“This is good coffee,” I say as I pour the steaming black liquid into a couple of large mugs. “Even if you do not like coffee, you should like this, with enough milk and sugar.”

“I’ll take both, please,” she asks.

We’re nearing Istanbul, and neither of us have gotten any sleep yet, despite having a few hours to ourselves. I have to admit, I’m impressed that she’s holding up so well. I can handle a few days without sleep because of the training I’ve given myself over many years. I expected her to be out like a rock by now, but she was eager when I suggested getting a little caffeine in her to keep her going.

“Does this yacht just have a little of everything on it?” she asks when she watches me take out a very expensive brand of cream out of the fridge under the espresso bar we’re standing at.

“Would any self-respecting Russian crime lord be caught dead with anything less?” I chuckle as I pour. “This is a big country with a lot more money in it than westerners realize, Autumn. I would be surprised if you have ever encountered the kind of decadence these people live with every day.”

“That comes up a lot in my readings,” she says.

“Yes,” I say, giving a mirthless laugh. “Our great cultural export: stunning wealth in the hands of shady people.”

“You are pretty shady,” she points out.

“Careful, girl,” I warn her. “You’re still in the hands of this shady character.”

There’s that blush of hers again. I slide the mug over to her and wink, and she uses it to warm her hands immediately. It’s a bit chilly, and even more so outside.

“Come, let’s go upstairs,” I say, nodding toward the door, and she follows me out.

I have to admit, the temptation to just keep Autumn at my side is getting stronger with each hour we spend around each other. I like having her around. She amuses me to no end with the way her mind works, and what’s even more interesting is the way she acts when I’m stern with her.

She likes it, and she’s frankly terrible at hiding it. That, or she’s trying to lead me on and doing a very convincing job of it.

Any time I feel like I’m acting like her father, that flicker of pink or red never fails to cross her cheeks. Any time I set a boundary or praise her for listening to me or following a simple command, she seems to have a kind of spring in her step that contrasts so strangely with her occasional show of defiance. Both of them are interesting, and I wonder if the lack of sleep is just letting her guard slip.

“Now, I don’t want you to get any funny ideas when we reach Istanbul,” I say as we make our way up the stairs toward the master bedroom again. “I called ahead to the port an hour ago, and we are clear to dock, but do not think that Turkey is far enough away from the likes of your captors.”

“Should that tell me something about who those captors are?” she asks, petulant.

Once we’re inside the suite, I turn to face her with a frown.

“I will give you a name when I get back from making a supply run in Istanbul,” I say firmly.

She knits her brow, and her mouth falls open in disbelief.

“What- why?”

“Because there is a small, very small chance that someone from the port authority could come asking questions while I’m gone,” I say, “and while I know how to lie, I do not know about you yet, so I do not want you to have any information you might accidentally give them that could lead some very bad people here to take you back. You’re coming with me all the way to America, and that is final.”

She looks like she wants to be defiant, and I raise an eyebrow at her, inviting her to do so. She struggles to find her voice at first, then at last, she fails and frowns at me. I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, smiling at her.

“I appreciate your spirit, girl, but this is deadly serious. An escaped captive is one thing to the Russian mafia, but an escaped captive with a multi-million-dollar yacht? That’s the kind of thing that has dire consequences. Remember what I said about following my orders. This is where that becomes very important, da?”

She stares up at me, but I don’t move until she replies, somewhat subdued.

“Da,” she says.

“Good girl,” I say, patting her on the head and making her blush so furiously she scowls. “Now, I’m going up to the bridge. Finish that coffee while I steer us into the dock.”

The next half hour is a dull onslaught of communicating with the port authorities and wiring money over to pay for a last-minute docking somewhere I know to be fairly quiet. My Turkish is a little rusty, but they’re used to dealing with Russians. And when a yacht this luxurious makes its way into port, it’s amazing how quickly people start acting more accommodating toward you.

Once we’re safely docked and I’ve arranged for some of that fuel to be put into the tank, I head back down to the master bedroom to see Autumn with her face pressed against the window, peering out. Her empty mug of coffee is on the desk.

“This place looks stressful,” she says, and I laugh.

“Your first impression of Istanbul is fitting,” I say. “I suggest staying in this room while I am out. You do not want to draw the attention of any dock workers, if you can avoid it. The less liability, the better.”

“Wait, what?!” she blurts, suddenly angry. “You’re leaving me here?”

“Of course,” I say, surprised. “I cannot simply trot you out in front of all the world. Do you understand how close on our tail your captors probably are?”

“We would have seen them by now if they were on our tail!” she protests. “This yacht is… well, huge!”

She has a fair point, actually, but that doesn’t change anything. Istanbul is a big city that’s notoriously easy to disappear in, if you really want to. And Autumn is proving to be resourceful. I would not put it past her to escape me and try to catch a flight to America first thing, with whatever money she can scrounge up. And she would probably be picked up by the nearest security guard on the bratva’s payroll and handed back to whatever Gregorovitch monster is assigned to be her handler.

“No,” I say firmly. “Remember what I said, Autumn.”

“You’re not my father, you can’t-!” she tries to protest, but that does it. I pick her up suddenly, so much so that she yelps and starts to kick. I toss her onto the bed, where she bounces harmlessly. While she does, I walk through the door, pull it shut, and lock it with the electronic panel that requires a code.

Not long after, I hear her trying to open the door, and then comes the pounding of fists and kicking.

“Did you lock me in?!” she shouts.

“Da,” I shout back in a calm but firm, parental tone. “I might not be your father, but if you want to act like a child, then I will act like a parent. In the places I’m going, I would lose you in the crowd in the blink of an eye. You will stay in your room until I come back, and that is final.”

I hear an enrage shout from the other side of the room just before she throws herself against the door with a dull thud. The door doesn’t even budge, and I run a hand over my face, groaning. She won’t be able to get out of there, but that doesn’t make this any less of a headache. This is going to be stressful enough as it is, not counting a petulant brat’s rebellious streak.

Dressed in fresher clothes—a black turtleneck, black jacket, pants, and shoes comfortable enough to run in—I leave the yacht with an irresponsible amount of cash on me. As I go, I give a quick nod to one of the port officials I see patrolling the area, and he nods back to me in silent understanding.

The bribe I paid him should keep our presence here quiet. Still, I can’t trust anyone but myself, so I have to be quick.

I make my way out into the streets of Istanbul around noon, and my first stop is off the beaten path. I need to arrange a healthy stock of food and drink supplies to be sent back to the ship, but I can’t use my usual contacts here in the city. Doing that would make me the easiest man in the world for the bratva to track. It would be like not using burner phones.

But even as I weave through the throngs of tourists and businesspeople, I can’t help but think back to Autumn. Part of me feels bad for having treated her like I did. It was for her own good, but I wish there would have been a way to convince her to be more reasonable.

She was running on god knows how little sleep, and she’d been through a very traumatic time, so the fact that she was thinking straight at all was impressive. She is a woman of great mental resilience.

I get into a cab and pay the driver double the rate ahead of time to get where I’m going. He takes me to a neighborhood where I see decidedly fewer tourists, and I slip into a wholesale market to start taking care of business.

Half an hour later, I’ve arranged enough food to be loaded onto the yacht to feed a whole party all the way to New York City. I pay the right people in cash, plus a little extra for their silence, and I make my way out.

But as I’m walking down the street, I notice a liquor store across the street, a quiet and cozy little local store with no English on any of the signs. I pause for a moment. Turkey isn’t a country known for its alcohol, especially compared to Russia, but they have some rather fine wines I’m fond of. A good bottle of exotic wine would be a nice way of apologizing to Autumn for having to be a little forceful.

Apology wine? What’s becoming of you, Vladimir?

I can’t help but feel a little like my younger self as I cross the empty street and approach the store. Making irresponsible detours to please a woman is something I did far too much of when I was Autumn’s age. It feels a bit odd doing this, considering the age difference, but part of me suspects she likes that. She’s a damn tempting traveling companion, regardless.

But as I cross the road, I hear a shout from down the street near an alley. Furrowing my brow, I look over at a small group of boys who are staring at me with wide eyes, as if I’m the most interesting thing they’ve seen all day. I quirk an eyebrow at them, and one of them points… behind me.

I blink at the same time that I realize a car engine is roaring toward me.

And in just as much time, I reach for the pistol hidden in my jacket, spin around, and aim it at the driver of the car full of men that’s barreling toward me. Pushing off my left leg, I dive to the right and fire off three rounds into the front windshield, just as a hail of bullets rains down on me.

I feel a sting on my bicep before I hit the ground, and the squealing screech of tires comes next. The car flies past me, swerving to the right and crashing into a fire hydrant.

My shot was a lucky one. The driver must be dead.

I get to my feet and take cover behind a crate sitting outside the store I was about to go into, and I watch Russians spill out of the vehicle, all armed to the teeth. I take aim at the nearest one as one of them shouts orders to the other, but the leader spots me and fires off a blind shot in my direction. It shatters the glass of the store behind me, and I rush inside to vault into the store.

It isn’t much, but it’s better than the flimsy cover that a crate supplies.

The shopkeeper shouts at me in frantic, angry Turkish, and I have to ignore him on my way across the storefront. My enemies are moving into position, and I manage to see one slipping between two cars parked across the street. With a quick shot, he goes down, and I only have three more men to worry about.

One surprises me by appearing around the side of the shattered glass, and he jumps in after me. He’s too close to waste a bullet on, so before he can lunge at me, I reach up to the shelf behind me and grab a bottle of wine by the handle.

CRASH!

A shower of red wine and deadly shards of broken glass pour over the man after I break the bottle over his head. He goes down hard, either unconscious or dead. I don’t care which. After an encounter like this, I’m going to have to rocket out of Istanbul so fast I won’t have time to check.

I feel a bullet whiz past my ear, and I take cover as I hear the two remaining men outside shouting to each other. One of them gives away his position this way, and I pop out of cover just long enough to fire a round into his heart. He crumples in the street, and I hear the sound of boots running… away?

Shit!

I can’t let any of this hit squad get away. I jump out of the window and chase after the man who was barking orders a few moments ago. He’s making a beeline for the car, and I can’t let him get there. I stop, aim, and fire.

The bullet goes through his lower back and out his gut, and with a cry of pain, he hits the ground… still alive. I rush over to him and stomp on the hand that’s reaching for a backup pistol in his jacket. His wrist snaps, and he cries out in pain.

“Coming after me? Fine,” I snarl. “Endangering little children?” I point to where the crowd of boys had been in the alley, which is now thankfully empty. “That is unforgivable.”

“When they hear how you’ve been carrying on-” the enforcer grunts, but I twist my heel on his broken wrist, and he cries out in pain.

“With that gut shot, you won’t be telling anyone anything,” I snarl, and I put a bullet in his head.

I turn around to see the shopkeeper looking at me with a sheet-white face. I put my gun away and hold my hands up, jogging over to him. He backs away, stammering a dozen pleas, but I take out a fat stack of American cash and put it on the counter.

“For damage,” I say in broken Turkish. “Sorry for mess.”

He looks stunned at me as I give a smile and back away, then dart down an alley, rushing through several like it until I find a cab far away enough that it wasn’t scared off by the sounds of gunfire.

Without asking, I jump into the back seat and thrust about $100 to the bewildered driver.

“Dock 402,” I grunt, and a twinge of pain makes me look at my arm.

The dark fabric is glistening with blood.

“Hurry!”