Alena looked down at his hands. They were the hands of a dangerous man—strong, tanned, capable of violence—yet he held the crystal glass with surprising care.
“Because I couldn’t just stand there,” she said at last, her voice shaking. “My father was killed in crossfire when I was six. He was just walking down the street. Nobody warned him. Nobody pulled him out of the way. So when I saw that dot on your chest, I couldn’t watch it happen again. Not if I could stop it.”
Danylo said nothing for a long moment. Firelight moved in his dark eyes as he searched her face for a lie. He didn’t find one.
Finally he stood and turned toward the door. “Nikita.”
His lieutenant appeared almost instantly. “Yes, boss?”
“Set up the west guest wing for her. Call my doctor to look at the cut on her face. Post armed guards outside her room. No one goes in or out without my direct approval. That includes you.”
Nikita’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Boss, we still don’t know who she is. She could be planted.”
“She’s not planted,” Danylo said. His tone ended the discussion. “She’s a girl who had bad luck tonight. Do as I said.”
When Nikita left, Danylo turned back to Alena. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we start hunting the man who hunted us. And you’re going to help.”
She blinked. “How?”
“Because you saw the angle,” he said. “And because you notice things my people miss.”
They escorted her to a guest room larger than her entire apartment. The bed was made with cool silk sheets. The bathroom was all marble. But when the heavy door shut behind her and the lock clicked, the luxury meant nothing. She went to the window and looked out into the dark woods. Armed men with rifles patrolled the grounds.
Yes, she had survived. Yes, she had saved the most dangerous man in Kyiv. But standing there with a fresh bandage on her cheek, Alena felt only dread. The bullet she had dodged was just the opening shot in a much larger war.
She crept to the door and pressed her ear against it. In the hallway, she heard low male voices.
“That was a professional hit, no question,” Ilya was saying. “They shot from the roof across the street. Perfect angle. Only a handful of people knew we’d be at that restaurant tonight.”
“I know that,” Nikita snapped. His voice was tight. “Which means we have a leak.”
“Or,” Ilya said slowly, “someone on the inside made sure things went wrong.”
“Watch your mouth,” Nikita shot back. “Keep your attention on the girl. If she remembers anything, I want to know first.”
“Why you?”
