Chapter Nineteen
Nero is running on a treadmill. His sweat-dampened, broad-shouldered frame bobs up and down as he makes Olympic leaps forward with every stride. Vatican City is visible in the large window behind him.
“Baba Yaga said she isn’t trying to kill you,” he says without wasting time on pleasantries.
“She’s not?” I ask, taken aback by the confidence in his voice.
“No. I asked her point blank. She can’t lie to me about that or anything else,” Nero says, his voice unaffected by the brisk jog. “No one can.”
“But someone just tried to kill me.” I walk up to my table, smack the phone into a stand, and plop into the chair. “That’s a fact.”
“Which is why I want you to keep your head down until I get back,” Nero says. “Stay home under the protection of your domovoi and—”
“You can’t
