Page 92 of The Endless Want

“Good?” I gasp. “I barely managed to keep upright.”

“That’s pregnancy, not skill.” Nadia rolls her eyes, though her voice is warm. “And you know what I mean.”

Before I can respond, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. My stomach dips. “What’s this?” I ask.

Nadia thrusts it into my hands. “Open it. Before I change my mind and pretend I never did something so sappy.”

I smile despite myself and tear the paper carefully. Inside is a tiny knitted hat, pale green, impossibly soft. My breath catches. It’s delicate, handmade, a little uneven in the stitching—proof that someone cared enough to sit down and focus on every loop, every fold, every row.

“Nadia…” My throat closes. “You didn’t have to⁠—”

“Shut up,” she mutters. “It’s not even good. I messed up the pattern twice.”

“It’s perfect,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

She shrugs as if the compliment scorches her. “Well. Just… keep it safe. And don’t tell Liam I’m knitting things now. He’ll get ideas.”

Before I can reply, footsteps echo down the hallway. Liam’s voice, firm and clipped, carries ahead of him. “Ailish. A moment?”

My heart sinks. Liam rarely uses that tone unless something serious is on the horizon. I tuck the little hat into my coat pocket, feeling its shape press reassuringly against me as I turn to face him.

He waits until the others drift out. Liam steps closer, eyes scanning my face before dropping to my belly. His expression softens briefly—too briefly—before sharpening again. “We received confirmation,” he begins. “Proof. Solid. Irrefutable.”

“Proof of what?” I ask, though a part of me already knows.

“That the Russians built it,” Liam says. His voice is low, steady. “Fabricated communications. Your signature lifted off a shipping manifest and reused four times. We handed the full report to the Rossos this morning and Marco walked it up to Vito himself.” He watches me take it in. “The Italians have withdrawn. All of it. Formally.”

Relief hits me like a wave. My breath leaves in a slow rush and I put a hand on the wall. Eleven weeks of Italians going quiet when I entered a room. “Formally,” I repeat.

“Formally,” Liam confirms. “And I’m sorry it took as long as it did.”

For a moment, warmth flickers between us. A fragile, delicate thing. Then his expression shifts, a weight settling into his shoulders. “That said,” he continues quietly, “we need to talk about your position.”

The relief drains out of me. “Liam⁠—”

He lifts a hand, forestalling my protest. “This isn’t punishment. It’s strategy. It’s safety.”

“It’s a benching,” I snap. “You’re taking me off the board.”

“You’re pregnant, Ailish,” he replies. “And they’ve known you matter since before they touched your car. What they don’t have yet is this.” His eyes drop, briefly, to my belly. “The day they work out you’re carrying a Costello, you stop being a way to hurt Declan and start being a way to end him. There is no version of that I can defend against while you’re moving through this city on a schedule.”

I fold my arms over my chest. It’s partly defensive, partly instinctive—my body guarding my child without conscious thought.

“I’m still capable,” I insist. “Pregnant doesn’t mean useless.”

“I know that,” Liam says quietly. “But right now, capability isn’t the issue. Exposure is. You’ve been hit once and hunted twice. I won’t gamble a third.”

I clench my jaw, heat creeping into my cheeks. “So what? I sit in a locked room, knitting hats with Nadia until this is over?”

“That,” Liam says evenly, “or something worse.”

My stomach twists—not from the baby, but from the truth. This war is escalating. The Russians are unpredictable now, cornered animals lashing out with nothing to lose. I’ve been lucky. Twice. Luck is not a strategy.

Still, surrender tastes bitter. “What role?” I ask, my voice tight. “What are you giving me instead?”

“A secure operations assignment,” Liam says. “Remote intel, strategy support, resource coordination.” He pauses. “And you’re out of your flat. Guards on a door aren’t enough anymore, not with a schedule anyone can learn. Somewhere new, somewhere nobody’s driven you to yet.”

I shake my head. “Liam, I don’t want⁠—”