Page 161 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Her gaze shifts to the ring and comes back to mine. “And Mikhail?”

“I want to build something he can grow inside,” I say. “Without fear. No man teaches him that love can be a weapon.”

Her mouth trembles. “No cages.”

“No cages,” I say, and it is the truth.

Cara breathes out, then holds out her hand. “Then ask me properly.”

I’m already kneeling, with the winter, the snow, and the night around us.

“Cara O’Connell,” I say, sliding the ring halfway onto her finger, “will you marry me?”

Cara laughs and cries at the same time. “Yes,” she says, and her fingers close around mine. “Yes, but I’m correcting you anyway.”

“I’m counting on it,” I say, and I push the ring home.

My phone vibrates before I can stand. Cara feels it through my hand.

“Go on,” she says, wiping her cheek with her palm. “That face means someone ruined dinner.”

I read Maksim’s message.

Morozov talks now.

Cara sees the words before I turn the screen. “Go,” she says, but her hand catches my wrist. “Come back this time.”

I bend and kiss her knuckles. “I will,” I say.

Maksim waits in the lower level with Yuri, Kirill, Leonid, Abramov, and Petrov gathered around the monitors. Morozov sits at the bolted table. Dima stands behind him, looking bored enough to scare smarter men.

Maksim doesn’t look at me when I enter. “Tell him again,” he says to Morozov, turning one file with his finger.

Morozov smiles through a split lip. “The fire was timed for Boston,” he says. “Your enforcer was out of Moscow. That was the point.”

Dima watches me from behind Morozov, one thumb resting near the gun at his hip. My hands stay at my sides.

Maksim taps the file. “You knew he was at Patrick O’Connell’s party.”

“Everyone watching O’Connell knew,” Morozov says, wiping blood from his lower lip with his thumb. “He drank loudly, invited the wrong people, left phones unsecured, and relied on hotel staff who could be bought. Your man followed Cara O’Connell into it.”

My hand starts to close. Dima shifts behind Morozov. Maksim glances at me once, and I force my fingers open.

Leonid looks up from his notes. “Patrick knew about the Moscow fire?”

“No,” Morozov says, giving him a flat look. “O’Connell was useful because he didn’t know enough to be careful.” He sounds almost disappointed about the loss of a useful asset.

Yuri leans toward the monitor. “Then why use that night?”

Morozov turns his head slowly, offended. “Because Antonov was on the wrong continent. By the time he could get back, the house would be ash, his parents dead, and his head full of guilt.”

My shoulders lock.

Maksim’s voice stays flat. “You wanted him alive and angry.”

“I would have taken him dead if he had been there,” Morozov says, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Alive gave me something else.” He looks up at me and lets his mouth curve.

Abramov folds his arms. “A weapon to point at Volkov.”