Page 130 of Hunt Me, Daddy

“But not now.”

“No.”

His gaze moved once to Kit. “You are under Morozov protection officially now.”

Kit’s expression did not change. “I’m under my own protection. You can supplement.”

Nikolai muttered, “God, she really is perfect for him.”

Maxim smirked. “Supplement, then.”

That was more concession than I expected.

Kit seemed to understand that. She nodded once. “Thank you.”

Maxim accepted the gratitude with the same grave suspicion he brought to most pleasant things. Then he turned toward the door.

The meeting was over because Maxim had decided it was over, and the rest of us had spent our lives learning the cost of making him repeat himself unnecessarily.

Aleksei paused beside Kit on the way out. “If you have the restaurant group records, send them to me.”

“I don’t have your contact.”

“You will.”

Nikolai leaned toward her as he passed. “If Ivan becomes unbearable, call me. I won’t help, but I’ll enjoy hearing about it.”

“He is already unbearable.”

“Excellent. You’re ahead of the game.”

Maxim gave me one final look at the door, his expression much warmer than I expected now. Sergei stayed behind, but only for a moment.

He stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and looked at Kit first, as if fitting her into a puzzle he hadn’t known existed. Then his gaze moved to me.

I expected a warning, reminder, or even a quiet statement that if I hurt her or compromised the family further, he would do something unpleasant and justified. Instead, he gave the smallest nod. Then, to my surprise, he smiled before he closed the door behind him and the apartment went quiet.

Kit and I remained where we were, separated by three monitors, Daniel’s file, one blue pen, and all the things we still had not said.

For once, I did not speak first.

Kit turned back to the screen, but her eyes did not focus. She was processing the room, my brothers, Maxim’s approval, as well as Sergei’s silent endorsement. She had just stood in front of the Morozov family and earned resources on merit while grieving a murder and planning a war.

There were a dozen things I wanted to tell her. That she had been magnificent. That Maxim did not approve easily. That Sergei’s smile was rarer than mercy. I said none of it.

A soft chime came from her phone. Kit looked down at the screen and her face went still.

Too still.

I moved before deciding to, crossing the distance just enough to see the message without reaching for her or the phone.

Walk away from the Morozovs. I won’t ask again.

It had to be Mikhail.

Her thumb did not shake. Her breathing did not shift. Her face gave nothing away, but I had learned the places where her control became expensive. The fine tension at the corner of her mouth. The angle of her shoulders. The way her fingers rested lightly on the phone instead of gripping it because gripping would admit that the message had affected her. She set the phone down on the desk very carefully.

“I’m not going to stand down,” she said.