Page 190 of Silenced

May your death be painful and may your loved ones suffer in your stead.

50

CASSIE

Dmitri outlives Harvey.

Boris said he stopped hearing my ex’s strangled cries an hour after we left him outside the enclosure, but Harvey’s death is a blip on the horizon in comparison to Dmitri’s status.

He doesn’t die, but he’s still in a medically induced coma.

I’m hoping it’s one of those daytime TV comas because, in the coming week, Nikolai’s devastation is heartbreaking to watch.

He’s quiet—and trust me, for a mute, that’s saying something.

He’s somber—more than before.

The only consolation is that I figured he’d pull away, but he hasn’t.

Of course, the consolation comes with the caveat that he’s more obsessive than before. Something to do with a note from Moscow.

The relief is unreal when they start to bring Dmitri out of the coma. Before he wakes up properly, however, the Krestniy Otets puts a wrench in our plans by sending two men to off Maxim while he’s still in a hospital bed.

That’s why we’re heading to New York two days later.

Dmitri is okay—quiet, not speaking, battered, bruised, covered in bandages, but alive.

Thank fuck.

As a result, Nikolai feels he can leave Miami to handle the situation in New York.

I’m included in the ‘fun’ because unless Nikolai’s got his eyes on me, he’s not happy.

Which is how I learned there are cameras in our bedroom.

Now,I’mnot happy.

Since I refuse to talk to him, it’s been an awkward flight.

It also made me miss Dmitri because I’ve just started to realize how great of a go-between he was with a skill for breaking the ice and smoothing over sour situations.

And creating sour situations is a grade-A skill of my man.

No wonder Nikolai gained as much power as he did the last couple years—good cop, bad cop. Tried and tested. Dmitri was there to smooth over the path that Nikolai demolished and together, they ruled Florida’s underworld.

I dread to think what could have happened if Dmitrihadbeen lost to us.

With only twenty minutes remaining in the flight, Nikolai rubs his nose against my throat.

I sniff then tilt my face away.

“Solnyshko,” he rumbles, that broken voice of his less gravelly than usual because he’s had to start talking thanks to his many fractures and Dmitri’s absence.

Not that he says a lot.

But for Niko, it’s the equivalent of a sermon.

“What?”

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