Page 118 of Stolen Seconds

His sigh was audible as he peered out the window. “Okay, Luca.”

“You don’t believe me either.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His tone was sharp, as if the controlled barrier he’d presented to everyone was shattering piece by piece.

He was young when Roman brought him in and sometimes it was hard to not see him as a child anymore

“Itdoesmatter.” He’d conditioned himself to always be composed, and he could only keep up the charade for so long before he broke. “You’re allowed to be angry.”

“Angry would mean I left with Irina that first time she asked me to and avoided the attack. Angry would mean I stopped you and her from getting shot.Angrywould mean I could stop. . .”

“Stop what, Nico?”

He rested his head back, peering out the window. “Nothing. Turn left here.”

The conversation died down after that, and my nerves were too strung out to continue it.

After driving up an empty road for an unnecessary amount of time, we were met with a large metal gate at the end.

There were four men dressed in combat standing guard, two on either side.

“You can’t even see anything beyond the gates,”Nicolai said, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger. “How massive is this place?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” I opened the door and stepped out of the car.

Nico followed after me, his blond hair striking against the sun. “Maybe if we had security this extensive, they wouldn’t have been able to ambush us.”

“Did you just make a joke?”

He shrugged, walking down the gravel road.

The situation was dire, yet a grin peaked through at his less than amusing comment. I shook my head and walked beside him.

We hadn’t even reached the gates when the guards pointed their rifles at us.“Dostatochno blizko,”said one. It was hard to differentiate between them when their build was the same.

“I’m here to see Ivan Morozov.” I could’ve easily spoken to him in Russian, but if they were ignorant to my knowledge of the language, I could use it as an advantage.

They laughed among each other before another asked, “And who is asking?” His accent was as thick as my urge to rip them to shreds for wasting more time.

“His son.” My gaze snapped to Nico, shocked by his admission. “Tell Ivan that Nicolai is here to see him.”

The air stilled with a brewing intensity, the tension stretching thin under the weight of his words.

Even the guards’ smiles faded.

One of them turned away from us, speaking quietly into his headpiece. After a moment, they all took their stance again, staring ahead.

Nicolai and I glanced at each other, confused by the oddity.

The sound of an engine could be heard in the distance, increasing as it came closer before a car neared the gates from the opposite side.

A second later, Ivan Morozov stepped out of the vehicle. The last I encountered him, I’d hardly taken a glance at him before he struck a bullet in me.

His face was sharp yet rough around the edges, as if he’d seen things in his time that no one should. When he strode toward us, the gates opened in his favor, allowing him to pass through.

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