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I returned to my bedroom and pulled the bag from beneath the bed. Salvatore’s files went inside first. The letters I had written rested among them, still sealed and unread. I considered leaving them behind, then understood that doing so would be another way of assuming I wouldn’t return.

I carried them with me.

Henry’s recording waited on the secured tablet in the cabinet downstairs. Everything else belonged to the life I intended to come back for.

Rurik waited beside the open front door. Two armed guards stood beyond him while another vehicle idled near the gate. He didn’t reach for my bag or hurry me across the threshold.

I stopped beside him and looked back at the house.

For more mornings than I could count, those rooms had given me somewhere to choose life. I refused to turn them into a grave simply because the Society had placed my name on a list.

“Pier 87,” I said. “If they come, they come somewhere built for violence.”

Rurik didn’t move. “Is that your decision?”

“Yes.” I tightened my hand around the strap of the bag. “Take me to the pier.”

The city rose around us as the night thinned toward morning. I watched the minutes change on the dashboard and measured them against Salvatore’s final thirty-six hours. Had he known the exact moment the order was issued? Had he thought about me afterward and wondered if he would ever see me again? I had spent years trying to recover the final ordinary moment of our marriage, never knowing death had already entered the room and stood beside him while I remained blind.

Pier 87 appeared beyond rows of shipping containers and chain-link fencing. New York Harbor spread behind it, black water carrying broken reflections of the city. Armed men opened the outer barricade after Rurik lowered his window and gave his name.

Vladmir Ivenok waited beside a warehouse entrance. His expression revealed nothing until he looked at me, and then I saw the knowledge he attempted to hide.

“Who else knows?” I asked before the car door fully closed.

“Enough people to keep you breathing,” Vladmir replied. “Not enough to guarantee it.”

At least he didn’t pretend safety was something his weapons could promise. He glanced toward Rurik, then back at me.

“Rowen Shay arrived five minutes ago,” he said. “He is with Maxim.”

Fear hollowed me from the inside. I had refused to give Rowen the names of his parents because truth would pull him into the same machinery that had killed Salvatore. Now he stood inside a Bratva warehouse while my name traveled through Poseidon’s system beneath the word containment.

“Why is he here?” I asked.

“He came looking for you.”

The answer was one more consequence love had created. My mother was terrified, Sinclair had sent Rowen into the dark after me, and every person trying to bring me home was gathering around the target on my back.

Vladmir opened the steel door. Rurik stood beside me without reaching for my arm, but his hand remained between us, palm open.

I placed my hand inside his as Vladmir led us through the warehouse toward a closed office overlooking the harbor. Men’s voices sharpened beyond the door. When Vladmir opened it, Maxim stood behind his desk while a biker in the Silver Shadows MC—Gunner—stood beside Sebastian Livingston. Both men watched Rowen from opposite sides of the room.

Rowen turned toward me.

I released Rurik and crossed the distance before thought could interfere. My arms went around Rowen’s waist, and the apology I had carried since Calloway’s broke apart against his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Rowen. I never wanted any of this. I swear I didn’t.” My sobs made the words uneven, but he understood them.

Rowen held me close and moved one hand over my back. “I know, Maddie. I do.” He guided me toward the couch and sat beside me without releasing my hand. “Is he treating you well?”

My gaze found Rurik near Vladmir. He stood with bloodless exhaustion across his face as he waited for my answer.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s been gentle. He’s tried to make this bearable.”

“Good.” Rowen squeezed my fingers. “Maddie, your mother’s frantic. She needs to hear your voice.”

“I can’t.” The words barely escaped me.