Page 111 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

I nod, relief washing through me. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Seaver.”

Mikhail turns back to the agents. “Gentlemen, I suggest we take this conversation away from the patient care area. Perhaps the cafeteria?”

Miller looks like he wants to argue, but Torres nods. “That’s reasonable.”

“Mrs. Antonova will not be joining us,” Mikhail adds. “She’s already provided her statement to local authorities, and she needs to remain with her husband.”

“We have additional questions,” says Miller.

“Which can be addressed in a formal interview at a later date, with proper notice and my presence,” Mikhail says smoothly. “I’m happy to schedule that now, if you’d like.”

The agents exchange glances. Finally, Torres nods. “Fine. Three days from now, at our field office in Baltimore.”

“I’ll check my client’s availability and confirm. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need a moment with Mrs. Antonova before we continue our discussion.”

The agents reluctantly move toward the elevator, Miller throwing one last glare in my direction.

Once they’re out of earshot, Mikhail turns to me. “Are you all right, Mrs. Antonova?”

“Yes,” I say, though my hands are shaking slightly. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Anton called me as soon as he spotted them.” Mikhail glances toward Damir’s room. “How is he?”

“Improving. Still weak but stable.” I glance at the agents near the elevators. “They’re not going to give up, are they?”

“No, but they don’t have much. If they did, they’d have warrants, not just questions.”

Anton approaches, his expression grim. “They’ve been asking around the hospital since yesterday. Trying to get information from the staff.”

“Has anyone talked?” I ask.

“Not that we know of. Most of the staff here are loyal to the doctor who treated Damir, and he’s connected to some of our associates in Baltimore.”

Mikhail nods. “I’ll handle the agents. You should get back to Damir.”

“What will you tell them?” I ask.

“Very little,” he says with a slight smile. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

I glance between the two men. “You knew they’d come, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here.”

Mikhail adjusts his cufflinks. “I’ve been staying at a hotel nearby since you arrived at this hospital. It was only a matter of time before the FBI tracked you here. The shooting at Sokolov’s property was too high-profile to ignore.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I ask, looking at Anton.

Anton shrugs. “I didn’t want you worried about anything except Damir’s recovery and taking care of yourself.”

I shake my head, exasperated but not surprised. “I should get back to him. He’ll be wondering what’s happening.”

“I’ll deal with our friends from the Bureau,” says Mikhail. “And I’ll brief you both afterward.”

I nod my thanks and return to Damir’s room. He’s fully awake now, his expression alert despite the pain medication.

“The FBI?” he asks immediately.

“Yes. Torres and Miller.” I sit on the edge of his bed, taking his hand. “They wanted to question you about Nikolai.”

Damir’s jaw tightens. “They can’t touch you with Mikhail here.”

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