“That’s vague.”
“There is someone,” he said slowly, like he was weighing every word. “Connected to … wrong people.”
I studied him more intensely now.
“Don’t tell me you’re fucking the enemy,” I groaned.
Kyrill glared at me. “I did not fucking say that.”
“You implied it.” I pointed at him accusingly.
“I imply nothing. I’m merely observing how inconvenient loyalties can be sometimes.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He smiled faintly. “Possibly.”
“You’re aware,” I said slowly, “Romeo and Juliet is not an instruction manual.”
“They had really, really poor communication,” he shot back. “I plan to improve on that.”
I stared at him, shaking my head slightly.
Kyrill shrugged. “What? You brought home an American with no survival instinct.”
“She has survival instinct.”
He snorted. “Whatever it is she has, it is … unconventional.”
“Well, lucky for you, she’s not your problem.”
Kyrill’s eyes lit up with amusement and he chuckled. “Nah. She is yours.”
Damn right she was.
I moved toward the window and looked down at the marina. Some of our men were out there moving crates and I could see boats shifting in and out of the dock spacethat technically fell under our control but which was not yet fully respected as such.
Respect here was fragile and had to be earned through actions.
And I was calculating how much blood it would take to solidify mine.
Behind me, Kyrill spoke up again, quieter this time. “You know if you escalate, they will respond.”
“Yeah.”
“If they respond, there will be noise.”
“Yes.”
“And noise attracts curiosity.”
“I’m aware.”
“And curiosity—”
“I know what curiosity attracts,” I cut in.
Federal attention. Local alliances. Unwanted scrutiny.