I bark out a quiet laugh. “Remind me again who taught you that?”
“My uncle,” she says, matter-of-fact.
“What else did he teach you?”
She smiles politely. “You don’t want to know.”
But damn it, I know.
I glance at her again, really look. “Jesus.”
“What?” She shrugs. “You think I survived this long on soft eyes and polite manners?”
I don’t answer. Mostly because I’m starting to see just how many layers she’s been hiding beneath that careful anger and those tired smiles.
I press the accelerator slightly, changing lanes without signaling, then cut across a small intersection toward a dimly lit street. I want to see if they followthistime.
They do.
“They’re not just following,” I mutter. “They’re tracking.”
Her voice stays steady. “Bratva or someone else?”
I don’t answer right away. My jaw tightens. My thoughts go straight to Dmitry.
No, he can’t possibly be so brazen.
My grip tightens on the wheel. “Whoever they are, they’re about to regret it.”
19
NADYA
“I’m not takingyou to your apartment,” Konstantin says, his voice clipped, eyes locked on the rearview mirror. “That’ll lead them straight to it.”
“Well, thank you, Sherlock,” I snap, even as my pulse kicks up. “So what’s the plan?”
He doesn’t answer. Just grits his jaw like he’s fighting the urge to punch the wheel.
I look behind us. Yep. Still there. Taillights flash every time we switch lanes. Smooth. Subtle. But notsubtle enough.
“Take the next left,” I say suddenly.
He glances at me.
“There’s a place a block from here,” I say quickly. “Kavinsky’s. Corner of Bexley and Third. Good sightlines, two exits, always busy this time of day. We go in like we’re stopping for dinner, and if they follow us, we’ll know for sure.”
He glances at me, just for a second, and there’s a flicker of something like appreciation in his eyes. “You sure you weren’t made for this?”
“Let’s just say motherhood teaches you how to think fast and act faster.”
We don’t speak again until he pulls up outside the restaurant, tires rolling to a smooth stop. It’s small, intimate, bustling just enough to not feel suspicious. As we step out of the car and make our way to the entrance, Konstantin slides in close behind me.
He touches my back the moment we approach the front door. Not guiding.Claiming. His hand spreads warm over my spine, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make it clear we’re not a random pair.
But then his palm starts toslide. Down. Lower.
“Really?” I mutter under my breath, twisting my neck just enough to glare at him. “Now’s the time you decide to cop a feel?”
