Page 133 of Inked Athena

“Hello, little mouse.”

45

NOVA

Three heartbeats. That’s how long it takes between Sam appearing in the doorway and Katerina realizing she’s lost.

I count them against the pulse of our baby.

One.

Sam fills the frame, his Sig Sauer trained on Katerina’s head. The bathroom’s fluorescent lights catch the sweat in his beard. Like a net of diamonds.

Two.

Dark-suited men materialize behind him. Shadows given form. They move like they’ve done this countless times before. In the span of a breath, they’ve surrounded us.

Three.

Katerina’s gun hand trembles against my temple. Her perfume carries notes of desperation now.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” she hisses, pressing closer to use me as a shield. My shoulder blades dig into her chest, and I feel her rapid breathing. “Your men were supposed to be?—”

“Dead?” Sam interrupts. “Like the ones you and my brother bombed?”

Myles groans from his spot on the floor, trying to push himself up despite the blood seeping through his dress shirt. I want to help him, but Katerina’s grip tightens.

“Stay down,” I whisper to him.

Sam hasn’t moved. That gun stays fixated on Katerina where her face bobs over my shoulder. I see that face reflected in the thousand pieces of broken mirror that litter the floor around us. A murky, indistinct version of it floats in the pool of Myles’s blood, too.

She looks terrified in every single one.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a contingency plan for my father’s funeral?” continues Sam. “You thought I’d leave this all to chance? Totradition?”

More shadows join the first crew. The difference is that, whereas Samuil’s men are clad head to toe in black, these men have three letters stamped on the front of their riot gear in bright, undeniable white.

FBI.

And bringing up the rear is a face I recognize—although the last time I saw it, it was beaten into a pulp.

Angelo Boyko.

My throat constricts as it all comes together, so blindingly obvious that I can’t believe it took me this long to see it. All those times I pleaded with Sam to work with law enforcement, he was already ten steps ahead. The arguments, his cold dismissals, the way he kicked me from the war room—it was theater. A performance to keep everyone, even me, in the dark.

“Drop it, Ms. Alekseeva,” Angelo barks, his own weapon joining the bristling arsenal aimed at Katerina. “You’re surrounded by two tactical teams, and there’s nowhere left to run.”

Katerina’s laugh splinters against my ear. “You think I care about running?” The gun digs deeper into my temple. “Your precious FBI can’t protect you from what’s coming, Samuil. Ilya’s already?—”

“Being taken into custody as we speak.” Angelo’s voice booms with the finality of a coffin lid closing. “Along with the Andropov leadership. Simultaneous raids across three continents. Game over.”

I meet Sam’s gaze through the forest of weapons. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure, like they did the first day we met. When an unruly Great Dane brought chaos to both our lives.

The gun at my temple suddenly feels lighter. Katerina’s grip loosens, her breath hitching.

“You planned this,” she whispers in horror as she comes to the same realization I just did. “All of it. The funeral. The attacks. Youwantedus to think we had you cornered.”

Sam’s lip curls. “I learned from the best, didn’t I? You taught me everything about playing the long game when you married me.”

---