Page 62 of Savage Lies

“Security isn’t just about cameras and guards. It’s about patterns, routines, and vulnerabilities that come from daily habits.”

The explanation makes sense, but something in his tone suggests he’s not entirely comfortable with the arrangement. Like hiring outside help goes against his instincts.

Boris appears in the kitchen doorway, looking more alert than usual.

“Boss, the consultant’s here.”

“Already? It’s barely eight.”

“Said he prefers early assessments. Better baseline readings.”

Dmitri checks his watch. “Fine. Bring him up.”

Boris nods and disappears back toward the service elevator, leaving us alone again.

“Eager,” I comment.

“Professional. I can respect that.”

“Or suspicious. Most legitimate consultants keep normal business hours.”

Dmitri gives me a look. “Since when do you profile consultants?”

Since never, apparently. But something about early-morning assessments feels wrong, like a deviation from standard procedure I should recognize.

“Just seems unusual,” I say instead.

“Everything about our situation is unusual.”

Fair point. Normal couples don’t need military-grade security assessments after kidnapping attempts.

Footsteps on the stairs announce Boris’ return, accompanied by a second set that moves just behind him.

The man who enters our kitchen looks unremarkable at first glance. Average height, dark hair, and the kind of build that comes from functional fitness rather than show.

“Pavel Romanov.” His eyes sweep the exits before he takes Dmitri’s hand.

“Consultant?” Dmitri asks.

Pavel’s gaze flicks over the room. “I solve problems before they get loud.”

They shake hands, and I watch Pavel’s posture remain perfect. Not military stiff, but alert in a way that speaks to extensive training.

“This is my wife, Katya.” Dmitri gestures toward me.

Pavel turns, and when our eyes meet, something moves across his face too quickly to interpret. Recognition? Surprise? Whatever it is, he pulls it back and extends his hand.

“Mrs. Kozlov.”

“Mr. Romanov.”

Dmitri moves closer and settles his hand on my lower back in a gesture that feels like he’s marking his territory. The possessive touch sends warmth spreading through me, and I hate how much I like it. I shouldn’t want to be claimed like this, shouldn't crave his ownership. But God help me, I do.

“Pavel tells me he’s dealt with similar situations,” Dmitri continues. “High-value targets, sophisticated threats.”

“What kind of threats?” I ask.

“Organized crime, mostly. Rival families, foreign interests, and occasionally government agencies, when business activities cross certain lines.”