratva, no more running.”

Something in me roars in protest. What I offer herisreal protection. She’s still here, isn’t she? All in one piece? Better off than she was before I brought her home?

I rescued Dakota. Her life is mine to protect. Itshouldbe mine to protect.

But maybe that’s not entirely true anymore. And maybe, like we discussed long ago, it’s time to take whatshewants into account.

And when I catch Giselle’s eye, I see that she would tell me as much.

Dakota doesn’t reply. She just stares at her hands, breathing in and out, trying to make her body believe in the possibility of escape.

My phone buzzes. I nod at Giselle, then step into the hall.

Afanasy’s voice is dry, brittle. “It’s happening?”

“It’s happening,” I say.

“Men are ready. Weapons, too.”

“Location?”

“Downtown Brooklyn. Pavel’s penthouse.”

He hangs up without goodbye. Best not to speak too long on the phone. Too many ways to trace it or listen in.

My hands shake—not from nerves, but from momentum. Everything’s in motion now. Every piece on the board is moving exactly how we need it to.