Chapter 72

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At precisely noon, just as Cherriot had promised, a knock sounded at the door.

Yuri was in the living room, but rather than heading straight for the entrance, he moved toward the window out of habit. Crossing to its far end, he lifted the curtain slightly and watched the front steps through the narrow gap.

A man in a black suit set down a paper bag. Yuri remained still until the man turned away, allowing him to see his face, before finally relaxing. He recognized him as one of Cherriot’s bodyguards.

Of course, even trusted personnel could become traitors; Yuri could never afford to lower his guard entirely. Still, if the man had brought food intended only for Yuri, there was little reason for immediate concern.

Even if it had been poisoned, Yuri would be the only one to die.

Jackson and Joseph, the men who had arranged Cherriot’s murder, were currently in custody, and the funds that had driven the Hell’s Watchmen had been frozen. They were no longer in any position to continue commissioning attacks, but it was far too soon to assume the danger had passed. Criminal organizations simply gathered people willing to commit crimes for profit; there was no predicting what they might do next.

The Hell’s Watchmen had suffered losses far greater than any profit they stood to make from the Goodnight contract. They might decide to absorb an even greater loss merely to fulfill the original agreement—to kill Cherriot along with the rest of his family. If they succeeded, Jackson or Joseph might ultimately become the sole remaining heirs. Life insurance payments would be inaccessible to them, but imprisonment would not necessarily prevent them from inheriting many of the other assets.

There was no such thing as a clean ending.

Every action produced a chain of consequences. Even when those consequences remained invisible at first, they eventually surfaced. Igor Volkov had behaved as though murdering Yuri’s mother and the others who betrayed him would grant him eternal power, yet his life had ended in ignominy. Many things believed to be finished were merely continuing just beyond the reach of sight.

Even if Jackson and Joseph received death sentences or life imprisonment, the Goodnights could not safely relax. The threat would remain until the Hell’s Watchmen had been uprooted entirely.

Unless the elders of that family are complete fools, they should be revising the wills and trusts to account for that possibility. At least they had done well to station protection throughout the neighborhood. Several guards remained concealed near Madison’s house, where Cherriot was staying, and whenever Cherriot traveled, Dolly accompanied him while another security vehicle followed. The police also sent patrols through the area twice a day, so the house was not sitting entirely exposed.

Yuri estimated where the guard who had disappeared beyond the wall would resume his post, then slowly approached the entrance.

The last time Yuri checked, two men had been stationed along the road by the house across the street, with another two near the beginning of the forest path leading toward the shore. They changed positions regularly rather than standing in the same places every day, which suggested they were not idiots being paid merely to waste time.

Yuri stepped outside, retrieved the paper bag, then walked briefly toward the backyard in case the dog from that morning had returned. Since he was already outdoors, he circled the garden surrounding the house. A pleasantly cool breeze drifted across the grounds.

It was perfect weather for walking beside the sea with Cherriot.

The thought felt unfamiliar. No matter how pleasant the weather had been in the past, Yuri had never experienced happiness from it, much less the desire to do something merely because the day was beautiful.

I miss him. Holding the warmth of the food against his chest through the paper bag, Yuri pictured the young Alpha he treasured more than anyone. He was curious about what Cherriot had struggled so hard to say, but the uncertainty also made him nervous. Yuri pushed the thought away before expectation could take root and searched the bushes.

The stray dog was nowhere to be seen.

I wish it would come back. If its leg remained untreated, the injury might leave it permanently disabled. It would not even be able to flee if something attacked it. Yuri hoped it would return and allow itself to be saved.

After one last lingering look at the bushes, he went back inside before the food could cool.

He set the bag on the dining table and opened it. Inside was a surprisingly heavy paper box. When Yuri lifted the lid, he found a dish he recognized but had never eaten.

Kulebyaka.

It was a traditional Russian dish, but the preparation was so complicated and time-consuming that neither Yuri nor Alexei had ever tasted it. The Volkovs occasionally ordered their cook to prepare it for their birthdays, so Yuri had seen it before, but it was hardly something people of Yuri’s means made at home. Even Russian restaurants rarely offered it.

He studied the pastry’s beautifully browned crust, then examined its sliced face. Rice, salmon, cabbage, mushrooms, and several herbs filled the enormous pie in thick, generous layers, releasing a rich and appetizing fragrance. Beside it were a container of rassolnik and a portion of Olivier salad, one of the few dishes Yuri knew how to prepare himself.

It was far too much food for one person, yet the quantity did not burden him. Instead, he pictured Cherriot researching the dishes and asking a restaurant he trusted to prepare them.

His chest began to tickle pleasantly.

For the first time, Yuri wanted to photograph his meal before eating it. He thought he finally understood why Alexei sometimes sent him pictures of whatever Valeri had cooked.

Yuri returned to the living room for his phone. Just as he opened the camera, an unexpected call appeared on the screen.

Alyosha. For an instant, Yuri had hoped it might be Cherriot. Amused by his own disappointment, he smiled faintly and pressed the answer button. The screen abruptly switched to video.

A video call? Yuri frowned. He had little experience with such things and was about to disconnect and call back normally when an unexpected face appeared. Pale blond hair, the color of ripe wheat, flashed past the camera. Then, translucent green eyes settled on Yuri.

The refined, elegant man staring at him was Alexei’s lover, Valeri.

Yuri had rarely seen Valeri outside gatherings where everyone was present, and bewilderment showed plainly on his face.

“Valeri? What is it?”

“Hello, Yuri. I heard you were discharged safely,” Valeri said, asking after him with unusual seriousness and courtesy. He was always polite, but because he generally kept his distance from Yuri, the exchange felt awkward. “I’m glad you recovered. Please don’t get hurt again.”

Before Yuri could answer, Valeri handed the phone to Alexei. The screen tilted toward the ceiling before Alexei’s face finally came into view.

“Alyosha, what was that?”

Alexei laughed at Yuri’s confusion. “I asked him how to make a video call, so he connected it himself. Then he left after giving you that adorable little greeting.”

The image continued shaking; Alexei appeared to be carrying the phone somewhere.

“What possessed you to make a video call?” Yuri asked.

“Vasya wanted to see your face. I wanted to check what sort of wreck you looked like, too, and T-Mac has been insisting on confirming with his own eyes that you’re still alive.”

Noisy Russian greetings sounded beyond the camera. Alexei lowered the phone for a moment, allowing Yuri to glimpse the familiar ceiling and wallpaper.

It was his father’s house.

Are they all gathered there? Yuri sat at the dining table and quietly listened to the men talking boisterously beyond the screen. He had heard that T-Mac and his father had flown to the United States once while Yuri remained unconscious. They had agreed to leave Yuri in Cherriot’s care because his condition made transporting him back to Vancouver impossible. Vasily, however, had grown angry with Alexei—something he rarely did.

Alexei had told Yuri about it soon after he awakened. Still half-mad with guilt, Alexei confessed that Yuri’s injury truly had been his fault.

Every person involved had made his own choices, yet Cherriot blamed himself while Alexei condemned himself for accepting the job. The one who had rejected every opportunity to withdraw and insisted on involving himself had been Yuri.

He had never regretted that choice. Even if time turned backward, he would make it again. Cherriot would certainly have died that day if Yuri had not gone.

Alexei had remained in Boston, claiming he would wait until Yuri awakened, and Valeri traveled back and forth between Canada and the United States several times because of him. While cooperating with investigators and actively helping pursue the Hell’s Watchmen, Alexei stayed until roughly three weeks earlier. Only after Yuri awakened and left the hospital did he finally seem reassured enough to return to Canada. He departed without a proper farewell, leaving only a message that Valeri was waiting for him.

Because no one knew whether Yuri would ever wake, Vasily and T-Mac remained near the hospital for a time before eventually returning home. Vasily had even begun preparing to close his business and settle his affairs in case Yuri never regained consciousness. Around then, Yuri finally woke.

He sounded fine when I called after waking… but perhaps he was more shaken than I realized. The camera finally steadied. Alexei had propped the phone on the table; T-Mac sat on one side of him and Yuri’s father on the other.

Seeing their faces through a phone screen felt both strange and deeply familiar. Yuri gave a quiet laugh and greeted them. “Have you all been well?”

It had been far too long since he had seen the faces of his family and oldest friends. Longing tightened his throat.

“Oh, yes. We’ve been doing wonderfully.” T-Mac answered in Vasily’s place, then suddenly raised his voice and thrust his face toward the camera. “What kind of stupid question is that? You got shot in a foreign country and damn near died. Did you think we were doing well?”

“T-Mac, lower your voice,” Vasily addressed him with calm dignity.

T-Mac dropped back into his chair. His nostrils flared, and he pressed his lips tightly together. The skin around his eyes had reddened; he looked close to tears. T-Mac had always been more emotional and guileless than either Alyosha or Yuri. His language was rough, but he granted every request made of him, and despite his massive build, he hated fighting. He had rarely seemed unhappy since moving to Vancouver.

Yuri felt sorry for frightening him so badly. “I’m sorry, T-Mac.”

“It’s all right, Yuri. A man lives long enough, he has days like that,” Vasily answered on T-Mac’s behalf.

Alexei, who had been listening, immediately interrupted. “I seem to remember you shouting at me in the hospital and asking why I dragged him into something so dangerous, Vasya.”

“He survived. It is in the past now.”

“I was out of my mind then too, so I said it was all my fault,” Alexei folded his arms and complained, though Vasily merely chuckled. “But Yuri was the one who chose to walk into hell for the man he likes.”

While the two engaged in something only vaguely resembling an argument, T-Mac recovered from his sniffling and questioned Yuri. “You’re doing all right, aren’t you? I heard you still need rehabilitation. When will you be able to move like before?”

“I’m nearly recovered. I’m fine.”

“Don’t believe him,” Alexei immediately undermined Yuri’s claim.

T-Mac apparently agreed. “Try overdoing it again to protect that hockey player, and I’ll beat you senseless myself.”

Compared with Alexei or Yuri, T-Mac’s fighting ability was not merely poor but catastrophic. Still, Yuri nodded anyway. “I’ll try.”

“Wow. You won’t even promise not to overdo it?” T-Mac turned, beginning to demand that Vasily make Yuri listen.

Vasily, who had remained mostly silent, shook his head and stood up. “Come home when it is time to come home. I have work to do.”

“Vasya, we haven’t seen him in ages, and you’re leaving already?” Alexei asked.

“I have seen his face. That is enough. T-Mac, stop talking nonsense and come with me.”

“I still have more insults to give Yuri!” T-Mac’s protest accomplished nothing; Vasily dragged him firmly from the room.

Alexei and Yuri laughed at the same time.

Once his father and T-Mac disappeared, leaving Alexei alone, Yuri apologized on Vasily’s behalf. “Don’t concern yourself with what Father said, Alyosha. I was injured because of my own decision.”

Alexei narrowed his eyes and fell silent. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have insulted Yuri and moved on. This time, he said nothing.

Seeing the guilt shadowing Alexei’s face, Yuri raised an old memory. “Do you remember when you decided to kill Volkov alone and I said I would go with you? This was similar. You made that choice for Lerusha, and I helped you. This time, our positions were reversed.”

Alexei slowly unfolded his arms, his expression finally lightening. “It was worth it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough,” Alexei murmured, staring at Yuri. Rather than offering further reassurance, Yuri allowed the silence to remain. Eventually, Alexei’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “So how are things going with the magnificent Mr. Goodnight? You’ve been living together for a month. Surely you’re all over each other by now.”