Daniil shoved his handgun into Adonis, his eyes fierce with anger and fear. 

The realization of the perpetrator being his only buffer between assassination and life prompted him to painfully exhale. Adonis seemed equally shocked. 

“I need a drink, man.” 

***

The boat was large; built with 6,000 rooms, a casino, and other luxurious amenities. Daniil couldn’t be more excited- or he would be if he needn’t a gun in his pocket. He laid out on his bed, and a nice view of the navy-blue pacific presented itself along with thick smog. Adonis placed his smaller suitcase down.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’? You’re the room across from me. I’m gonna get sick on oysters and smoke on the bow.” 

“Be careful,” Adonis chuckled.

“You better watch that vile tongue of yours.” 

They had arrived 2 hours before departing; the recurring docks that Adonis would revisit laid just across the waters. He only wore a wool overcoat with a blazer and button-up shirt, far too cold for their departure south. 

***

Boris awoke groggy from an unpleasant dream. His father had spoken to him. It didn’t matter whether it was a message or not; what would pursuing such clarity do? Loose papers of Adonis’s file lay about his desk and the floor. The sun was only peaking over the grandiose mountains across the border. What an expensive view. Chopin played in his head like clockwork as he nonchalantly unrobed himself for his morning shower. Ana was sound asleep in silk pajamas. 

Op. 64 No. 2 rang a few minutes after he had woken up. Like clockwork. Ana would ignore the alarm until Boris dressed to make tea. Like clockwork. 

“What’d he say this time?” Ana asked.

“I haven’t brushed up on my Russian.” 

“I pity you, darling.” 

“You’ll visit me in Los Angeles?”

“I’ll kill my higher-ups if I can’t.”

“We’ll go sightseeing. The boat only stops for a few days though.”
“That’s all I need,” she said gently kissing his unshaven neck.

“You need to change that damn alarm. Makes me want to fall back asleep.”

“Well, you’re going to take a long break from it.”

Boris grunted in agreement, loading a revolver engraved with golden threads.

“How did I get myself into this, darling?”
“Carelessness.”
“Carelessness,” he repeated.