Page 116 of 10 Days to Surrender

“You should sleep,” he murmurs.

“So should you.” I nestle deeper into the pillow, pulling his shirt tighter around me. “Big day of mobster stuff tomorrow.”

His lips quirk. “Something like that.”

“You know what I mean.” I yawn, unable to fight the post-orgasmic drowsiness anymore. “Just… be careful, okay?”

The twins shift inside me, settling down for the night. I place my palm over the spot where Thing 2 just kicked. Through the screen, I see Sasha’s eyes track the movement.

“I wish you could feel them,” I whisper. “They’re so active tonight.”

“Soon.” His voice is rough, strangled. “I’ll be home soon.”

The wordhomecatches in my chest. I don’t have to ask where exactlyhomeis anymore. I know what he’s say:It’s wherever we are together.

My eyelids grow heavier with each blink. Sasha’s face blurs at the edges, but I fight to keep looking at him. I’m afraid that, if I close my eyes, he’ll disappear forever, washed away like chalk drawings in the rain.

“Sleep,” he says again, softer this time. “I’ll stay on until you do.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

His face is the last thing I see as consciousness starts to slip away—those blue eyes watching over me, protective even through thousands of miles of digital distance.

Just before sleep claims me completely, I hear him whisper something. The words float through my mind like dandelion seeds, too delicate to grasp fully.

“Marry me,ptichka.”

But I’m already drifting off, unable to tell if it’s real or just another dream about the future I want so desperately with him.

That’s okay. If he means it, he’ll ask me again when he’s home.

44

SASHA

The Glock’s slide snicks in place. Full metal symphony.

Feliks peers through the nicotine-yellow blinds of the office we’re squatting in, looking for anything abnormal in the streets below. “I hope it’s true what they say about God loving drunks and idiots,” he mumbles. “Because this plan is crazy.”

I toss him a flask of bourbon from the desk. “Just in case, take a sip. Check off both boxes.”

He laughs and throws back a nip of the liquor, then passes it around. Viktor, Roza, and Ilya all follow suit. When it gets back to me, I cap it and set it aside. I don’t need liquor. Not for bravery or luck.

I have all the things that matter going for me already.

Ariel’s hair tie sits pink around my wrist. It’s hilariously out of place with my black tactical gear and the many weapons littering the surface of the desk, but somehow, it’s the piece that ties it all together.

I told her I’d come back to her.

I fucking meant it.

Today is how we make that happen.

The old leather chair creaks as I lean back, watching Roza’s pirated surveillance feeds flicker across my monitors. Dragan’s men scurry like ants between Red Hook warehouses and Midtown penthouses glittering like diamond-encrusted tumors. They’re predictable in their patterns. Stupid in their confidence.

“Alright. Last checks time. Timeline’s set,” Feliks announces, spreading a map across my desk. Red dots mark our targets: gambling dens, warehouses, front businesses. All the pillars holding up Dragan’s empire. “Viktor’s men are in position at the docks, with the Albanians in place as extra muscle. Roza’s ready to scramble their communications. I’ve got the Triad on the casinos, two Bratva teams on the drug packaging facilities, and two more groups of the meanest Russian bastards you’ve ever met ready to bust up every weapons storage depot Dragan has to his name. Plus, thanks to your boy Kosti, every remaining loyal Greek is armed to the teeth and waiting to be rerouted to wherever we need them. All ready to move at the stroke of midnight.”

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