Page 81 of The Enemy's Defector
I did have a place.
I was safe.
Yet, it bothered me to be moved to another house until this operation was finished tonight.
“Are you nervous?” Anastasia asked as she settled into the living room with me. She had accompanied me so I wouldn’t be alone. Joann was also with me, puttering around in the kitchen and making a light dinner for the three of us. I had no appetite, but I couldn’t tell her to stop. It gave her something to do, and I knew she was worked up after the threat I faced earlier.
“Nervous about what, exactly?” I asked her.
Instead of being with Lucy or Sloane, who could more easily sympathize with me as fellow sisters who were pregnant and faced the same fear of death today, I appreciated that Anastasiawas here. She wasn’t naïve. She was used to the constant danger. I could be more myself around her as another Mafia woman.
“About the baby?” I said before she could reply. I shook my head. “No. I trust the doctors. And it’s not like I’ve had a relaxing start to my pregnancy.” It should’ve bothered me that I’d killed several men as an expectant woman. Wasn’t it an oxymoron to be bringing new life into the world at the same time I was ending others? Wasn’t that a twisted take at playing God, determining the fate of others in both directions?
“About…” She cringed and looked away.
“About Nik and his brothers leading an operation to end my family?” I shook my head, having already come to terms with this fact. “No.”
“No feelings at all about the total annihilation of your family—former family?” she inquired. She wasn’t nosy or mean about it, and I couldn’t blame her for asking.
“Anastasia, my feelings about ‘family’ changed drastically when my father died. I have struggled for years to get over that loss.” Pointing in the direction of the kitchen of this smaller residence, I said, “Joann was the closest thing I had to family. Then when Lucy was hired, she almost seemed like the first real friend I’d have. I have never been close with my uncle. Before my father’s death, I didn’t trust Anton or have any reason to like him.”
“I spoke with Grigory,” she said. “He told me that you were the one to tip him off so he could find the brothers when they were taken.”
I nodded. “My father advised me to never tell Anton that I tipped Grigory off, and I never did. Since finding the proof that Anton killed my father, any ties I had to the Kozlov name ceased to matter. He got rid of all the men loyal to my father. He brought in new recruits who’d be loyal to only him, not the memory of my father. He obliterated all features of the family Ionce knew. So tell me, what am I supposed to feel about what I’ve already lost?”
She didn’t look away, giving me a careful study. Respect. That was what she showed me with that gaze. Fondness and solemn respect.
Without any other need to speak more about it, I sat back and tried not to think about Nik being harmed. No matter how much I tried to calm him down before he left, to make sure he had his head on straight and would act with logic, not emotion, I was aware of how charged and riled up he was. After seeing me in the hospital with some minor spotting, he was blinded by rage. Before his brothers left my room, they’d discussed the orders that they’d issue for the Ivanov forces to annihilate every Kozlov in that warehouse.
No mercy would be granted.
No prisoners would be taken.
They’d veered off the script to talk about the Romanos, planning to go after them next. Damon left to check on Lucy at home instead of staying, and he took Sloane back with him, but Saul, Maxim, and Nik used my hospital room as a meeting place to talk about what they’d do with any Romano men if they were there at this warehouse tonight. Saul wanted to keep them alive to question them, but Maxim and Nik were more on the angle of killing them all as a message to Dominic Romano, if he wasn’t there himself.
Blood would be shed.
And I wasn’t bothered about it.
All I would be upset about is if Nik came home with a report that my uncle wasn’t dead.
Throughout the night, Sloane texted me. Anastasia and Joann talked and got to know each other more. We shared baby names and they both shared their pregnancy and childbirth stories with me.
Still, I waited for word from Nik.
I finally heard from him when he arrived.
He didn’t call or text.
Simply showing up with a serious expression on his usually amused face, he entered the room without warning.
I got to my feet and went to him, my arms open for a hug. “How…” I cleared my throat. Too many emotions were clogged there. While I wasn’t upset about this and I refused to entertain the concept of grief where my uncle was concerned, it was a heavy topic, nonetheless. Words failed me, but Nik didn’t need me to ask anything.
“It’s done.”
“Is…” I reared back to face him. “Is Anton…”
Please, please tell me he’s dead. Please tell me I don’t have to see him or hear from him ever again.
