Page 116 of Inked Athena

The way he says it—like I’m some naive child who needs scolding—makes my blood boil. But the iron in his eyes stops my retort cold.

He and Mr. Morris carefully lift the stranger into the ATV’s cargo bed. The unconscious man flops like a rag doll, head lolling against the metal rim.

“He said no clinics.” I wrap my arms around my belly, the baby kicking as if sensing the tension. “He was adamant about only talking to you.”

“Of course he was.”

“You know him?” I step closer, but Sam’s sharp look pins me in place.

“Yes.” He wipes his muddy, bloody hand on his slacks. “We need to get him to the castle immediately. Mr. Morris?—”

“Already messaging the doctor, sir.”

“Good.” Sam’s shoulders bunch with tension as he scans the darkening lane. “I need to check the perimeter, see how he got here. Nova—” He turns to me, expression softening fractionally. “Go back with Mr. Morris. Find Myles. Stay with him until I return.”

“But—”

“No arguments.” His thumb brushes my cheek, the gesture at odds with his commanding tone. “And don’t call the police. Under any circumstances.”

Thunder cracks overhead as Sam strides off into the gathering gloom, leaving me with more questions than answers. The stranger moans from the cargo bed, muttering something I can’t decipher.

Mr. Morris guns the ATV’s engine. “Coming, Mrs. Nova?”

I climb on behind him, my engagement ring catching the last rays of sunlight. The gold band feels heavier than usual, weighted with the mud of the trail, the blood of a stranger, and secrets I’m not sure I want to know.

Mr. Morris guns the engine and we shoot off down the path toward the castle. I take one last look over my shoulder as we go. Samuil is a shadow amongst shadows.

Then the darkness swallows the last of him.

40

SAMUIL

The trail cuts through dense pines, their branches swaying in the wind like dark sentinels. My feet know this path—every rock, every dip, every spot where a sniper could perch. I’ve mapped these grounds obsessively since bringing Nova here.

And now, there’s a new guest joining us.

Angelo fucking Boyko. Of all the poor bastards to stumble onto my land, it had to be the one who’s been tracking my family for a decade.

Last time I saw him, he was trying to flip me against the Andropovs in a Chicago steakhouse.“Your father’s methods are outdated,”he’d said, sliding onto the barstool next to mine at Gibson’s.“The world is changing. The old ways of doing business won’t protect you forever. I can offer you a way out.”

Now, he shows up here, beaten half to death, right after Kat and Ilya’s latest attack decimated my holdings.

The timing’s too perfect. Ilya’s recent strike, Katerina’s disappearance, and now, a battered FBI operative materializingon my doorstep? The universe doesn’t hand out coincidences like party favors.

There’s a bloody line connecting these dots.

Boyko was wrong about one thing, though: the old ways are theonlything that will protect what matters. Nova, our unborn child, Myles and Hope and Serena and the dogs—all those lives depend on me reverting into what my father raised me to be.

Cold. Fucking. Blooded.

My phone buzzes. Myles confirms they’ve got Boyko settled in the east wing’s secure room. A doctor’s en route.

Nova’s with them, too, which simultaneously relieves and irritates me. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this mess. But trying to keep her away is fucking impossible. It’s a miracle she agreed to go back to the castle at all.

I pause at the edge of the tree line, scanning the rocky hills beyond the castle. Someone chased Boyko here. Had to. The question is whether they wanted me to find him—and why.

The Andropovs could be using him as bait, or maybe the feds are finally ready to make their big move against the Russian mob families in Chicago.

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