Page 6 of Fate and Family

“I’ll survive.”

I glance at the pint between us, now half-empty. The room feels warmer somehow. “Good,” I say, nodding. I take the spoon from her hand and slide the ice cream back into the freezer. “It’s late, and you should get home.”

As we step back into my office, she freezes. Her gaze locks on the blood-soaked coat lying crumpled on the floor. Without a word, I grab my coat from the hook and wrap it around her shoulders.

“Use mine until I can get yours cleaned,” I tell her softly.

The coat swallows her small frame, the sleeves dangling far past her hands. Her wide eyes fill with something—gratitude, maybe, or exhaustion.

“You’re like an otter,” I murmur, smirking. “Cute but dangerous.”

I half expect a playful retort, a grin, something. But she stays silent as I walk her to her car. The alley is clean. Viktor’s body and any trace of the earlier chaos are gone. Uri did a thorough job.

Still, I’m not taking chances. I scan her car carefully, my eyes darting to the undercarriage, the seams of the trunk. Everything appears fine, but I open the door myself, checking the interior before motioning for her.

“Get home safe,” I tell her, my voice quieter than before.

She steps inside, her expression soft. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

“Anytime, Katya.”

Really, my adorable otter. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.

Chapter

Three

Katya

“Tell me a secret,” he says. Well, which one do you want?

Do I tell you your girlfriend is screwing half of St. Petersburg’s criminal underbelly—and your brother? That your sister-in-law’s cancer is spreading faster than you think? That you love your nephew with every fiber of your being but can barely look him in the eye because you feel like a failure? That you hate horror movies even though Uri forces you to watch them? Those last two aren’t secrets, but it does feel too personal for me to know.

Do I admit that your aim is terrible, and if you had tried to fire that gun, I’d probably be dead?

Should I tell you I defused a bomb from your father’s car last week? That I know about the birthmark on your upper left thigh? And the scar on your chest from a fight that nearly killed you when you were sixteen?

Or maybe the truth: I’m a U.S. government spy. I’m here to watch your every move, waiting for the day you break a law we actually care about. I’ve been protecting you from the SmirnovFamily—who’s been moving in on your territory—because if you’re dead I can’t unearth the kingpin for Majesty. All my intel suggests your family is the one pushing it.

Or worse—the secret I guard the closest. Every night, I imagine you taking me on your desk during my shift. And I’ve been in love with you for months now.

I can’t say any of that. My mission is to stop Majesty before it becomes a world wide epidemic. Majesty, the newest designer drug, is extremely addictive and dangerous. If it enters America, people will die, and their blood will be on my hands. Right now, there’s only a few small Russian cells that have access to it, but if I can’t stop its distribution from spreading, the world is doomed. No pressure. And all these cells connect back to Dimitri and the Koslov family.

I can’t get distracted, can’t allow myself to feel things for Dimitri.

Focus on the job.

I mean look what happened when I allowed myself a little indulgence to listen to Amanda Chase.

The thoughts swirl, toxic and unrelenting. I want to sit in my car and scream, but that would draw attention. Instead, I trudge toward the stairs, my boots echoing loudly in the silence and my chest tightening with each step closer to my apartment.

The door swings open before I can reach for it. My roommate, Markus, leans against the frame, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Rough night?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock concern.

The light from the hallway glints off his black-rimmed glasses. At the start of this mission, he tried using contacts, but he hated touching his eye and it took him too long to put in, so went back to his classic look. I’m not sure if the black beanie he’s wearing is his new fashion statement or he just forgot to take it off when he came in. Mouse-brown hair peeks out of his hat, andcoupled with his medium build, he could definitely pull off the unassuming intellectual vibe of a decent hacker if he needed to.

I shove past him, tossing Dmitri’s coat onto the couch without a second thought. Only when I see it there do I remember I’m not wearing my own. Great. Just another thing I’ve screwed up tonight.

Markus closes the door behind me, his sharp gaze following my every move. Pushing his glasses higher on his nose, he says, “Is there anything you need to say?”

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