Chapter 148 148

Chapter 148 148
The kitchen’s warmth hits me as soon as I push through the door. Nova sits at the worn wooden table with Serena and Mrs. Morris, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs. The air smells like fresh-baked bread and worry.

Mrs. Morris jumps up. “Here now, you must be starving.” She slides a plate of shepherd’s pie in front of me. “Eat while it’s hot.”

I force myself to take a bite, but the rich flavors turn bland on my tongue. Nova’s eyes track my every movement, reading between the lines of what I’m not saying.

“The perimeter’s secure,” I tell them, trying to project calm authority. “Our guest came alone, and he’ll get the medical attention he needs. My team’s investigating how he ended up here.”

Serena and Mrs. Morris exchange relieved glances. Nova’s jaw tightens—she sees right through my carefully constructed reassurance.

“I should check on him,” she announces, pushing back from the table.

“Stay.” The word comes out sharper than intended. I soften my tone. “Please. Let the doctor handle it.”

She settles back, but her eyes promise this conversation isn’t over.

The kitchen door swings open and Myles’s expression tells me everything I need to know before he opens his mouth. “Doc’s here. Wants a word.”

Nova pushes her chair back, but I rest my hand on her shoulder. “Stay. I’ll fill you in soon.”

Her eyes narrow. She hates being left out, but right now, ignorance might save her life. Serena—bless her heart—asks Nova to help her brew more tea.

Nova’s shoulders slump in resignation. “Alright, Grams. Lead the way.”

With her occupied—for now—I follow Myles down the stone corridor to where the doctor waits, his lined face grim in the lamplight.

His Scottish brogue is thick as he outlines Boyko’s condition: “Concussion. Heavy bruising. No broken bones, but we’ll need to monitor for internal injuries.” He pauses. “He should be in hospital.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Myles will see you out.” I slip him an envelope thick with cash. Sometimes, the old ways are still the best ways.

The sitting room is dim when I enter, lit only by a brass lamp that casts long shadows across Boyko’s battered face. His eyes flutter open as I approach—sharp and alert despite the beating he’s taken.

Good. I need him coherent.

I pour water from a crystal decanter and hold it out. “Drink.”

He takes the glass with trembling hands but manages not to spill. His body may be battered, but the steady way he watches me over the rim tells me his mind’s clear enough for what comes next.

“Talk.” I settle into the leather armchair across from him. “Why are you really here?”

His split lip curves into something between a grimace and a smile. “Because your brother just made a deal with the devil, and I’m the only one who can help you stop him.”

I wave a hand. “Say more.”

Boyko leans forward, wincing with the motion. “Ilya brokered a formal deal with the Andropovs last week. Not just a friendly chat—we’re talking full alliance. Military-grade weapons. Black market tech. The works.” He takes another sip of water. “Chicago is imploding in your absence, and your brother’s positioning himself to fill the power vacuum.”

I keep my face blank, but my mind races. Katerina and Ilya have been flirting with the Andropovs for years. If they finally signed on the dotted line, does that mean my father approved? Does that mean they’re coming for the whole Bratva…

… or just for me?

“We’ve been building a case against the Chicago syndicates for damn near a decade now.” Boyko’s voice drops lower. “Your brother just handed us almost everything we need. But you—” He jabs a finger at me. “You’ve got the final key to bringing it all down. Those surveillance records you keep? The data you’ve collected on every rival family? That’s our smoking gun.”

“And in return for my cooperation?”

“Full immunity. Witness protection for you and your family. A clean slate.” He leans back, studying me. “Your father’s on his way out and you know it. The old alliances are crumbling. You really want to raise your kid in this world, Samuil?”

Nova’s face flashes through my mind—the way she looked at our ultrasound, full of hope and fear. The way she touches her growing belly when she thinks I’m not watching.

The way she looked at me when I lashed out at her earlier today.

Which Nova do I want?

Which future can I have?

“Think about it,” Boyko continues. “One decision. That’s all it takes to give your family a different life. A safe life.”

A different life.

A safe life.

If only it were that simple.

But there’s no such fucking thing, is there? Every time I delude myself into thinking there might be, my father or my brother or my ex-wife come barreling in to fuck it all up again. And now, here is a federal goddamn agent, bleeding on my sofa and telling me he’s the one who can fix it for me.

Yeah fucking right.

I didn’t believe him the first time he offered me this bullshit deal, either. The Chicago steakhouse’s mahogany walls blur in my memory, replaced by sand and surf and an unruly Great Dane. Boyko’s words now are a precise echo of the ones he spoke to me that day—right before Rufus knocked me into Lake Michigan.

I’d been so furious then. At the dog, at the situation, at this fed’s presumption. But mostly at myself, for feeling that flicker of temptation.

A different life. A safe life. Right there for the taking.

A clean slate had seemed possible back then, before I truly understood what I was protecting.

Now?

Now, I know better.

A laugh escapes me now, harsh in the dim room. “The devil you know beats the devil you don’t.” I pour myself two fingers of scotch, not offering any to my guest. “Your agency can’t protect my family from what would come after. The moment you dismantle the current power structure, every ambitious piece of shit with a gun and a grudge will start a war. And they’d come for mine first.”

Boyko’s shoulders slump. “We can hide you⁠—”

“Like you hid the Gambinos? The Gottis?” I knock back the scotch. “Don’t let your mouth write checks that neither your badge nor your team nor your whole fucking agency has the balls to cash. You can’t do a single thing you’re promising me, Agent Boyko. So don’t waste your breath lying and saying that you can.” I set the empty glass down. “Stay here and recover. You’ll be treated as a guest, given medical care, good food. But don’t mistake my hospitality for weakness. And don’t insult me by voicing that offer ever again.”

He nods slowly. The fire illuminates his cheeks but casts the pits of his hollow eyes in shadow. “Your father would be proud.”