Page 165 of Silenced

I believe that is us.

“If you want only the truth between us,” she retorts, tipping her chin up. “…don’t make a liar out of yourself.”

With a final kiss to her knuckles, a silent promise bestowed, I grab Igor by the shirt on my way to the door and drag him up front.

When we’re by the cockpit, I release my hold on him and sign, “You don’t let anyone board. If they try to, you get the pilot to fly away. Understood?”

“Da,Pakhan.”

“The minute I’m on the ground, have Dominik taxi the jet to the hangar. I want it to be far from any potential gunfire.”

“Da,” he agrees, though his eyes light up with inquiry at my order. “You expect gunfire?”

My mouth tightens as I sign, “Whatever his reasons for being here, I won’t be leaving with Turgenev no matter how prettily he asks. It’s unlikely there won’t be some attempts at coercion.” When he nods his understanding, I continue, “If we’re not back in thirty-six hours, you return to the US. Understood?”

He tenses. “We, Pakhan?”

“Maxim, Misha, and I. If I’m not with them, take their orders as if they’re from me.”

He nods again but doesn’t look happy about it.

That makes two of us.

“Whatever you do, you keep her safe. Take her to Savannah O’Donnelly—the wife of the Irish Mob leader in New York.”

He gapes at me. “The Irish—?”

“Da. The Irish. I’m trusting you, Igor. You, Semion, Viktor, and Sergei.” Her guards. “Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, Pakhan. I swear.” He takes ahold of my shoulder before I can leave. “Can’t I go with you? I’m better at your side than as a babysitter.”

“Anything happens to her, Moskva will burn, Igor. It’s in everyone’s best interests that she’s safe.”

Though he sighs, he stares at Cassiopeia who’s watching us.

“Are you going to marry her?”

I don’t have to answer, but it’s important that he understands. “When Boris gets his fucking act together and finds her prick of an ex, yes.”

He grabs my hand, shakes it, and that’s me done.

I head to the door and run down the steps.

Behind me, the plane starts to taxi away and I release a relieved breath, knowing that no matter what happens, Cassiopeia is out of danger.

Dressed in fur to combat the frigid temperatures, Fyodor Turgenev might look like a wrapped-up teddy bear, but the only similarity is that he’s got a rep for mauling enemies.

And sons.

When I move over to him, the car that was waiting for me flashes its headlights. I raise a hand to my friend, Luka, the driver, and turn to Turgenev.

He sneers at me. “The Krestniy Otets wants to see you.”

It’s hard, so fucking hard, but I know he’ll refuse to understand sign language so I have no choice but to rumble, “It’ll have to wait.”

My throat clutches once the words are out. The strain is unreal.

Turgenev chuckles. “The Krestniy Otets waits for no man.”

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