Mila.
My jaw locks. Muscle memory from years of violence coils through my shoulders, but this isn’t the cold calculation I’ve relied on. This is something primal. Protective. The kind of instinct I once would have called weakness.
“We draw him out,” Nikolai says finally. “Force an error.”
“How?” one of the lieutenants asks. “He’s been surgical so far.”
Nikolai’s gaze finds mine for a heartbeat before sweeping the table. “We use what he wants most.”
The implication crystallizes before he speaks.
“Mila.”
Blood roars in my ears. Vision tunnels. Images flash unbidden: Mila exposed, vulnerable, Pablo’s predatory focus fixed on her like a scope finding its target.
“No.”
The word tears out of me, sharp enough to cut glass. Every conversation stops. Every eye turns.
“No,” I repeat, steadier but no less absolute. I meet Nikolai’s stare head-on. “Pablo’s too experienced, he’ll smell the trap.”
“We’ll have a full security detail,” Nikolai counters, watching me with interest. “A controlled environment with minimal exposure.”
“And when it goes wrong?” The restraint in my voice cracks slightly. “When he has contingencies you missed? Men in positions you haven’t mapped?”
Igor’s eyes narrow with dawning understanding. “We’ve run ops like this before, Gagarin. Acceptable risk for the potential gain.”
“Not with her.”
The words hit harder than I intended, revealing too much. I catch the recognition flashing across Aleksander’s face, confirmation of what he’s knows already.
I force control back into my breathing. Strategy over instinct. “There are alternatives.” I lean over the maps again, fingers steady despite the storm in my chest. “Movement patterns show Pablo values this lieutenant.” I tap a surveillance photo—scarred face, always present. “Critical personnel. Hit him instead.”
For the next hour, I methodically destroy their plan to use Mila as bait. Tactical alternatives. Weakness assessments. Strategic options that accomplish the objective without placing her in Pablo’s sights. I feel Aleksander’s approval, Igor’s grudging reassessment, Nikolai’s careful neutrality.
When the meeting breaks, Nikolai catches my arm as the others file out.
“Impressive analysis,” he says quietly. “But we both know strategy wasn’t your only motivation.”
I hold his stare. “My concerns were valid.”
“Yes.” He studies me with the patience of a man who’s survived decades in this life. “And so is my observation. You care about her. More than a patient. More than an asset.”
Silence serves as confirmation.
“Be careful, Yakov.” His voice carries the weight of experience, of losses counted and prices paid. “Men like us make attachments dangerous. For everyone involved.”
He leaves me with those words echoing as I navigate the mansion’s halls, seeking the one person who occupies my thoughts even when I’m planning war.
I find Mila in the garden, afternoon light catching the dark silk of her hair as it lifts in the breeze. She’s lost in thought, profile soft against the backdrop of winter roses, and for a moment, I just watch. This woman who slipped past everydefense I’ve built. Who looks at the monster and sees the man beneath without flinching.
She senses me before I make a sound, turning with that small smile that sends heat cascading through my chest.
“How was the meeting?”
“Productive.” I stop just out of reach, close enough to catch her scent, far enough to maintain the illusion of propriety.
“That’s not an answer.” Those sharp eyes catch everything, even when she pretends otherwise.
