Page 145 of Stolen Empire
KATYA
Dimitri returns to the apartment with tension written into every line of his body.
I watch him lock the door behind himself and engage both deadbolts before turning to face me.
Snow melts in his dark hair, and his coat carries the smell of cold air and cigarette smoke.
He looks at me standing in the middle of his living room, and something in his expression makes my stomach clench.
"We need to talk," he says.
I've learned that those four words never mean anything good.
I sit on the edge of the couch and wait while he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it carefully by the door.
He's stalling, I realize.
He's trying to figure out how to tell me something that's going to hurt.
"Just say it," I tell him. "Whatever it is, just say it."
He crosses to the couch and sits and I follow him and settle in next to him.
"The Radiches are planning to kill you before we can publicly reaffirm the pact your father made with the Vetrovs. They pulled a spy out from watching Rolan's compound this afternoon. He confirmed they're tracking our movements and looking for an opening."
I knew I was in danger.
I knew the Radiches would try to come after Dimitri, and probably me too.
But hearing it stated so plainly, hearing that there are men actively planning my death, makes everything feel suddenly too real.
"How long do I have?"
I force a steadiness into my voice that I don't feel, because that's what I do.
Part of the con.
"I don't know."
He runs a hand through his hair, and I see frustration and fear warring in his eyes.
"They'll move when they think they have the best chance of success. Could be days. Could be hours."
"So what do we do?"
"I'm moving you to a safehouse outside the city tonight. Somewhere the Radiches don't know about, where I can control who gets in and out."
He finally reaches over and takes my hand.
His fingers are warm and rough against mine.
"You'll be safer there while we figure out our next move."
I want to ask him what the next move is, but I'm afraid of the answer.
Instead, I focus on the feeling of his hand holding mine, the way his thumb traces small circles on my palm.
It's such a simple gesture, but it anchors me when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
