"And the others?"
"Ronnie's got most of them. But Ivan's got his people. When you show up, there's going to be a reckoning."
In my world, absence doesn't create loyalty. It creates opportunity.
The miles pass in silence after that. We switch off driving every few hours, and I watch Lena sleep in the rearview mirror during my shifts behind the wheel. She curls into herself, knees drawn up, and even in sleep she looks guarded.
By the time afternoon hits on the second day, the city skyline appears on the horizon, concrete and steel rising up like gravestones marking my territory. My empire. The place where I'm either king or corpse.
"Twenty minutes to the safe house," Danil says.
I nod, already feeling the shift happening inside me. The man from the cabin, the one who made her breakfast and held her while she slept, that man is dying. Has to die. Because he's a weakness I can't afford.
Lena wakes as we exit the highway. She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and her sweater rides up enough that I catch a glimpse of smooth skin at her waist. My hands have mapped every inch of that body. I know exactly how she tastes.
"Where are we?" Her voice is rough with sleep. Sexy.
"Almost there," I say without turning around.
"Where's there?"
"Safe house outside the city."
The safe house is in a quiet neighborhood, nothing flashy. Just a two-story place with a garage and high fences. Danil pulls in and the door closes automatically behind us.
"Upstairs," I tell Lena as we get out. "Second door on the right."
She looks at me, those blue eyes searching my face for something. For Sasha, the man I was in the cabin.
But he's gone. He has to be.
She walks past me without a word, her shoulder brushing mine, and I catch her scent. Even after two days in a car, she smells good. Like soap and something uniquely her that makes my dick twitch.
I head upstairs, my body already shifting into the role I need to play. The boss. The man who built an empire on fear and blood and smart decisions.
The bathroom is clean and functional. I strip off the flannel and jeans, clothes that belong to someone else, and step into the shower. Hot water pounds against muscles still sore from the fight, from the bullet wound that's mostly healed, from two days cramped in a car.
I scrub away the cabin. The mountains. The fantasy that I could be anything other than what I am.
When I step out, I stare at my reflection and barely recognize the man who laughed with Lena over burnt pancakes.
Good. That man was a liability.
In the bedroom, Danil has laid everything out for me. A custom-tailored dark blue suit with a white shirt, pressed and crisp. Italian leather shoes. He must have packed a bag for me and kept it in the trunk since these are my clothes from my closet. I dress slowly, methodically, each piece of clothing another layer of armor.
The tie goes on last. I knot it with practiced ease, then shrug into the suit jacket. The fabric molds to my shoulders, emphasizing the breadth of my chest, the power in my build. I look like money. Like danger. Like a man who could end you with a phone call.
The man I am in reality.
I'm fastening my cufflinks when I sense her. Lena stands in the doorway, and the look on her face is something between horror and grief.
"You look different," she says quietly.
"I look like myself." I adjust the cuffs, not meeting her eyes yet.
"No." Her voice cracks. "You look likehim. The man who wanted me dead."
Something twists in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I turn to face her fully, and her eyes track over me.