“I’m not lovesick,” I growl.
“Then explain the romantic getaway while the empire burns.”
Because what started as revenge is bleeding me dry. And it's costing me everything I built.
“It’s temporary.”
“How temporary? At this rate, nothing will be left. You need to choose: the woman or the empire three generations bled for.”
“I’ll handle it.”
I kill the call. Pavel and Katya wait by the house, both more alert than they were when I left them.
“Everything alright?” Katya studies my face.
“Business complication. Nothing urgent.”
I take the porch, watching. Distance gives me the perspective I’ve been missing.
The way they move around each other sets my teeth on edge. Not romantic, though. Professional.
She straightens like a recruit before a commander. Tracks his every gesture. Disciplined. Submissive. Not my Katya.
Pavel flashes something on his tablet. Katya freezes.
Whatever it was made her go still. She stares for several seconds, then her hand drifts to her wrist, where she starts tracing that crescent moon tattoo.
She flicks her gaze Pavel’s way, then locks on me, and my heart stops. For the first time since the hospital, I’m not seeing my wife. I’m staring at Alexandra Volkova.
23
Katya
Pavel snaps his notebook shut, and my spine straightens before I can stop it.
“Mrs. Kozlov, I need to assess your vulnerability to potential security threats.” Pavel takes the chair across from me on the porch. Something in his posture displays authority; I’ve wanted to salute the man since he arrived. “Your husband’s business attracts attention from people who might target family members.”
Dmitri drops into the seat beside me and rests his hand on my thigh. His thumb brushes against the inside seam of my jeans, and the contact sends heat sliding up to settle between my legs even as my brain tries to focus on Pavel’s words.
“What kind of targeting?” I ask.
“Well, kidnapping, as you’ve already seen. Extortion. Sometimes recruitment if they think you have access to useful information.” Pavel pulls out a pen and clicks it open. “Has anyone contacted you claiming to be from your former workplace?”
I blink a few times and respond, “No. Should they have?”
“It wouldn’t be that unusual for coworkers to want to check in on you,” he points out. “Someone might attempt to reconnect during your recovery period.”
Dmitri’s fingers tighten on my leg, and without thinking, I rest my palm on the top of his hand. “No one from the gallery has made contact,” he tells Pavel. “I’ve made sure of that.”
“Good. Such contact could destabilize someone in Mrs. Kozlov’s condition.” Pavel makes a note in his book. “Now, I’d like to test your current awareness levels. Can you describe what you observe about this property from a security perspective?”
The request should confuse me, but instead, my brain kicks into analytical mode without conscious direction. I squint and look out at the property, noting details that shouldn’t matter but somehow do.
“Single road in and out. Woods give cover but kill the sight lines. Too many windows for snipers, and the backup generator’s an easy target.”
Pavel’s pen stops moving across the page, and Dmitri whips his head to look at me.
“Mrs. Kozlov, have you noticed any unusual physical responses since your accident? Automatic behaviors that seem to come from nowhere?”
