“What kind of something?” he asks, sounding wary.

“Protection detail. Jessica Witman, Sabrina’s roommate. Full coverage until we determine the scope of the threat.”

He hesitates, sounding unhappy without making a sound. “How comprehensive?”

“Whatever it takes. If she won’t relocate voluntarily, we watch her apartment, her workplace, and observer her daily routine. I want to know if anyone so much as looks at her wrong.” The warm smile Sabrina gives me causes a fluttering sensation in my chest.

“Copy that. Anything else?”

I scowl, thinking of Carl, that shit stain who dared lay hands on her. “Run background checks on all the regular customers at the club where Sabrina works. Focus on anyone who’s been showing up more frequently in the past few months, and pay attention to anyone vulnerable to coercion, blackmail, or payoffs.”

He sounds slightly confused. “Am I looking for surveillance assets?”

“No. I want you to find anyone who might be on someone else’s payroll.” At his confirmation, I end the call and look at Sabrina, who’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Satisfied?”

“Thank you.” Her voice is quiet, but there’s genuine gratitude in it. “She’s all the family I have.”

“Then she’s family to me too.”

The words surprise both of us, but I don’t take them back. If Sabrina is mine—and she is—then the people she cares about become my responsibility as well.

She disappears into the bedroom again, and I continue my sweep of the apartment. I find two more cameras—one in the bedroom, hidden behind a picture frame, and another in the kitchen, tucked inside a cabinet. That one has a microphone built in, making it bulkier, but still not too obvious unless oneknows for what they’re searching. They’re all the same brand and all positioned to provide comprehensive coverage of her daily activities.

Someone has been watching her for weeks, possibly since I returned her to the city after her time at the safe house. They’ve been learning her routines, her habits, and her vulnerabilities. The attack at the club wasn’t random. It was either a test or an escalation, and either possibility makes my blood run cold.

By the time Sabrina emerges with two suitcases, I’ve found and disabled five separate surveillance devices. I don’t tell her about all of them. She’s shaken enough already, but I make sure she understands the scope of what we’re dealing with.

“This is organized,” I say as we load her belongings into the SUV. “Professional. Whoever’s behind this has resources and patience.”

“Do you know who it is?”

I have suspicions, but I’m not ready to share them yet. Vadim Kozlov has been expanding his operations on the West Coast, and using surveillance assets to gather intelligence on his rivals is exactly the kind of strategy he’d employ.

Whether he still believes Sabrina is Irina Volkov, or whether he’s figured out that she means something to me personally, the end result is the same. She’s a target, and if she’s discussed the pregnancy at all in the kitchen, they know about the baby too. “I’m working on it, but until I know for sure, you’re staying where I can protect you.”

She nods and gets into the passenger seat without argument. The fight has gone out of her, replaced by the kind of exhaustedacceptance that comes with recognizing an unwinnable situation.

As we drive toward the estate, I occasionally glance at her. She’s fifteen weeks pregnant with my child, and I’ve just uprooted her entire life to bring her into mine. Six months ago, if someone had told me I’d be in this situation, I would have laughed.

Now all I can think about is keeping her safe. Keeping them both safe.

Whatever I felt for her before—attraction, possessiveness, or the kind of dangerous obsession that makes smart men do stupid things—has amplified tenfold by the knowledge she’s carrying my blood. She’s mine now in a way that transcends choice or preference. She’s the mother of my child, which makes her the most important thing in my world.

I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her away from me.

“What’s your estate like?” she asks quietly as we leave the city limits behind.

“Secure. Comfortable. It’s far enough from civilization that unexpected visitors are easy to spot.”

She seems to think for a moment before asking, “Will I be a prisoner again?”

The question makes me flinch. “You were never my prisoner. You were my guest under difficult circumstances.”

She snorts and looks at me. “I was locked in a room.”

“For your own protection.” I try to sound convincing, though I’m sure she’s not buying it any more than I am as I say it.