LESS THAN TEN MINUTES later, we were in the back of the black Mercedes, speeding into the city. My body was still throbbing and shaky, my mind whirling.

He’d called me his dove. My chest went light, when I thought of that. I tried to crush it back down. This is Konstantin Gulyev. He doesn’t have a soft side.

We were driving in convoy, with a big black SUV full of guards in front of us and another behind. As we passed through neighborhoods Konstantin didn’t control, I saw criminals start to flee. A pimp suddenly darted into an alley, leaving the women he’d been talking to behind. A dealer turned and sprinted, dropping a packet of drugs behind him and not stopping to pick it up. They must think Konstantin was arriving to take over, but why were they so scared of him? Weren’t criminals all ultimately on the same side?

Then we reached one of the neighborhoods he did control. And instead of fear, I saw...relief. The people out at night here weren’t criminals, they were people out walking their dogs or on their way to and from bars. They nodded respectfully as we passed. A young couple were walking together and I saw the woman squeeze her partner’s hand as she saw us. It’s okay now. That seemed to be the mood. It’s okay, now. He’s here.

Half a block further on, the street had been closed off. Three separate buildings were ablaze and the fronts were so badly damaged, it took me a while to figure out that one of them used to be a restaurant, one a bar and one a nightclub.

We pulled up behind the fire department’s barricade and climbed out. A crowd of people had gathered to watch, but they parted immediately to let us pass. The fire department were doing their best but all three places were infernos, the heat so intense that I could feel it on my skin, even from all the way back here. The interiors looked to already be completely gutted. How could a fire take hold that fast? In three different buildings?

And then I saw the fury on Konstantin’s face and kicked myself for being so naive. These fires weren’t accidental.

A man raced up to Konstantin. His expensive suit was singed on the cuffs and his shirt was smudged with soot. “We got everyone out,” he said breathlessly. His accent was a thicker, heavier version of Konstantin’s. Then he started coughing and couldn’t stop.

“Injuries?” demanded Konstantin. I could see the emotions battling on his face. He wanted to wait for the poor guy to stop coughing, but he needed to know, now, because….

I looked around at the crowd, at the way they were looking at Konstantin. Because these were his people. They were in awe of him, respectful of him, but they weren’t living in fear of him. They lived under his protection.

“Three,” the guy managed at last. “The family who live above the restaurant.” He pointed to where white smoke was pouring out of a second story window. “It spread so fast... I got them out, but the man and woman have smoke inhalation. And one of the kids has burns on his arm.”

I saw Konstantin’s chest swell as he sucked in his breath. His huge shoulders drew back and he had to turn and stare at the fire for a moment just to control his rage. It was the angriest I’d ever seen him. He reached out and silently squeezed the guy’s shoulder: you did good. When he was finally able to speak, he started snapping out orders. “Take care of the family’s medical bills and move them to a hotel—the best. Make sure their insurance pays out for the fire and give them whatever extra they need to rebuild. Cover up any signs that it was arson. We don’t want the FBI sniffing around. And have some of your men patrol the neighborhood for the next few weeks. We can’t let this happen again.” He nodded towards Grigory. “Talk to Grigory here if you need more guns for your men, he can get you anything you need.”

The guy nodded and hurried off.

Konstantin turned to his guards, his voice low but vicious. “And bring me who did this!”

The guards scattered, with just four staying to protect us. Konstantin started to walk the crowd and, timidly, people began to approach him, shaking his hand, and telling him what had happened. Some, he gave money. Others just needed reassurance.

I trailed after him, stunned. This wasn’t the Konstantin I’d imagined. In the year I’d watched him, I’d focused on his meetings with politicians and other criminals, and he was ruthless with them. But when it came to civilians…. I took another look at the streets around us. This neighborhood was safe. There were no dealers or pimps here. Now I understood why street criminals were scared of him. He cleared them out, in the neighborhoods he took over.

Konstantin was terrifyingly powerful, but he ruled as a benevolent king. He was liked.

The fire started to spread and the fire department wanted to move their barricade back. The guards helped them clear the crowd and then we left, leaving a handful of guards searching for the arsonist.

As the Mercedes pulled away, Konstantin sat slumped in the back seat, rubbing his stubbled jaw. He was furious...and the person he seemed angriest at was himself. He glanced at me and saw I was watching him. “It’s not right,” he muttered at last. “A child getting hurt.”

I knew I shouldn’t say anything. Christina would be nothing but loyal. But I needed to understand. “If there’s a war between you and the other bosses, more civilians will get hurt. More children.”

He scowled and shook his head. “War is inevitable.”

I blinked at him. “Only if you keep expanding. Can’t you just...stop?”

He turned and stared at me. And those gray eyes gave me my answer, one that made my heart sink. He’d never stop. He couldn’t stop. And that meant Carrie was right: we had to stop him.

And yet...when he turned and looked through the rear window at the orange glow behind us...he looked like the loneliest man alive. As if he really didn’t want a war, didn’t want innocent blood spilled...and yet he had no choice.

Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand.

He looked at me again, this time in shock, then stared down at our joined hands. Christina never did that, I realized. I remembered looking at the photo of the two of them, about to board his private jet. That was what had been wrong with it: they hadn’t been holding hands. I’d never seen them hold hands. It was true: they really weren’t in love.

Konstantin kept staring at our hands and I thought he was going to pull away, or tell me off. But after a few seconds, I felt his hand slowly start to curl around mine, enveloping it in warmth.

I gave his hand a tiny, tentative squeeze.

He looked at me and there was confusion in his eyes. Not what are you doing? This was helpless confusion: what’s happening?

And then he slowly squeezed back.

We sat like that in silence for nearly an hour as the convoy circled the neighborhood. And then a phone call came in and the driver turned to Konstantin. “They’ve found the guy who set the fires,” he said.

Konstantin’s grip tightened. “Take me to him.”