“I’m sorry, I have to pick up my kids from preschool,” I say. “I think you must have me confused with someone else.”
“Your brother runs the Russian Bratva. We’ve been watching Mikhail for a while. Eventually, he’ll slip up, and when he does, you don’t want your children or yourself around.”
She reaches into her pocket to hand me her business card. “Call me if you want protection. We can get you out of New York and give you a new life.”
“You have me mistaken for someone else,” I say.
I don’t intend to take her business card, but she shoves it into my hand. “You need a friend, Aleksandra, and I can protect you and your children.”
She’s foolish to think she can protect us from Mikhail. It doesn’t matter where I go. He’ll always find me. He’s got men in every city who report to the bratva. There’s no escaping Mikhail’s clutches.
I glance at my watch and brush past her as I head for the front entrance of the preschool. The FBI agent retreats to her vehicle.
I buzz the front door and hurry inside for pickup.
Ten minutes later, I have Liam and Sophia at my side as we head back out into the brisk winter air.
Agent Malone is nowhere in sight, her vehicle gone. I’m relieved. The twins aren’t the best at keeping secrets, and I don’t want Mikhail knowing that the feds talked to me, even if I didn’t say anything in return.
I punch in the rideshare request and wait with the kids outside for the vehicle.
Liam has his thick winter gloves on, along with his blue hat. His nose is red, but otherwise, he doesn’t appear the least bit bothered by the cold.
Sophia is very much my daughter, shivering and jumping in place as she tries to get warm.
“Put your gloves back on,” I say with insistence and lower her hat around her head, making it snug. The damn thing has a way of falling off. Although I’m not sure, it isn’t from Sophia lifting it.
“I don’t like wearing gloves,” Sophia whines. “Then I can’t use your phone.”
I give her a pointed stare. “My phone is staying with me,” I say. What makes her think I’m going to hand over my phone so that she can play games on it while we wait outside?
“But you don’t have your gloves on,” Sophia says.
I exhale a heavy breath, trying not to show my frustration. “That’s enough, Sophia. Gloves, now.”
Her nose twitches as she pushes her gloves onto her hands. “But they’re cold,” she whines.
“I’m going to kill Nikita,” I mutter under my breath.
“What’s that?” Antonio asks.
I don’t see him approach. I’m too busy fussing with Sophia and my phone, waiting for our ride.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Do I even want to know the answer to my question?
He leans in close, so that the kids can’t see, and flashes his gun at me. “I’m giving you a ride.”
A small part of me wants to leave the twins behind, protect them from the Italian mobster, but I can’t abandon them, and I doubt he’d let me.
“You’re not giving me anything,” I say.
“Are you sure about that?” He pushes the barrel of the gun into my hip, his jacket keeping the weapon out of view from my children. “I’d hate to have to harm a hair on either one of their heads.”
Is he seriously threatening my kids?
Fuck him.