KIRILL

MARINOV BRATVA

BOOK THREE

LILIAN HARRIS

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidences are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

© 2026 by Lilian Harris. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

Editing/Interior Formatting: CPR Publishing Services

Proofreader: Judy’s Proofreading

Cover Design: Wildheart Graphics

CONTENT WARNING

Please be advised this book contains heavy topics and scenes. To see a full list of warnings, please CLICK HERE.

For my son, Finnegan.

You have taught me a kind of love filled with wonder, strength, fear, hope, and a fierceness I will carry for the rest of my life. I have fought for you from the moment I knew I needed to, and I will never stop. Love you, always.

And for every autism parent who knows what it means to love their child with their whole heart while quietly worrying about their future, about who will understand them, care for them, and protect them the way you do—I see you.

I understand that fear. I live with it too.

TRANSLATIONS & PRONOUNCIATIONS

Padonok – Scumbag

Svolich – Bastard

Umnichka – Good girl

Yebani blyat – Fucking piece of shit.

Dai mne kazhdyi zvuk. – Give me every sound.

Mudak – Asshole

Malenkaya vorovka – Little thief

Blyat – Fuck

Ty menya s uma svedesh – You’re going to drive me crazy.

Shto mne s toboy delat? – What should I do with you?

Ti vsegda budish moya – You’ll always be mine.

That’s it, detka. Krichi. – That’s it, baby. Scream.

Ya tvayu mamu yibal – doesn’t translate well into English, but it literally means I fucked your mother.

Moya. Svegda, moya – Mine. Always, mine.

Ya yevo ubyu – I will kill him.

CHAPTER ONE

SLOANE

A hand breaks the surface of the water, fingers clawing for something solid that isn’t there before they slip under again.

“Eden! Eden, help me!” my sister, Katherine, calls. “Please, I can’t get her out!”

Katherine thrashes beside the sinking figure, her movements panicked as she reaches forward again. Her palms smack the water hard, hair sticking to her face as she tries one more time to drag the body out.

“Don’t just stand there! Jump in and help me!”

Her desperation should send me running, but the world twists in front of me, bending and doubling. The vodka shots I had earlier churn in my stomach until I can’t tell how many bodies are in the water. Two? Three? Maybe more.

Everything smears together, the night blurred like wet paint, my clothes drenched and clinging to my skin.

“Eden!”

But my feet barely cooperate. The ground tilts beneath me, the patio lights stretching into long streaks across my vision. When I try to move, I slip instead.

“Eden, please! She’s dying! I can’t get her out alone!”

Then she’s beside me, looping her arms around me and holding me upright.

I don’t even remember her climbing out of the water. I rub at my eyes, blinking a few times before I gape at the pool, and I’m almost sure the other body is out now.

What the hell is happening?

“You didn’t mean it,” Katherine says. “It was an accident. You were drunk. You didn’t know what you were doing. Are you listening?”

She grabs my face and shakes me, but I can barely pay attention to her as something drags my vision back to the water.

“Wh-what happened?”

“Don’t you remember?” Her face shifts in and out of focus. “You drowned her. She’s dead.”

What? Drowned who?

No. I-I couldn’t have.

Then pieces of it start flashing through my head. The two of us screaming. Her shoving me. Me pushing her back.

Then nothing. The rest is gone.

“I’ll help you. No one will know. I’ll protect you.” Katherine’s voice turns almost gentle, like she can smooth this over and wipe away whatever I’ve done.

But I’m a killer. And nothing will ever erase that.

Her arms tighten around me, and all I can think is that she never hugs me.

“We’ll make it look like an accident,” she says. “I’ll take care of it. You’re okay, Eden. Just breathe. Let big sis handle it.”

A broken sound rips out of me before the whole scene goes dark.

My body jolts upward before I even register moving. My head snaps out of the bathwater on a gasp that scrapes my throat.

Air rushes in fast and hot, burning all the way down, and my hands clamp around the sides of the tub, clinging to the porcelain while the memory still grips the inside of my skull. Water runs down my face in blurred lines until I can’t tell what’s bathwater and what’s tears. I stare at the ceiling, trying to calm down, but the memory stays lodged just behind my eyes, refusing to let go.

She saved me that night. From what happened. From myself. And I ruined everything anyway.

People might look at me and see someone sweet, harmless. They’d be wrong.

Something in me has always felt off, like I came into the world shaped the wrong way. Mom used to say I was rotten, that I tore out of her hell-bent on ruining her life. Maybe she saw what everyone else missed.

But there’s no denying who and what I am: a monster.

All Katherine has ever tried to do is save me from myself. I’ve tried to piece that night—the night I killed my mother—together, but the pieces never lock into place. All that’s left is the screams, the water, and the way everything spun until the world stopped looking real at all.

I let out a harsh sigh, knowing my shift starts soon. I’ll have to drag myself out of this tub, pull my clothes back on, and sneak through the hallway like I didn’t just borrow the staff bathroom at the diner.

But it beats sleeping in the car that’s been my home for the past two weeks.

I don’t use the shower often, afraid my boss will catch me here and fire me, but if I don’t want to smell like I just crawled out of a litter box, I have to sneak in when I can.

At least it’s Monday, and Mondays mean Kirill and Lev. They are the only bright spots in a week that never seems to let up.

Every time I think about Lev, the quiet nine-year-old with big brown eyes that match his father’s, something tightens in my chest. Seeing him is the part of the day that makes everything else almost worth it.

Seeing his father does…other things I don’t say out loud.

Last week, Kirill pressed a folded stack of hundreds into my palm and said, “This is for you,” like it was nothing, then walked out before I could even ask why.

One thousand dollars. In cash. From a man who barely talks to me.

Why would he do that for me? I’m nothing to him. Just a waitress who brings him food and remembers his son likes curly fries and chocolate chip cookies.

Maybe for someone like him, a thousand dollars is nothing. Just a casual thank you for good service over the years.

Whatever the reason, it saved me. I bought gas for my car, covered my cellphone bill, set a little aside for food and necessities, and handed the rest to my sister.

A throb hits the center of my chest, but I rub it away, knowing that I’ll get back on my feet. I have to.

Sometimes I wonder what people with money feel like. Do they realize how lucky they are not to struggle just to survive?

My eyes close, escaping to a place where I’m Kirill’s. My fingers trace over the stubble of his jaw, drifting up to the rose and skull tattoo that climbs from his neck toward his temple.

I picture what it would be like to belong to a man like him. To be wanted. To be looked after without having to do something in return.

Would being with someone like Kirill give me an easier life?

Then reality snaps back in. I know better than to believe people care for free. There is always a price.

Still, that doesn’t stop the images from forming. His mouth on mine. His strong arms around me, holding me like I matter. His warm gaze on my face while he tells me I’m his and he loves me.

An ache punctures through the back of my eyes, but I ignore it.

Stupid thoughts. Someone like Kirill—a rich, handsome, powerful man—doesn’t look twice at a broke waitress who keeps spare change in her pocket and twenty bucks in her wallet on a good day.

But fantasies are the one thing no one can take from me, so I let myself keep this one for a little longer.

CHAPTER TWO

SLOANE

“I bet you can’t wait until your boyfriend gets here.” Mandy bumps my hip with hers as she passes the coffeepot.

I roll my eyes while I reach for a mug on the warming rack.

“Stop. Kirill is not my boyfriend,” I mutter, keeping it low so the guy in booth three can’t listen in.

“Oh, please.” She grabs another pot, filling it with fresh brew. “I see the way he looks at you, and I don’t just mean your face. I’ve seen that man’s eyes all over your ass, and honestly, who can blame him? You’ve got a great ass.”

“Mandy.” Heat creeps into my cheeks.

“Please! Don’t act like Mother Teresa.” She tosses her reddish-brown hair over her shoulder and gives me a look that says she’s not letting this go. “You’re a woman, same as me, and women have needs. That man would have no problem fulfilling whatever fantasies you have in that little head of yours.”

I grab the sugar caddy so I have something to do with my hands. “I don’t have fantasies.”

There I go lying. There’s definitely one I can’t stop seeing whenever I’m alone doing things to myself that I’m definitely not telling my only friend about.

It usually starts with Kirill finding me at a bar. Some stranger is talking to me, flirting a little, before he appears behind me, his body strung tight because he’s jealous. He says my name, all deep and raspy, then grabs my hips and turns me to him, his eyes so intense that I shiver. He runs the back of his hand over my cheek, so soft that I melt into it.

Then he leans down to my ear, his body pressed to mine as he says, “If I see you talking to another man again, it won’t be good for him.”

His hand wraps around my throat and his mouth hovers right over mine before he drags me into a dark hallway and takes me hard against the wall.

My thighs press together and I clear my throat, dragging myself back into fluorescent lights, sticky menus, and the scent of burnt bacon.

I really need to stop doing that.

When I glance at Mandy, she’s watching me, those dark eyes narrowed like she can see straight through my skull.

“You were picturing him fucking you, weren’t you?” She grins. “You little slut.”

“Oh my God, Mandy, we’re at work.” I laugh under my breath as I head toward the kitchen window to grab the cheeseburger for table four.

Of course, she follows. “I knew it! I bet you’re freakier than me.”

“I promise you, that is not true.” I shake my head and reposition the plate. “I’ve only had sex once.”

She stops short like I just told her the sky is green, and her hand lands on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I promise we’ll fix that.”

A snort slips out. “I don’t want it fixed.”

“Lies,” she calls after me as I weave between tables, and a smile pulls at my mouth despite everything.

We couldn’t be more different, and I love her for that.

I head for table four, balancing the cheeseburger plate in one hand and the mug in my other, then set everything down in front of the man in a suit who’s talking on his cell and ignoring me.

“I told you I need that report right now!” he shouts. “And that means right. Fucking. NOW!”

Okay, then…

I’m already turning away when his voice snaps like a whip.

“Hey. You!”

My stomach drops before I even face him. He holds the mug away from his body like it’s contaminated.

“What is this?” His lip curls. “I told you a splash of cream. A splash. Do you not understand what that means?”

The air thins around me. “I’m so sorry. I can remake it. It’s not a problem.”

“Oh, it is a problem.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Are you stupid? How hard is it to pour a splash? You people can’t even do the simplest thing right.”

The words slide right through my skin like they’ve been here before. Table four instantly dissolves, and I’m back in Mom’s kitchen with the hiss of her cigarette, her voice tearing through the house.

Look at this mess! Are you blind? How many times do I have to tell you? Dumb girl. Always messing up and ruining everything.

My throat goes dry. “I’ll get you a new one.”

I reach for the mug, but he jerks it out of my hands so fast the coffee sloshes over the rim and splatters across the table. A few drops hit my wrist, hot enough to make me flinch.

“Look what you did.” He jiggles the mug toward me like I’m the one who spilled it. “Christ, how incompetent can you be?”

My chest constricts. The room becomes smaller. The scrape of forks, the clatter of plates, Mandy talking somewhere near the counter…it all folds into a single buzzing blur.

I force my voice steady. “Let me clean that and get you a fresh cup.”

“You actually think your small brain can get it right this time?” He shoves the mug aside.

That old echo rises again.

Idiot. Why can’t you do one thing right? What’s wrong with you?

My hands quiver.

Hold it together. People don’t need to see you falling apart. The last thing you need is to lose this job.

But Mom’s cunning voice doesn’t go away.

Stupid. Clumsy. A waste of breath.

The bell over the diner door chimes behind me, but my attention stays on the customer. On the volume of his voice, on the way every second he keeps going raises the chances of my boss hearing or someone pulling out a phone and recording this.

That’s the part that I dread the most. The idea that it could travel farther than this diner and land in the hands of people who can’t ever know where I am.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters loud enough for the whole place to hear. “They hire anyone these days.”

My stomach twists, but I force myself to wipe the spill. “It won’t happen again.”

He snorts like he already knows it will.

My cheeks warm and tears burn in my eyes as I pray he stops drawing more attention to us. As I reach for the mug, it shakes and a few more drops spill.

He laughs. “God, you really are stu⁠—”

The rest of the sentence dies in his mouth, like he forgot how to speak all of a sudden. His eyes lift over my shoulder, and all the color drains from his face while his jaw hangs slack and he barely blinks.

For a second, I think he might be having a stroke, and I wonder if his life is even worth saving.

Then a voice behind me, heavy with a Russian accent, burns into the space between us. “Choose your next words carefully, Benjamin, or you may find yourself unable to speak at all.”

Kirill.

I don’t turn around, like I’m incapable of it.

The diner goes still, all eyes on him, that commanding aura of his taking up all the air in the place. Even the clatter from the kitchen halts and the old coffee machine stops its rattling like it knows better than to interrupt.

Now the customer who was yelling won’t even look at me. His wide and nervous gaze stays locked behind my shoulder.

“I…I didn’t mean anything by it, Mr. Marinov,” he stammers.

Kirill doesn’t answer at first, and the silence stretches tight enough that my heart starts pounding in my ears. When he finally speaks, his words are calm and even, but there’s something in it that screams danger.

“Apologize to her.”

The man swallows while I try to hide my tears.

“Yes. Of course.” He peers at me. “I-I-I’m sorry. I had a bad day and I took it out on you.”

“It’s okay.”

I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, but it’s fine. I just want this to end.

“No, it is not okay,” Kirill says.

That’s when I turn. The second his eyes catch mine, the whole world seems to draw in around us, tightening until there’s nothing left but the heat crawling up my neck and the heavy beat of my pulse. He holds the look like he’s searching for something, trying to read what I won’t say out loud, and it turns my insides into a mess.

His son, Lev, watches everything. His attention stays on the man, then his eyes lift to me, and I don’t want him to see me cry. I force a smile, hating that he has to witness any of this.

Pivoting back around, I stare toward the table, not knowing what else to do, my face growing hot under the weight of everyone watching. I can still sense Kirill behind me, and I can’t quite believe he’s actually defending me.

“Get out,” Kirill says. “And I’d better never see you here again. We understand each other?”

“O-of course. Not a problem, Mr. Marinov.” The man scrambles up so fast, his chair legs scrape the floor.

He throws cash onto the table, then hesitates when Kirill’s glare pins him in place. Something passes between them. Something I don’t understand, but still feel in my bones.

The man’s hand shakes as he digs in his wallet, fumbling three hundred-dollar bills free, and shoves them into my hand without meeting my eyes.

“For your trouble,” he says, like that makes any of this acceptable.

Then he’s gone, hurrying out the door as if the air inside this diner has suddenly turned poisonous.

CHAPTER THREE

KIRILL

The moment that padonok escapes from the table, he nearly trips over his own feet trying to reach the door. I watch him go without moving a muscle, even though every part of me wants to drag him back by the throat and make him understand exactly what happens when someone makes her cry.

He is lucky Lev is here, or things would have been a lot worse. He should know better than to speak like that to one of my employees. But there’s no denying that she’s not just any employee. She means more to me than she realizes.

Sloane, of course, doesn’t know I own the diner. Her boss is merely a puppet who acts on my behalf. Legitimate business helps us with our cash flow. It’s important.

Lev’s small hand squeezes mine, and I immediately lower my head a little, bringing myself into his line of sight.

“Vsyo khorosho,” I tell him. Everything’s fine.

He studies my face, and I can see that he accepts what I said. He always trusts me more than I deserve.

When I lift my gaze, Sloane is still standing beside the table, trying to pull herself back together. She swipes a hand beneath one eye, pretending she’s only brushing something away instead of wiping tears that svolich put there.

“Are you all right?” My voice comes out softer, like I’m trying not to scare her.

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I’m fine. Really. And…thank you. You didn’t have to defend me.”

“Of course I did.”

The words come out rougher than I mean them to, and her eyes widen a fraction, like the idea of someone coming to her aid is foreign to her. Though it fits with the kind of life she’s had. Sorry excuse of an alcoholic father, her useless mother, and a sister, though I don’t know much about their relationship. But I suspect she was nothing great.

Sloane bites the inside of her cheek, and the longer I look at her—those big hazel eyes, the brown hair sprawled over her shoulders—the more the color creeps into her face like she can’t help it. I doubt she understands what that quiet shyness does to a man like me, how it pulls at something dark and possessive I keep locked down, especially when it comes to her.

Blyat. I’m forty-one, and she’s only twenty-three. Too young for me. Too untouched by the kind of world I live in. There’s still a softness to her, something the world hasn’t managed to strip away yet, and the thought of being the one to ruin that makes my muscles coil.

I shouldn’t look at her the way I do. I sure as hell should not be thinking about her in my bed, wrists wrapped in rope, that soft, strained voice whispering all the things she wants me to do to her.

But the thoughts come anyway. They always do. Especially at night when the house is quiet, Lev is asleep, and there’s nothing stopping me from imagining what it would be like if she was mine.

But that fantasy stays exactly where it belongs: in my subconscious. For her sake and mine.

Lev is my priority, and it will be a cold day in hell before I let another woman get close enough to hurt him the way his mother did.

Mother. That word never should’ve belonged to her. Every time I think about that woman and how she left him after we got his autism diagnosis, how he cried for her and clung to the hem of her shirt, it makes my rage grow. I swear that closed him off even more. It tore something in him, something I don’t think I will ever be capable of healing.

How dare she hurt him? I spent many nights planning the way I would kill her—not quickly, either—but in the end, I didn’t do it. Not because I cared that she came from another powerful family, but because one day, Lev would be old enough to find out, and I didn’t want him to look at me like the monster I know I am.

I didn’t love her. The pregnancy was an accident, and as soon as she found out, she used it to trap me. I did the right thing and married her, and as soon as Lev was born, he was my entire world. He always will be.

Sloane steps back, brushing her hands against her apron. “How about I get you guys your usual table?”

I nod, and she leads us toward the booth.

She looks over at Lev, his headphones around his neck, and gives him a smile, the real kind.

He simply watches her at first before his mouth slowly curls. I try not to react because he rarely smiles, but she is different somehow. I see how much she means to him. How much he wants to talk to her every time we’re here.

He has words, and they have grown in the last few years, but he still is reluctant to speak to people outside the family. Last week, he thanked her for extra curly fries, then gave her something he never shares: his chocolate bar. The one I get him every weekend. I don’t know what it is about Sloane, but she matters to him, and that means she matters to me.

Then again, she’s mattered to me for a while now…except she has no idea who I am or the connection we share. There’s no reason for her to know. Let her think this is how we met, here in the diner.

“Do you want your usuals?” she asks as we settle into our booths.

Her fingers slip a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fist curls beneath the table as I wonder how soft her skin is, how warm and tight she would feel around my cock.

I nod, and her mouth quirks…and I curse myself for my thoughts as they continue into dangerous territory. The feeling of her lips, the way she would sound when my tongue is inside her.

“Okay. I…” She hesitates, like she has something more to say.

“What is it, Sloane?”

When I say her name, her brows arch before she shifts like she’s uncomfortable. “I just…I don’t know, needed to thank you again. I’ve never…”

Leaning forward, I lock her with a stare. “Never what?”

“Never had anyone defend me like you did.” Her face falls, and it’s like a knife to my chest.

I knew her sister was a waste just like the rest of that family.

“Unlock your phone and give it to me.”

Her wide-eyed appearance almost makes me chuckle.

“Uh…okay?” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell, pressing her thumb against it before handing it to me.

It’s old, at least ten years, with a crack running across the glass.

I open her contacts and add my number, then text myself so I have hers too. When I hand the phone back, her fingers close around it like it suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.

“If you ever need anything, I’m a call away.”

Her mouth parts, and she just gapes at me like no one has ever offered her that.

“Oh…wow. Thank you, but I’m…I’m fine.” Another quick shrug, like she can make the lie believable if she keeps saying it over and over. “Anyway, I should go put in your order.”

She practically flees while I stay where I am, watching her disappear behind the counter, the same question pressing harder the longer I sit with it.

What kind of trouble is she in?

I know all about what happened back home and why she ran with her sister and nephew. But I don’t know what happened once she got here and what may have caused her to leave her house.

Maybe I misunderstood what I saw last week. The way she brushed her teeth and hair in the diner parking lot before her shift, like she’d slept in her car.

My focus stays on her as she whispers with her friend, probably about the incident with Ben.

Lev keeps watching her too. His gaze tracks her movements, his fingers tightening around mine, like he’s checking whether I’m seeing what he’s seeing. If she’s okay.

But I don’t know the answer. Not yet.

I can’t stop wondering where she goes at night. Who she goes home to. If she even has a home at all.

And if she doesn’t, I need to know why. I need to help her. I would put my men on her, but if she notices and gets scared, she might do something reckless and desperate.

That leaves me, even though I haven’t had a second to spare. Lev’s nanny quit last week and flew back to Russia due to a family emergency, and he refuses anyone new. Between therapy appointments, work, and my son needing me, everything else has been pushed aside.

But I’ll have to make time. Lev would want me to.

She comes back a few minutes later, balancing a tray. A burger slides in front of me, followed by a basket she sets carefully in front of Lev.

“Chicken nuggets,” she says to him. “And curly fries. I made sure they added extra, like always.”

Lev’s mouth trembles first, the way it does when he’s deciding whether a feeling is safe enough to show. Then it curves into a small smile. Again. And it does something to me to see him this way with her. He reaches for his backpack as she starts to go.

“Wait,” he says, barely louder than a breath.

She turns back to him just as he pulls out a piece of paper, being careful with the edges, and holds it up between them.

My gaze fastens on it. He drew something, and it’s good. Drawing is how he makes sense of the world when words don’t come, how he takes what’s too big in his head and puts it somewhere his hands can control.

Three figures stretch across the page. A strip of sand. A sun in the corner. A woman in a yellow swimsuit with a big hat, kneeling near the waterline. Lev is beside her, focused on a castle, and I’m in the background stretched out on a chair, watching them.

Her name is written above the woman in careful, uneven letters.

Sloane.

Her breath catches, and those hazel eyes shimmer as she looks between the picture and my son. “Is that…us?”

Lev nods.

She swallows, then grins at him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much. I’m going to put it on my fridge.”

Does she even have a fridge right now?

She turns back to Lev, voice thick. “You’re really special. Your dad is very lucky.”

My jaw tightens. “I am.”

Her eyes flick to mine, and my gaze stays locked on her, on the way her fingers curl around the paper like it’s something precious. There’s a crack in her, a fracture she keeps hidden beneath politeness and smiles.

Something in her is breaking. And I will be the one to fix it.

CHAPTER FOUR

SLOANE

The house looks the same when I arrive the next day, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before my shift. I hesitate only a second before knocking, already knowing how this will go, but I do it anyway. My pulse beats hard in my ears as I wait, then knock again, praying she lets me see him this time.

Just as I’m about to try again, the door opens just enough for her face to appear, eyes narrowed and already annoyed like I’ve interrupted something important just by existing.

“Eden.” She flicks up her chin, glancing over her shoulder before opening the door wider.

My gut knots. “You can’t call me that anymore, Camille.”

Her mouth curves into a sinister smile. “Relax. No one can hear us.”

“That isn’t the point, and you know it.”

But she always does whatever she can to upset me.

“This is all your fault.” She draws closer, refusing to let me in. “You ruined everything, and to this day, I can’t even call my friends or even see my boyfriend just because you…” She sticks her finger into my chest. “…decided to be a criminal.”

My muscles tighten. “I’m not doing this today.”

But of course, she’s right. I did do this. Me and my stupidity.

She scoffs. “We had a good life back home. But you had to go and fuck it all up.”

A laugh slips out. “A good life? We had rats in the walls, Camille. We couldn’t leave food out overnight without it being chewed through by morning. Mom was sick, Dad was drunk, and you spent half your time pretending you were better than all of it while I was the one trying to keep things from falling apart.”

Her eyes flash. “And now look at us. Happy fucking family.”

“This place is better. You know it is. It’s clean. It’s safe. And the rent is something we can actually manage. We’re lucky my friend set us up here.”

“Lucky,” she repeats flatly. “I’m not lucky. I’m stuck. Speaking of stuck, I hope you came here to give me the money for the week. I’m not doing this for free.”

My heart drops. I really need to find another job. “I-I-I don’t have it this week. But I promise I will in a few days. I have to get paid first, then you will⁠—”

“You truly disgust me. A pathetic, alcoholic do-nothing like Dad was. Maybe if we’re lucky, you’ll drink yourself into an early grave too.”

Tears burn behind my eyes. “How can you say that?”

She shakes her head, just like the man from the diner. “Because you’d do yourself a favor. Your little problem has already caused too many headaches. And if you forgot, I’m the one who saved you from going to prison. You’re welcome.”

My mouth shuts because she’s right. She may have her faults, but she did save me. Mom’s death was ruled an accident, even when I was the one who pushed her.

A small sound comes from the hallway, and I inhale a sharp breath just as his soft footsteps draw nearer before his beautiful face comes into view. He peeks around Camille’s hip, dark hair sticking up in the back, large hazel eyes staring back at me with questions I can’t answer.

The sight of him hits me like a punch straight to the chest, a pain so brutal I don’t even know how to name it. The world constricts to this one moment, this one small body standing there like he’s not the reason my heart keeps beating.

“Mama!” The word tears out of my sweet little six-year-old boy, and emotions clog my throat.

I barely have time to take a step forward before Camille’s arm shoots out, blocking him.

“No,” she snaps. “Go upstairs.”

His face crumples. “But I wanna see Mama.”

“She’s busy. And she needs to go.”

“NO!” His brows furrow, and he pouts in that way he does when he’s mad and sad all at once.

“Do what I said, Milo.” Her tone rises. “Get your ass up there!”

With a cry, he trudges up the stairs, glancing back at me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away too long. My entire soul shatters. I’m not here for him. To comfort him, to hold him, to tell him I’ll be back for him.

I want to run after him. I want to pull him into my arms and breathe him in until my lungs stop burning. Instead, I stand there shaking.

“Don’t yell at him. He’s just a baby.”

She pivots to me, eyes cold. “Maybe if he had a mother worth a damn, I wouldn’t be cleaning up after him every day.”

The words slice deep.

“You’re lucky he has me,” she continues. “You know that, right?”

“Please…just let me see him. I won’t stay long.”

Camille crosses her arms. “You can see him when you get your life together.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough,” she says flatly. “When you can afford your own place and when you stop drinking, you can have Milo.”

“I’m not drinking.” The words rush out, like I can force her to hear me if I say them fast enough. “I told you I wasn’t drinking that day. I went out with coworkers. They can back me up. It was my boss’s birthday. Everyone was drinking around me. That’s why you smelled it on my clothes.”

But she didn’t care what I said. She kicked me out anyway.

She lets out a snicker. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes. Because it’s the truth.”

Her gaze turns icier. “Have you forgotten how many times you’ve lied before? What happened the last time you drank?”

The question lodges in my throat so fast it hurts. I try to swallow past it, but the memory comes anyway: water, screaming, a body floating.

“You want Milo to end up dead in a pool too?” Camille keeps going, like she can see the picture in my mind. “You forget how angry you get when you’re drunk. That is, when you’re not passed out in your own vomit. How many times have I cleaned you up, Eden?”

That name again.

Tears spill before I can will them away, turning everything into a blur. “I’m not that person anymore. I’ve changed. I’m doing better.”

“You always say that.” She steps closer until there’s barely space between us. “But people like you never change, and it’s time you realized that. Now excuse me. I have to get ready for work, and Milo has school.”

My hands curl at my sides, nails biting into my palms because if I move the wrong way, I’m going to fall apart right here on the porch. “I’m his mother.”

Her mouth presses into a line. “You don’t get to use that word until you earn it.”

The door snaps shut in my face, and I just stare at it like if I don’t move, if I don’t breathe too loud, it might swing open again and Milo will come barreling down the stairs into my arms like none of this ever happened.

But he doesn’t.

I don’t know how long I stand there before my body finally remembers how to move. Turning away takes everything in me. Walking to the car is like treading toward the edge of a cliff, each step wrong, like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind on that porch.

I don’t look back. If I do, I won’t make myself leave at all.

The car door barely shuts before the sound breaks out of me, raw and uncontrolled. My body folds forward, forehead pressed to the steering wheel as everything caves in at once. My chest aches, breath coming in shallow pulls, grief spilling everywhere with nowhere to go.

I need more money. There has to be another job I can take, but I’m already at the diner six days a week. Friday is my only day off, the one sliver of breathing room I’m supposed to have. What can I even find for one day a week that pays enough to matter?

I need something to give in my shitstorm of a life before the idea of jumping off a cliff sounds better than this reality.

But I can’t leave Milo. I won’t do that to him. I have to fight. I’ll get enough money for my own place, take my son out of that house that isn’t mine anymore, and prove to Camille that I can stand on my own without begging her for permission to exist.

There’s no other choice. Court isn’t an option. I can’t tell the truth about who I am without ripping open a past I’ve spent years burying, and I won’t drag that kind of danger anywhere near my son.

So I sit here crying until my chest throbs. Then I wipe my face and breathe through it, because one thing is clear.

I won’t let her take him from me. No matter the cost.

Parking far from the entrance of the minimart, I sit there with my hands on the wheel, still picturing Milo’s face when Camille ordered him upstairs. The way his little body leaned toward me like he thought he could fight his way past her.

Running a hand down my face, I stifle the scream dying to get out and make myself move, stepping out with my hood pulled low and my sunglasses on, hiding my red-rimmed eyes. Glancing around the lot to make sure I’m not being followed, I hurry inside, grab the nearest basket, and head for the health and beauty aisle, throwing in everything I need.

Tiny shampoo. Tiny conditioner. A tube of toothpaste that looks like it belongs in a hotel bathroom.

I line things up in the basket one by one, doing the math in my head as if it will make it hurt less when I pay.

A bar of soap. A pack of wipes. Deodorant I don’t even like, but it’s cheap. Everything small. Everything meant to last just long enough to get me to the next day.

This is my life, reduced to palm-sized versions of necessities.

As I turn the corner, a prickle creeps up the back of my neck. It’s the same feeling I had driving over here: that sense that I wasn’t alone even when the road looked empty. Like something tailed me the whole way and tucked itself behind me the second I stopped.

My pace eases without meaning to, and I listen for footsteps that might line up with mine.

Maybe it’s paranoia. Or maybe paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.

People from my old life didn’t just forget about me. I know they’re still out there wanting to punish me for what happened. One person recognizing me, one mistake, and I’m not the only one who pays for it.

They won’t stop with me. They’ll go after Milo too because nothing cuts deeper than your child.

I won’t let anything happen to my baby. I’ll die first.

My fingers tighten around the basket until it digs into my skin. Milo’s face flashes through my mind, the way it always does when panic starts to claw its way up my throat. He used to look at me like I was his whole world, like everything made sense as long as I was there. I miss that so much.

When I was sixteen and staring at a positive pregnancy test, I thought my life was over. But then they placed him in my arms, small and warm and real, and everything in me locked into place.

That was it. One mistake with a guy at a party, one night I barely remember, and suddenly my whole life had a single purpose.

After that, everything was for him. I took whatever job would pay, grabbed whatever hours they’d give me, learned how to make groceries last past the point they were supposed to, and held him the way he liked so he wouldn’t cry and wake Mom up—because if she did, I paid for it for days.

When my father was around, he was drunk enough not to care, which somehow felt worse than if he’d been cruel. Neither of them spent time with Milo or looked at him like he mattered. Camille didn’t either, not unless she could use him as a weapon. A way to remind me what a terrible mother I was.

I used to lie awake at night imagining an escape. Just me and my baby, somewhere quiet and clean, somewhere no one yelled or drank or told me I was nothing.

I pictured a small place with sunlight and a safe neighborhood where Milo could play and make friends. Instead, he’s with my sister and I’m standing in a grocery store aisle trying not to come apart.

The thought that destroys me most isn’t Camille keeping him from me. It’s Milo believing I left because I didn’t want him. That maybe he thinks his mother chose something else over him, the way my own mother always made me feel chosen last.

My vision blurs again, and a cry slips out. I sniffle, ducking my head as a woman passing by slows and looks at me with concern.

“Are you okay, honey?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, the words automatic. “Just allergies.”

“Oh, yeah. I get those bad too.” She reaches for the large bottle of shampoo. “You take care now.”

“Thanks. You too.”

I make a beeline for the register, the basket biting into my fingers, while all I want to do is get back in my car. The cashier barely looks up as she rings everything up. I hand over cash, grab the bag the second it’s pushed toward me, and hurry out.

As soon as I’m inside my car, the doors lock with a click, but that won’t keep me safe. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop looking over my shoulder.

I sit there gripping the steering wheel until my hands stop shaking.

Get a grip. Jumping at every sound is how you get noticed.

My focus needs to be on finding another job. If I want my son back, that’s what I need to do.

Removing my sunglasses, I start the car and force myself to relax as I pull out of the parking lot.

No more mistakes. No more attention. I need to stay committed to what matters.

Because Milo is waiting for me, and I’ve disappointed him enough.

CHAPTER FIVE

KIRILL

No one stops me when I walk into the building.

The receptionist glances up, recognizes me, and immediately looks away, pretending she didn’t see me. Smart woman.

I don’t slow down as I step into the hallway. Benjamin’s voice carries through the conference room doors, confident and smug, but it won’t last.

I barrel in without knocking, and conversation dies instantly, all eyes around the long table zeroed on me. The color drains from Benjamin’s face so fast it’s almost impressive. He knows me well enough from prior business dealings to know I would not let what he did to Sloane go.

The men seated around the table glance between us, sensing something wrong without understanding what it is yet.

“Gentlemen,” he says, already rising from his chair, his voice tight. “Give us a moment.”

No one argues.

Chairs scrape. Papers are gathered too quickly. They file out without asking questions, because people like him don’t get scared for no reason.

The door closes, and silence settles around us like bricks.

Benjamin swallows. “Kirill, listen. I said I was sorry, okay? I⁠—”

The distance between us disappears in three steps. My hand closes around his collar, and I drive him backward, his body crashing into the glass conference table with a sound that ripples through the room. The glass spiderwebs, then gives out completely as I shove him harder, shards exploding across the floor. He hits the ground with a grunt.

I crouch in front of him and take his face in my hand, fingers digging into his jaw until his mouth falls open and a strangled sound tears out of his throat. I force his head up and make him look at me instead of the blood pooling beneath him.

“You disrespected her. You spoke to her like she was something you could crush under your shoe.”

Crimson spills from the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head, panic already setting in. “I didn’t know she mattered to you.”

My fist snaps forward, knuckles connecting with his face hard enough to jolt his entire body. There’s a sound like something giving way and he screams, high and broken, hands flying up too late to protect himself.

I grab his shirt, bunching the fabric in my fist, and drag him closer until his breath hits my cheek in hot bursts.

“She matters,” I tell him. “And if you ever speak to her like that again, if you so much as look at her the wrong way, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will send your family whatever is left of you in pieces.”

His eyes grow wild, drowning in fear.

The door suddenly flies open, his secretary rushing in. Her heels skid to a stop as she takes in the shattered glass, the blood across the floor, and Benjamin crumpled in my grip.

“Oh my God. Sir, should…should I call the police?”

I laugh while Benjamin thrashes, terror pushing him upright just enough to choke out, “No. Get out.”

She hesitates for half a second, then turns and bolts, slipping on the glass as she scrambles for the door. I release Benjamin and rise to my feet, wiping my bloody knuckles on the front of his suit before I walk out, like he’s nothing more than a rag left behind for my convenience.

By the time I reach the elevator, my phone is already in my hand, and I know exactly who I’m calling next.

Mark answers on the first ring. He may run the diner, but every dollar that place makes traces back to me.

“Hello?” The tension slides into his voice like he can hear my mood through the phone.

“Sloane is getting promoted. Effective immediately.”

Silence stretches on the line, long enough to be noticeable.

“Boss…” he says at last. “She doesn’t have management experience, and if I move her up this fast, it’s going to raise questions.”

“Did that sound like a negotiation?” The words stay calm, but there’s a warning under them. “You’re going to make her manager, and you will triple what she’s making now.”

Another pause, then a resigned exhale. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Good. I don’t pay you to explain problems to me. I pay you to fix them.”

“Yes, boss.”

“That’s the spirit, Mark. Now tell me, have you seen her sleeping in her car?”

“What? No,” he says, too quickly. “Why would I…no, I haven’t. Is there a problem?”

He gets paid not only to run things, but to keep an eye on Sloane and report back to me. If he hasn’t noticed, it means she’s either good at hiding it or he isn’t doing his job, neither of which are good for him.

“There might be, and I expect you to know everything that is going on with her.”

“What do you want me to do, spy on her?”

“Exactly.”

A slow breath carries through the receiver, resignation settling in. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Make sure she knows she can come to you if something is going on.”

I hate the thought of her needing anyone but me, but it will scare her if I’m too pushy, and I don’t want to do that.

“Of course.”

“If she says anything, you tell me immediately.”

“Understood.”

“There’s one more thing. I dropped off a package for her earlier. It’s wrapped. Make sure she gets it. I want her to know it’s from me.”

His voice shifts. “Okay. What is it?”

“That doesn’t concern you. It’s on your desk. Pink wrapping paper.”

Her favorite color.

He huffs like he’s smiling to himself. “Sure thing, boss.”

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” I can almost see him grinning.

“Don’t play me for an idiot.”

A soft chuckle leaks through anyway. “It’s just…you have really taken to this girl, even back in New York. What is it about her?”

I don’t know.

“Mark.” His name comes out like a warning. “Stop asking questions and start paying attention. Keep your eye on her like I told you. If you miss something that matters, you won’t get a second chance.”

I end the call, growing tired of hearing his voice. The phone stays in my palm while I wonder if her new salary will fix whatever is going on. I should have done it a long time ago.

I can’t stop thinking about the package I left her. About the moment she opens it and realizes it came from me.

More than that, I want her to understand that when she needs something, she comes to me. Always.

CHAPTER SIX

SLOANE

The bell over the diner door chimes when I step inside, and Mandy’s already behind the counter wiping the surface when I walk in. As soon as she spots me, she gives me a concerned once-over.

“You okay?” she asks while I tie my apron, leaning in like we’re sharing a secret. “I can’t believe that prick from yesterday.”

But I don’t care about him. My thoughts are consumed with Milo.

“I’m fine.” I throw on a grin.

Mandy’s brows lift. “You don’t look fine.”

“Just didn’t sleep much.” I shrug, hoping it’s enough to make her drop it. I can’t afford to fall apart at work.

“Why not?”

“Just up all night thinking about all the bills I have due this month.”

It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s enough.

Mandy’s face softens immediately. “Sloane…do you need to borrow some money? You know I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“Oh God, no,” I immediately say.

I would never borrow from anyone. But there is something she can help me with…

“You’re still working at the Whitlocks’ bed and breakfast, right?”

The Whitlocks are this wealthy family who run Blackthorn Ridge Ranch, and everyone around here knows their name. Most of them live on their huge ranch out in Texas, but they also have a smaller one here in New Jersey.

“Yep, I’m still there. Why?” She narrows her stare.

“I could really use a second job. Do you know if they’re hiring for just Fridays? I know that’s probably unlikely, but I figured I’d ask.”

“I can ask.”

“And they pay cash the same day, right?”

She nods. “Always, and they pay well.”

This would be so good for me.

“Oh my God,” she goes on. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we worked there together too? And what’s better than petting horses?”

She’s not wrong. And if I actually got a job there, maybe I could finally bring Milo around the ranch. His face flashes through my mind, the way he presses his hands to the car window whenever we pass Blackthorn Ridge like he can’t get close enough. He loves horses as much as I do.

I’ve driven by the ranch so many times, all that open space stretching out forever, and it looks like heaven. I’ve just never had a reason to go. If I’m honest, I’ve been avoiding people on purpose. The less I stand out, the fewer questions I get. The fewer questions I get, the harder it is for anyone to connect the dots back to my old life in New York.

“It would be fun,” I finally say, hoping I get the chance.

She’s about to add something else, but Mark steps out of the back office at that exact moment, pushing his glasses up his nose with a huff.

“Sloane? Can you come with me for a minute?”

Dread hits hard, bile creeping up my throat as yesterday flashes through my mind. The spilled coffee. That man running his mouth. Mark deciding I’m more trouble than I’m worth.

I can’t lose this job. I can’t.

Mandy catches my forearm before I can move.

“It’s probably nothing,” she whispers. “You didn’t do anything.”

I swallow hard, because when has that ever mattered?

A nod comes out of me, even though my heart is already kicking against my ribs. When I follow Mark toward the back, the diner noise fades behind us and all I can register is my own pulse. The office door shuts, and anxiety continues to surge through me.

“Have a seat.” Mark gestures toward the chair across from his desk.

The room tightens around me as I drop onto the leather, hands folded together in my lap to stop them from shaking.

“If I did something wrong, I can fix it. I swear.”

Mark squints like he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

My throat works through the lump there. “Then why am I here?”

He takes his seat and leans back, studying me until my skin starts to crawl. “Because you’ve been doing everything right.”

“What?”

That doesn’t make sense, and it only gets stranger when he says, “I want to promote you.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, but they still don’t feel real.

“Promote me? To what?”

“Manager.”

A laugh slips out. “That’s not funny.”

Mark doesn’t laugh with me. “I’m serious.”

My amusement dies as I wait for the punchline that doesn’t come. “Why me?”

“You’ve been here long enough.” He flips his hands in the air. “And most importantly, customers like you. You handle people well. You keep your head when things get messy, and this place needs someone who can do that.”

“That’s not…” My head shakes. “I don’t have experience. There are people who’ve been here longer. People who actually know what they’re doing.”

“Well, I want you.”

He can’t be serious. This has to be a joke.

“I don’t think I’m right for this.”

“You are.” He grabs a notepad, scribbles, then slides it across the desk. “This is your new salary. Paid biweekly. Same hours too. You start tomorrow.”

My eyes drop to the number and my lungs forget how to work.

Forty-five thousand.

Holy. Shit.

The number sits there like it’s mocking me. It has to be a mistake. Life doesn’t work like this, not for someone like me.

This money means I can eventually get a small apartment and have Milo back. The problem is, most rentals want credit reports I can’t give them and paperwork I can’t provide without unraveling everything. But I can figure that out.

For now, this is good. Really good. The only hitch is waiting two weeks for the money to start coming in, which means I still need the ranch job for extra cash.

“Thank you,” I manage, staring at the number like it might disappear if I look away. “I won’t mess this up.”

“I know you won’t.”

I push up from the chair, still trying to make my brain accept that this is actually happening.

“Oh, before I forget.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a small box wrapped in pink paper and finished with a glossy white bow and sliding it toward me. “One of our customers left this for you.”

My hands still in midair. “A customer?”

He lifts the box. “Kirill. He asked me to make sure you got it.”

My pulse kicks hard, like it does every time I think about Kirill and how it would feel if he kissed me.

“What is it?” My fingertips buzz in anticipation as I take the box from him.

Why would he get me something?

The gesture pulls at the part of me who wants to matter.

Mark shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

“Thanks again.” I turn toward the door and rush out to the front, eager to see what’s inside.

As soon as Mandy notices the gift, she scrunches her nose. “Does Mark have a crush on you or something?”

“What? Oh, that. No, that’s not from him.”

“Then who?”

“Kirill…”

Mandy’s brows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her hairline. “Kirill? As in tall, scary, hot, looks-like-he-could-kill-a-man Kirill?”

Heat crawls up my neck. “Mandy.”

“The one who basically threatened to rip that guy’s tongue out yesterday?” she presses, rather delightfully. “That Kirill?”

I glance around. The diner is dead. Only two tables are busy. A couple of old men nursing coffee and staring at the TV. No one’s listening, thank goodness.

Mandy grins. “Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Open it. If it’s a bomb, at least we’ll go together.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

My hands are clammy as I set the box down behind the counter and slowly peel back the paper. The lid lifts, and all I can do is stare.

A cellphone rests inside, sleek and brand new. The kind I’ve seen in commercials where the people holding it look like they’ve never had to choose between gas and groceries. It’s too nice to be real.

Mandy lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s top of the market, baby. I told you he likes you.”

The word likes lands wrong, as though it doesn’t belong in my life. Like it’s a costume someone’s trying to force onto me.

He doesn’t like me. He can’t.

When I lift the phone, I find a note in neat, unmistakable handwriting.

For you, since yours looked broken. You have my number.

You have my number?

What does that mean? Does he want me to call him just for fun? Like in a “hey, how was your day” kind of way? Or only when I actually need his help?

A stupid little thrill sparks in my chest, embarrassing enough that I shove it down and bury it with the wrapping paper like I can get rid of it that easily.

Stop being a child. He doesn’t want you. He’s just a nice guy, probably fixating on you like his new charity case.

Mandy reads over my shoulder, then peers up at me. “Okay. I take it back. He doesn’t just like you. That man is obsessed with you.”

“He’s not,” I say automatically, because the alternative makes my skin prickle.

Mandy gives me a look that says I’m crazy or delusional—or maybe both.

My fingers close around the phone again, and my mind trips over the same thought. The same question that keeps chasing me no matter how many times I try to outrun it.

What did I do to deserve this?

Nothing good ever comes without a price. How many times has life taught me that?

The urge to run hits. Running is what I do when something starts to become too good, too dangerous.

And still, the way my chest loosens, the way relief rushes in like air after being held underwater, makes me hate myself a little because I want to believe in it. I want to believe someone can hand me something and not expect anything back.

Mandy nudges me. “You’re staring at the phone like it might eat you.”

“Shut up.” I elbow her playfully, while my mind is still on the handsome single dad—or at least I think he’s single.

Oh my God, what if there’s a Mrs. Kirill and I’m over here imagining what it would be like if he kissed me?

“So, are you going to tell me what Mark wanted?” Mandy asks, slipping through my thoughts.

“Oh, that. Well…” I chew the edge of my lower lip. “I got promoted. To manager.”

Mandy freezes. Then her face splits open with a grin so bright it makes my throat sting. “Shut up! Oh my God, that’s great!”

She makes a strangled sound and throws her arms around me so fast, I nearly drop the box. One of the elderly men glances over, but Mandy doesn’t care.

“Can you not squeeze me like you’re trying to crack a rib?” I mumble.

But I’m smiling, and it feels strange on my face. I haven’t worn one this honest in a long time, if ever.

For the first time, the future doesn’t look like a wall. It looks like a door that might actually open.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KIRILL

The shareholders’ meeting wraps up and the room starts to clear, chairs scraping back as men file toward the door with folders tucked under their arms.

These meetings matter. They keep people confident, and confidence keeps money steady. The legitimate side of what we do isn’t an afterthought, not if we want to stay untouchable, so we give it the attention it demands.

Once everyone is out, my brothers and I stay seated, the four of us alone in the quiet. After a moment, Konstantin steps away to call Emilia, checking on her and the baby she’s carrying.

Their relationship still doesn’t make sense to me. She used to be a Fed, for fuck’s sake. Then again, Aleksei is married to a prosecutor who tried to put him in prison. Some days, I honestly can’t tell who’s going to kill who first.

Anton, my youngest brother, stares out the window, eyes flat, but always observant. I sometimes wonder what goes on in that head of his. Whether he remembers what happened to him as a child or if his mind buried it so deep even he can’t reach it anymore.

Once Konstantin ends his call, he turns back to us and walks to the head of the table, settling into his chair. He leans forward with his palms braced on the polished surface, gaze moving between us before he speaks.

“I heard from Stan. The supply issue won’t be resolved anytime soon.”

Blyat. We need those guns. If we can’t keep our customers stocked with a reliable stream of weapons and ammunition, they’ll take their money elsewhere, and once that happens, the trust we’ve built starts to rot. In our world, reliability is everything. You lose it once, and you don’t always get it back.

“Then we find a new European supplier and kill Stan for being incompetent,” Aleksei says.

Konstantin’s mouth twitches, almost a smile. “I know you prefer to solve things with a heavy hand, but that is not always the smartest option. If we kill Stan, we start a war we don’t need. Not when we may find ourselves in the middle of another.”

I lean closer, unsure who he is talking about. “S’kem?” With who?

“The Whitlocks.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid as soon as I hear that name. They play the part of wealthy ranch owners quite well, but men like us in the underworld know they’re just as dirty as we are.

“What the hell did they do?” Aleksei asks.

When they first opened that bed and breakfast and horse rehab facility a few years ago, it was a problem. We overlap in the same lanes—guns, gambling—but after some tense negotiations, we stuck to an arrangement. They stay in the South and out West, while we keep our clients on our side of the country, from Minnesota to Maine. They haven’t encroached…so far.

“Seems like Harlan may be getting greedy,” Konstantin says, speaking of the patriarch of the family.

I knew it wouldn’t last. Svolichy. Bastards.

“If it’s true…” Konstantin goes on, leaning back, the quiet ire under that calm façade obvious. “If he thinks our supply issues mean he can swoop in and play hero, then we will have to remind him it does not work that way. Not with us.”

Aleksei’s jaw clenches, a curse firing out of him. “Ya yevo mamu yibal.”

“Do you want us to pay them a visit?” I ask, knowing death is the one lesson most people learn from.

“Not yet. I have some feelers out, and if it gets to that point, we will have to set up a meeting first. If it fails, then we kill them all.”

Aleksei pushes back from the table, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt like this conversation is wasting his time. “I don’t know why you keep waiting. If they disrespect us, we hit them now and ask questions later.”

Konstantin sighs, used to Aleksei’s ways. “You know I love you, brother, but you do not know how business works.”

Aleksei lets out a short scoff. “Yeah, we know. The great Konstantin is the boss and we are your peasants.”

“That is not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.” The look he gives him is the same one he gives men right before he breaks them.

Konstantin doesn’t take the bait, just holds Aleksei’s gaze like he’s weighing whether to continue or let it slide.

Aleksei pushes up from his chair. “If we’re finished, I have to go.”

“Yes.” Konstantin reaches for a few folders, stacking them neatly as he stands. “We’re done.”

We all get to our feet, and even though the conversation is over, the tension doesn’t leave with it. It just waits in the quiet like smoke.

Konstantin is already turning toward the door when I catch him with the question I’ve been holding back since before we even sat down.

“Can you take Lev tonight?”

I hate leaving him with the housekeeper. She’s capable, but she isn’t family, and I’d rather my son be with people who know him when I can’t be there.

Konstantin nods without hesitation. “Of course. Emilia and I will be happy to have him.”

Aleksei leans in with a crooked smile. “I’m available too.”

I snicker. “You’re too busy ignoring your wife to babysit my son.”

His smirk twitches like he’s going to laugh. Then it dies, and the Russian he mutters under his breath sounds a lot like he’s deciding how many different ways he could kill me without Konstantin getting annoyed.

Anton doesn’t offer, and he never would. He hasn’t offered to watch Lev once, and it isn’t his fault. He changed after our father smashed a glass bottle over his head and left him bleeding on the floor when he was only nine. When he woke up hours later, whatever made him human was gone.

In its place was exactly what our father wanted most: a weapon who doesn’t feel. A killer with no conscience. Someone he could use in whatever way he wanted—and that’s exactly what he did.

The elevator opens to the garage, and Aleksei falls in step beside me with that grin he gets when he’s about to start running his mouth.

“So, where are you off to tonight? A date?”

I shoot him a look that should shut him up, but it only makes his smile widen. He knows how to get to me and I, of course, know how to hit him right back.

His eyes sharpen with interest. “Is it the homeless girl? You taking her somewhere nice? Somewhere with chairs that don’t smell like grease?”

“Shut up.” I’m already moving toward my car. “I have things to handle.”

Aleksei chuckles under his breath. “Sure, you do. Try talking to her for once. Maybe get her some roses.”

“Worry about your own lady problems,” I tell him. “Last I checked, you’ve got a wife you’re pretending doesn’t exist because you’re scared she might throw you off a bridge.”

His face goes flat. “Edi na khuy.” Go fuck yourself.

A faint smile touches my lips.

Konstantin drops a palm to my shoulder. “Do what you need to do. Lev will be fine.”

I nod, knowing it’s easier than trying to explain something I don’t even understand myself.

Why does Sloane matter to me?

We split without another word, engines roaring one by one as we peel out of the garage.

By the time I hit the road, Sloane is already there in my head, lodged there where I can’t shake her loose. The way her cheeks go pink when she catches my eye. The way she walks around in those worn-out sneakers that I want to replace.

But she isn’t mine, and what I have to do tonight is not a date.

It’s worse. It’s necessity.

SLOANE

It’s past ten when I step out of the diner, the neon sign buzzing behind me as I cross the lot and unlock my car. I slide into the driver’s seat, give the lot a quick scan out of habit, then start the engine.

My piece-of-crap Volkswagen coughs to life, which is still a minor miracle. It’s the only car I’ve ever had, and the last time it broke down years ago, the mechanic fixed it for free. God knows why.

At first, I thought he was going to ask me out or something, but he just did it. Said to consider it a goodwill gesture and to pass it on. I did. Bought a woman’s coffee the next day even though I only had a twenty to my name. Still, it felt like the right thing to do. Don’t need the universe giving me any more middle fingers. I’ve had quite enough to last a lifetime.

I pull out of the lot, easing onto the road and letting the building disappear behind me. I don’t even know where I’m going next. Somewhere dark enough to park without the cops spotting me in the back.

The road stretches out in front of me, familiar turns rolling by as my thoughts drift to my new promotion. If Camille finds out about it, she’ll demand more money. And I’ll have to give it to her because I don’t get to argue when she’s holding everything I love hostage.

A stop sign comes up and I slow, turning right—and suddenly, headlights turn with me. The vehicle maintains a safe distance, but I still check to make sure it isn’t following me.

My grip tightens on the wheel as I keep going, forcing my speed to stay even. When I turn left this time, the headlights continue to stay in my rearview.

A black SUV comes into view, dark windows reflecting nothing back at me. The space between us doesn’t close, but it doesn’t widen either, and the longer it stays there, the colder my blood runs.

A right turn appears, and I take it. So does the SUV.

My nerves buzz through me, fear blooming and dragging memories up from places I keep locked down. Barrett’s face flashes through my mind, then Eli’s. Men I’ve fought like hell to stay invisible from.

But what if they’ve finally found me? What if all the careful choices, all the years of staying small and quiet, didn’t matter at all?

Another turn. Then another. The SUV stays with me.

Oh my God. It’s them. They’re gonna kill me.

Dreads clogs up my throat, and Milo flashes before my eyes like he’s here with me. His laughter and the way he’d tell me he loves me tear at my heart.

I can’t die. Not when my baby needs me.

My breathing turns shallow as the road blurs, panic clawing higher while my thoughts scatter. I can’t even speed. Drawing attention would make everything worse. I may have a new identity, but the cops could still run my prints, and then they’d find out about Eden.

I just need to survive whatever is about to happen. Then I’ll worry about saving enough money so I can take Milo from school and run.

The SUV’s headlights fill my mirror, closer now, as my past presses in from all sides.

When I first met Barrett, I thought my life would finally be good. That I’d have a family who cared.

But I was dead wrong.

AGE THIRTEEN

The pavement is still warm under my bare feet, the skin on my cheek throbbing where my mother’s hand landed. Hunger hits my stomach while I keep replaying the fridge door opening, how I was about to grab the leftover pasta until my mother snatched the container out of my hands.

Rotten girls don’t get to eat, she’d said. If I wanted food, I could go get a job.

My sister wasn’t home. But she’s never home much these days. She’s twenty and way cooler than me. She’s probably at her boyfriend’s house.

I wish I was an adult like her. Katherine doesn’t have to deal with Mom and Dad much anymore. Lucky her.

I lower onto a bench by the grocery store, embarrassed as people walk by and give me pity-filled looks when they glance at my bare feet. I would’ve gotten my shoes before I ran out of the house, but my mother was being crazy, cursing at me and hitting me for trying to eat her food, so I did what I always do and left. Just without shoes this time—which, in hindsight, was a very bad idea.

I don’t know what I did to make her hate me. I try to be good, but sometimes maybe I’m not. I don’t do good in school or have many friends, but I don’t do drugs or drink like Dad does.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast at school. I would’ve had lunch, but Sophia spilled milk all over my food on purpose and I didn’t have any money to buy a second lunch. They don’t give us free seconds.

The street stretches out in front of me, empty except for a girl coming out of a car. She’s around Katherine’s age, and pretty too. She looks me up and down as she approaches the store, her brown eyes narrowing.

“You okay, kid?” she asks. “Need help?”

The words catch me off guard. No one ever asks if I need help. I’m always on my own. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so I shrug, trying to look like I’m not about to cry.

She digs into her bag and holds out a large KitKat bar. “Here.”

The wrapper crinkles when I take it, my fingers clumsy as I peel it open, desperate to put anything in my stomach. The first bite makes my eyes sting, sugar and relief hitting all at once, and I turn my face away so she doesn’t see.

“I’m Jess.” She drops down beside me like we’ve known each other longer than two minutes.

We sit there for a while, cars passing without slowing. She tells me about the place where she stays, about the people she lives with and how they look out for each other. Truthfully, it sounds too good to be true.

Then she asks, “You wanna come check it out and hang for a bit? It’s better than sitting out here with no shoes on.” She pops a brow, a smile forming.

I probably shouldn’t go, but I’m cold and I don’t wanna be out here anymore. My head tips forward and I nod before I can talk myself out of it.

She leads me into her car, and we drive for about twenty minutes before we end up at a large house, like three of mine. The white fence looks sturdy, not like the broken-down one at my house. Even the lawn is trimmed. Her family must be very rich.

We step out of the car, and I freeze as the door shuts, suddenly aware of my bare feet and stained shirt.

Jess starts up the driveway and turns to me. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

I ignore my own thoughts and follow her inside the house. As soon as we enter, the smell of food, something vegetably, drifts up my nose, and my hunger is all I can think about.

Inside, voices grow loud and two teenagers pass us by, saying hi to Jess while they give me curious glances. Are they her siblings?

As we walk into the living room, I notice three more teenagers sprawled across couches, while a few older people hover to the left. Two heads turn when we make our way into the kitchen, an older man and a younger one. Their eyes take me in, like they’re curious about me.

Goose bumps spread over my arms. I should go. I don’t know what the hell this place is…

“Who’s this?” the older man—maybe Dad’s age—asks. He’s got kinder eyes, like the color of the ocean.

“Found her outside,” Jess explains. “She was hungry.”

He holds her stare before he nods thoughtfully. “What’s your name, kid? I’m Barrett, and this is my house.”

“You have a lot of kids.” My mouth thins.

He laughs as he moves toward the stove, pouring what looks like chicken noodle soup into a bowl. When he places the bowl in front of me and hands me a spoon, my eyes grow.

“Eat,” he tells me.

You don’t have to tell me twice…

Hopping on the chair at the counter, I taste the soup and almost groan. It’s really good, and I don’t even like soup.

“So, what’s your name?” Barrett asks, sitting across from me.

“I’m Eden.”

“Nice to meet you, Eden. You live close?”

Swallowing down the broth, I tell him where I live without giving him my actual address. He might be a killer or something. A killer who makes good soup.

“Got parents?”

I nod, staring down at the soup.

“Ah, got it. That’s alright, kid. My parents were shit too. It’s why I told myself that when I got older, I was going to build a place for kids like me. Kids who don’t have much, kids who need a family to depend on. And that’s what we have here: a family.”

“That sounds nice.”

He grins, folding his arms over his chest. “Look, we’ve got space for you if you want it. So if you ever find yourself in need of food or a bed to sleep on, just call Jess and she’ll get you.”

Emotions clog up my throat. “I don’t…I don’t have a phone.”

“That’s no problem. We’ll get you one.”

“For real?” Tears throb behind my eyes.

“Yeah.” His smile makes me feel safe. “Like I said, we’re a family. We take care of our own, and I have a feeling that’s what you’re gonna be too.”

I did become part of their family, even if I didn’t understand what kind of family it was until I was deep in it.

That place wasn’t a home; it just felt like one for a while. They were no more a family than my own, the same devil in a different mask. And like every other time I mistook kindness for safety, it came with a cost I didn’t see until it was too late.

Being with them worked for a bit, when the risks were small. But the stakes kept climbing and the demands grew heavier. I stayed anyway because it was still better than being home. I came and went when I wanted, and my parents didn’t care enough to notice.

Camille eventually did. Called me every name she could think of once she knew what I was doing for Barrett. It kept the lights on, though. Covered groceries too. And when Mom got diabetes, I paid for her insulin. Camille sure as hell wasn’t stepping up.

I probably should’ve let Mom die. But I didn’t want that kind of karma over my head, so I played good daughter right up until the night I shoved her into the pool and held her face there until Camille ripped me off of her.

Headlights flare in my mirror, and the road snaps me back into focus as the SUV stays right where it is, close enough to keep the fear in me alive. The light turns yellow and then red. My foot eases off the gas, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might give me away. The SUV rolls to a stop behind me without hesitation. Hands tighten on the wheel and the terror continues to suffocate me.

When the light turns green, I hit the gas, turning left, and the vehicle continues to tail me, a car length behind me now.

The streetlights blur at the edges as my thoughts scatter. It would be just like Eli to play games, to scare me before making a move.

My grip tightens on the wheel. If it is him, did Barrett send him to kill me? He was second-in-command, but Barrett was always the one calling the shots.

Another turn. Then another. Residential streets now—quieter, narrower, houses pressed close together like they’re listening. A stop sign appears, and my stomach drops when the SUV slows with me, its headlights washing over the back of my car, lighting up every scratch and dent like a target.

A gas station flashes by before a main road opens up ahead, and my instinct screams to take it and disappear into traffic.

But that’s where they’d expect me to go. Instead, a narrow side street appears at the last second, and I take it, heart slamming as tires hum over uneven pavement. The houses thin out. Warehouses replace porches. The streetlights space themselves farther apart, leaving long stretches of shadow between pools of light.

The SUV hesitates at the corner. For one awful second, it turns too.

Then it doesn’t.

The vehicle rolls past the street, headlights continuing straight onto the highway, the dark shape shrinking in the mirror until it disappears completely.

Relief crashes into me as I pick up speed, my hands refusing to loosen their grip, eyes scanning every side street, every alley mouth, every parked vehicle that could hide another set of headlights.

Minutes stretch. Then more. The road curves away from anything familiar, pulling me farther from the diner, farther from my sister’s place, farther from anywhere someone might think to look.

Eventually, a narrow alley appears between two buildings, dumpsters lining one side, brick walls rising close enough to block the sky. The car slips into the darkness and I cut the engine, silence rushing in so fast it leaves my ears ringing.

I’m too afraid to move at first, not sure if it’s safe to stay here overnight. But I don’t have another choice. I climb into the back, kick off my shoes, and pull the fleece blanket around myself, tucking it over my head. The phone stays beside me, close enough to call for help should something happen.

Kirill appears in my mind. Would I really be able to call him if I was ever in danger? I don’t know what he does or if he cares enough to help, but he’d be the only one I could think of.

My gaze stays open, fixed on the rear window, waiting for headlights to flood the alley, for a door to open, for a gun to point at my head.

But hours pass and nothing happens.

The fear never really leaves, but exhaustion pulls me under anyway, even as I fight to stay awake.

CHAPTER EIGHT

KIRILL

The monitors line the wall of my office, feeds looping in silence, streets and corners and doorways stitched together into a map of a city. But my attention stays fixed on one screen.

On Sloane.

This footage is older, pulled from deep in my archives. From a time when she was still too young to understand what the world takes from girls like her.

I lean back, fingers steepled beneath my chin, and let myself remember the first time I saw her, right from this very same feed.

Moya malenkaya vorovka. My little thief.

The words settle low in my chest. Even at fourteen, she carried herself like someone who learned early how to survive, how to read rooms, how to decide whether to fight or disappear.

That instinct never left her. Last night proved it.

I followed her after she left the diner, kept my distance far enough not to crowd her, yet close enough to find out where she went at night.

But she caught on.

The moment her driving changed, the way she stopped committing to turns, testing the road instead of following it, I knew she sensed eyes on her. Panic slipped through her movements, but I didn’t want to scare her.

So I peeled off, let the SUV drift past and disappear. Later, I drove by the house she’s been living in, but she wasn’t there. I waited for hours, but she never showed up.

Blyat. Why is she not home? What happened with her sister? I swear, if she did something to make Sloane leave, she will pay for it.

But maybe this is something deeper. Maybe Sloane left to protect her sister. Does she think Barrett is coming for her? Is that what this is all about?

The thought hardens into something dark. I will never let him come near her. No one from that crew will ever get to her without dying for it.

Whatever she did back home, whatever choices she made to survive, none of them matter to me. I understand what desperation does to a person. What it costs to stay alive when the world decides you’re disposable. And she had no one growing up. Still doesn’t. No one but me.

When the cops showed up and Barrett assumed she had to be the rat, I helped her. She has no idea what I did, and it’s better that way. She doesn’t know who I am or what I’m tied to, and I’m not about to be the one who drags my world into her life and causes her to run. If she disappeared, it would hurt Lev, and I won’t let that happen.

I need her here. Safe. Where I can watch over her.

Barrett is still looking for Sloane. My contacts in New York confirmed it. He won’t ever stop. Rats die in our world, and he has already written her obituary.

Let him search. They won’t find her. They won’t even come close. I have people steering him the wrong way, old contacts who hold allegiance to my family. That low-level thug doesn’t understand that one wrong move, and I blow up his entire world. But for Lev’s sake, I don’t want to start a war unless I have to.

My gaze drifts back to the screen, to the girl who grew into a woman who still doesn’t know how protected she really is, and the familiar pull—the need to make her understand it’s been me keeping her safe all this time—tightens in my chest.

A knock hits the door, interrupting my thoughts.

“Da?” Yes?

Katya, my head housekeeper, walks in with Lev beside her. His headphones are pressed tight over his ears, his body rocking in small, restless motions while he mutters low to himself, and I know instantly that something is wrong.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. He is very upset. I think he needs you.”

Lev doesn’t look at me. His eyes are fixed somewhere else, somewhere deep in his head where he sometimes goes, while his fingers twist at the fabric of his T-shirt.

Pushing back the chair, I’m already moving toward him. Katya steps aside the moment I crouch. Lev doesn’t focus on me right away, not until my hands cradle his face.

“You can go,” I tell Katya, and she disappears down the hall. Then I turn back to Lev. “Papa’s here. I’ve got you.”

Getting to my feet, my hand at his back, I guide him into my office and shut the door. Settling on the floor, I pull him onto my lap.

He buries his face in my shoulder, breaths coming in uneven bursts, while the rocking starts again—small at first, then harder, like he’s trying to shake something loose.

I hold him tighter. “Vsyo khorosho. Papa zdes’.” Everything is okay. Papa is here.

The rocking doesn’t stop right away, but it starts to give, the movement shrinking until it’s more of a sway against my chest, his weight sinking into me as his breathing turns calmer.

“Molodets.” Good job. “Breathe with me.”

Minutes pass like this. My legs go numb, but I don’t move. Lev’s fingers curl tighter into my shirt, then loosen, then tighten again, like he’s testing whether I’m still real. His forehead lifts just enough for his exhales to warm my collarbone, but his eyes still hold whatever upset him, that faraway panic he can’t always put into words.

I press a kiss into his hair. “Do you want Papa to play the piano?”

He nods once and lets me pull him to his feet. With his hand clasped in mine, we make it to the grand piano just past the front door, sitting in the same spot it has been since he was two.

I bought it the week I realized it was the only sound that could calm him when he got overwhelmed. I even taught myself how to play, needing to be able to give him that whenever the world got too loud. I still do. Anytime things become too big for him, I sit down and let the notes carry what I can’t fix.

I lower myself onto the bench with him resting on my lap like it’s second nature. The first notes come softly, a melody my hands know without thinking now: a Russian lullaby my mother would sing to me and my brothers when we were little. Or at least that is how Konstantin recalls it. I was too young to remember her before she died.

His shoulders relax almost immediately, his head dropping against my chest as his eyes close. I keep playing until his breath eases and those little fingers unclench one by one, the tension draining out of him like it finally found somewhere else to go. The last notes fade into the quiet, but my hands stay on the keys, not wanting to undo what we just fixed.

“Chevo stala?” What happened? “Can you tell Papa what made you upset?”

He shifts on my lap, fingers gripping my shirt again.

Brows pinching, he swallows, the effort visible on his face. “S-S-Sloane okay?”

A muscle in my jaw twitches. “Are you worried about her?”

His nod is immediate.

Of course he is. Lev doesn’t let things go the way other people do. Moments don’t just pass for him. They lodge and replay. A man raising his voice at her, the way she recoiled, the way the whole diner turned…that isn’t something his mind will set aside.

“She’s okay.” I make it sound like a fact, because he needs it to be. “What that man did will never happen again. Papa promises.”

His cheek presses to my chest and the breathwork I taught him kicks in, like he’s counting without counting. My hand moves along his back as seconds drift and the stiffness in his shoulders eases, but the worry doesn’t disappear completely.

“Do you want to go see her? I know it isn’t our day, but if you want to⁠—”

He nods instantly, practically vibrating with excitement.

A smile pulls at my face. This is not how Lev typically does things. Routine is the scaffolding of his world. All closets and doors have to be closed the right way, shoes lined up just perfectly, the same path, the same booth, on repeat. If one thing is off, he fixes it, or he spirals until I fix it.

But somehow Sloane found a gap in his life and filled it without asking permission.

And it hits me again, the same thought that has been stalking the edges of my mind since the first time I saw the way Lev softened to her.

What is it about Sloane that makes her so different?

CHAPTER NINE

SLOANE

Mandy leans against the counter beside me, talking nonstop about her birthday party this weekend while I top off the coffeepot, wearing the new manager tag on my shirt. She continues to tell me all about how we’re going to have the best time, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t plan on going.

I’ll just pretend I’m sick like all the other times she’s invited me out with her friends. There’s no way I can go. For starters, I have nothing to wear to a club. Second, I don’t even like clubs. I don’t drink, and I barely know how to dance without looking foolish.

She has other friends. She’ll be fine.

Sometimes I wish I had her life. Good parents, a house to call home, going to beauty school and making something out of herself. But that’s never going to happen for me. I’ve never even had dreams to begin with.

“I can grab us an Uber and we can go together,” she says while I try to figure out how to disappoint her. She nudges me with her hip. “I swear if you pretend you’re sick again, I will show up at your house and drag you out.”

Ugh, crap. That can’t happen. Also, how in the world did she know I was making it up?

My face falls. I hate lying, but telling her the truth is humiliating. So I go with a half-truth.

“Look, you know I love you, but money is super tight right now and I just can’t afford it. And I don’t even have anything cute to wear.”

She scoffs. “That’s it?”

“What?” Confusion settles over me.

“That’s why you never wanna come out?”

Well, that and the fact that I’m homeless…

But I nod instead.

Her palms settle on my shoulders as she stares at me with gentle kindness. “You don’t have to worry about money. I’ll cover whatever you need when we’re out, and you can borrow a dress from my closet. We are basically the same size.”

My throat tightens. “It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to be paying for you.”

She flings a hand up like I’m being ridiculous. “Girl, please. I just want my bestie there.”

I let out a sigh. Of course she would never let me feel bad about anything. That’s what makes her so special.

“Okay, I’ll be there. Thank you, Mandy.”

“Don’t mention it. You can come to my place to get ready, and we’ll leave together.”

“Alright.” I grab the coffeepot and start back toward my section.

“Oh, by the way,” she calls, and I glance over my shoulder. “I found out the ranch is looking for a few people for the weekend shifts. I can ask them about Fridays if you want. Just say the word.”

Hope springs to life. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think they’d hire me?”

“Ugh, duh! What kind of question is that?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what they’re looking for.”

What I don’t tell her is how nervous it makes me to be that close to people I don’t know. What if they start digging and find out who I am? What happens to Milo then?

And as much as I love what the Whitlocks do for horses, there’s something about that family that’s always made me pause, like my intuition is screaming at me. Every time I see one of them around, my skin prickles.

But I really don’t have the time to be picky. Not like other jobs are knocking at my door.

“What’s wrong?” Mandy studies me. “Your face is doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” I lift a brow.

“The one that says you’re already talking yourself out of the very job you wanted to begin with.”

It’s scary how well she knows me.

“It’s just…I don’t know.” I rub my thumb along the edge of the counter. “They kind of…intimidate me.”

Mandy laughs. “Everyone intimidates you.”

“That’s not true.” But it kind of is.

“It is,” she says, still laughing. “But the Whitlocks are good people. And Jace is up here this week, so I’ll talk to him for you. He loves me.” Her grin turns sly. “Greer, not so much.”

Greer. Just hearing her name makes me tense. She’s Jace’s sister and the one who runs the Jersey ranch. Every time I see her around town, she scares the hell out of me. I swear she has a gun or five on her at all times, just waiting for someone to give her a reason.

I snort despite myself. “You and I must know very different versions of Jace Whitlock.”

Every time I see him, he always looks so serious.

She winks. “Trust me, the man is obsessed with me, in that brooding ‘you can’t have me, Mandy’ kind of way. It’s part of his Southern charm.”

“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that.”

She smiles like it’s already been decided.

The bell over the door chimes just as Jace Whitlock strides in.

Speak of the devil…

Mandy’s face turns crimson beside me, her back straightening as he walks up to the counter, blue eyes fixed on nothing in particular. She can’t help staring at the way his black T-shirt clings to all that muscle and the way a simple pair of jeans somehow looks unfairly good on him. Her gaze drifts over his bare arms, over the veins and the terrifying tattoos of skulls, gravestones, and snakes that wrap from the tops of his hands up his arms before disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt.

“My God, he’s so hot…” she whispers to me, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

He heads straight toward us, and the girl two seats down doesn’t even try to hide the way she stares.

One thing’s for sure: the Whitlocks were blessed with the good-looking gene. I heard their mother was some kind of beauty queen back in Texas.

“I’ve got this,” Mandy says brightly, putting on all the charm as soon as he comes near. “Hi, Jace. How are you today? What can I get you?”

He doesn’t smile. I don’t think he knows how. Maybe he broke that muscle falling off a horse or something. I’m sure that’s a thing…

“Mandy.” He tips his head. “Coffee. Black.” His fingers drag over the scruff of his goatee. “Please.”

“Coming right up,” she says, already pouring, like her body can’t sit still when he’s this close.

I think the whole diner is attracted to him. The other waitresses have conveniently found reasons to pause and gawk a little too long or whisper to each other. Jace doesn’t notice, or he does and doesn’t care. He has bigger things to worry about, like his sweet baby girl, Rue.

He doesn’t bring his six-year-old daughter around much. She’s usually back home, but every once in a while, she’s with him, especially when he’s staying in New Jersey for a stretch.

It’s a tragedy what happened to his wife all those years ago. She got hit by a car on her way to pick up diapers when Rue was barely more than a baby, and I swear it has to eat at him. Last I heard, they only got married because she got pregnant, but still. Maybe that’s why he’s the way he is. Or maybe that’s just his peachy personality.

With her back to him, Mandy sneaks a glance at me and makes this dramatic face like she’s about to faint. I have to look away before I actually laugh out loud.

Then she turns back to Jace and slides a to-go cup across the counter, and when he hands her cash, she clears her throat like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“So, Jace. You guys still looking for help on Fridays?”

“Yep. Why?” That Texas drawl sneaks out around the edges.

“So, funny thing.” She tilts her head toward me. “My friend Sloane here is looking for a job.”

My head snaps toward her, eyes going wide, but Mandy keeps going.

“She’s great with people. They just promoted her to manager.”

Jace’s gaze lowers to me then, assessing me like I’m some prized cattle at an auction or something. The silence hangs there long enough for my pulse to start thudding in my ears.

“We’ve got a spot,” he finally says. “Can you come by on Sunday?”

“I can come early or late morning before my shift, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. I’ll let my sister, Greer, know to expect you. She handles applications.”

Oh, great. Greer…

I force a smile, then shoot Mandy an I’m-going-to-kill-you look, but she ignores it, way too pleased with herself.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He nods once and lifts his coffee, then turns slightly as his phone chimes. He sets the cup back down to type, completely unbothered by the way half the diner is watching him.

Mandy leans in, whispering, “See? I told you he loves me.”

Love. She’s delusional, but in the cutest way. The only thing Jace Whitlock loves is his daughter, and everyone knows it.

Jace takes a slow sip of his coffee, thumb tapping once over his phone before he shoves it back into his pocket.

The bell over the door chimes again, and when I look up, I find Kirill towering in with Lev tucked at his side, one big hand settled on his son’s shoulder, the other loose at his thigh.

I wonder why they’re here today. They only ever come on Mondays.

I give Kirill a small smile, but he doesn’t return it. He doesn’t even glance my way. His gaze is trained on Jace’s back like it’s personally offended him.

Confusion flickers through me right as Kirill reaches the counter and Jace turns. The second their eyes meet, something ugly sparks to life between them. The dislike is so palpable, it rattles through my bones.

Kirill’s jaw shifts, a muscle jumping in his neck. “Whitlock.”

The way he says that, it’s as though the man’s name insulted him.

Kirill’s gaze narrows. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here. What brings you by?”

“I must’ve missed you.” Jace doesn’t bother to hide the sarcasm.

Kirill’s mouth curls into something that isn’t a smile. “Say hello to your father. It’s been too long since we’ve seen him too.”

A scoff is Jace’s answer. “I’ll send my regards.”

“You do that.” Kirill holds his stare, refusing to cut away at the growing tension. “I’ll see you around.”

Jace pivots away like he’s done, but Kirill calls after him before he can take another step.

“Remind your father that respect is a two-way street.”

“Be careful.” Jace turns back, closing the distance. “I might take that as a threat.”

“Good.” Kirill’s grin widens, like he’s enjoying every second of whatever this is.

My skin grows cold. I’ve never seen him this way.

Jace’s mouth tightens, and his expression turns lethal.

What in the world is happening? Why do they hate each other so much? It’s as though I’m standing too close to a bomb one of them is about to detonate.

Mandy leans in, whispering, “I don’t know what’s going on with those two, but I, for one, would pay to see them fight. Shirtless.”

“Mandy,” I hiss, elbowing her.

Lev’s attention flicks between the men, his brows pulling inward. He knows something is wrong, and the last thing I want is for this sweet baby to be upset.

“Hey.” I step forward, putting myself in front of Kirill before this gets any worse. “Come on. Let’s get you boys to your booth.”

Kirill doesn’t pay me any mind at first, and when Lev shifts and grows more tense, I slip my hand to Kirill’s.

His reaction is immediate. Those intense eyes drop to where my fingers brush his skin, then lift to my face, sharp and searching. Heat warms my cheeks, and the way he looks at me—like I’m all he sees—pulls something tight inside me.

We stay that way, ignoring the chime of the door, the people whispering. It’s just him and me, lost in this bubble. My throat dries, lips parting. Then my brain catches up and starts screaming.

What am I doing? Why does it feel like I want to keep doing it? And what if I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross?

I try to slip my hand away, like I can pretend it never happened. But the second I do, he holds me tighter, refusing to let go, and I don’t want him to. I want him to hold me forever because I like the way it feels. The way he feels.

When Lev tugs on his shirt, Kirill looks down at him, but his hand still remains firmly in mine. And no matter how much I scold myself for jumping headfirst into this fantasy of us, I can’t seem to stop imagining it.

“Okay,” Kirill tells his son. “We will go eat.”

Swiveling away from Jace like he doesn’t exist, he guides Lev and me toward their usual booth, squeezing my hand.

When I glance over, his eyes are watching me intensely, and everything in me wakes up like it’s been dead before this man came into my life. My skin hums, every nerve alive. Every part of me burns for more. Of this. Of him. His touch. His body.

God, I’ve never felt anything like this before.

As we keep moving, I feel it: Lev’s small hand slides into my free one. When I gaze down, he’s staring right at me like he’s been watching me this whole time, his attention briefly snapping to his father’s fingers in mine.

I go still. Lev has never held my hand before, and the fact that he’s choosing me right now cracks something open in me.

Kirill notices, and his features tense. His grip on my hand doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, his thumb moving slowly over my knuckles.

For a second, I’m not in a diner. I’m standing in the middle of something I’ve never let myself want because wanting it hurt too much.

This is as close to a family as I ever imagined getting. If only Milo was here too.

CHAPTER TEN

KIRILL

The booth creaks as I sit, Lev sliding in beside me, while Sloane stands there, ready to take our order.

But all I can think about is the way my son reached for her hand. What it meant. And the way hers felt in mine.

I want it back.

Glancing over at Lev, I don’t miss the way his eyes are still on her. His shoulders are loose, his posture relaxed. He’s at ease in a way I rarely see. That’s how he always is around her. He’s never bonded like this with anyone, not even his teachers. It’s something I used to wish for and something I stopped expecting.

But Sloane somehow became a bright light in his world. Someone safe.

I could offer her the nanny job and see if she would take it. The idea is so perfect, it’s almost cruel.

Which is exactly why it’s so dangerous. Because I know what will happen if I do.

If I see her every day, if she’s in my home—close enough to touch, to taste—I won’t be able to stop myself. I know it.

She’s not just a temptation. She’s the kind of temptation that ruins a man.

The need that rises in me isn’t polite or patient. It’s like a pull that wants to drag her across the table and onto my lap. To see her gasp when I take her mouth, that sweet cunt I’ve been imagining since the first time her cheeks flushed when I looked at her.

And that’s the problem. I can’t do any of that. I can’t get close.

If I do and Lev loses her like he lost his mother, he won’t survive it. Neither will I.

Lev glances at her, then drops his gaze to his hands, turning them over like he’s still replaying the moment her palm touched his. The choice he made when he reached for her.

My chest cinches all over again. But no matter how hard I try to concentrate on Lev and everything that moment meant, my mind pulls me somewhere else.

To her. To the way she smiled at Whitlock when I walked in and saw them talking, that small curve of her mouth like he’d done something to earn it. Like she was his instead of mine.

Something in me snapped. If Jace had so much as touched her, I would’ve killed him.

In fact, I pictured a hundred different ways I could dismember him, all while he stood there staring at me like he was some kind of threat I should fear. It’s almost laughable.

But I try to be a better man in front of my son. He deserves that.

Still, I can’t stop thinking about why Jace is even here. If he’s in Jersey, something’s in motion. He’s second-in-command in that family, so if he made the trip, it’s for a good reason.

Konstantin was onto something. They’re planning to take over our business, and doing it right under our nose. I can only assume they’re preparing to meet potential buyers. Their ranch here is where they usually do that.

It’s too bad we’re going to have to stop it.

Sloane clears her throat, forcing my focus back to her. I hate that I let that yebani blyat pull me away from her for even a moment.

“Should I get you guys your usual orders?” she asks.

Her lashes flutter and her cheeks flush when I stare at her. But I can’t help myself. She’s so beautiful and innocent, it kills me that I can’t have her. That I even want her to begin with.

But I will not ruin something so perfect. She deserves a proper fresh start, a life away from crime. It’s best for me to stay away and help her from a distance. Her little crush on me will fade soon enough. But my infatuation with her, this pull I can’t seem to shake, it’ll stay right where it belongs: out of reach.

“Please,” I tell her, and she nods and hurries off.

Lev’s eyes stay on her, tracking her like he can’t let her out of his sight yet, and something tightens in my chest.

He’s still worried about her. He keeps so much inside, and most of the time I’m left guessing.

Sloane returns with our drinks, setting them down carefully and making sure the straw in Lev’s is exactly where he likes it. To see her care for him too, to notice these little things, it means more than she realizes.

She remains a second longer, her fingers brushing the edge of the table, eyes flicking between Lev and me.

“I didn’t expect you guys today,” she finally says.

My hand tightens at my thigh. She notices that too.

“He wanted to make sure you were okay.” My palm settles on Lev’s knee. “He was worried about you after the other day.”

Her hand flies to her chest. “Oh my God.” Her eyes soften as she looks at him. “I just love you, Lev. I hope you know that. Thank you for thinking about me. That means so much, but I’m okay, I promise. Especially now that I’ve seen you.”

Lev gives her a tiny smile, shy and proud at the same time. His fingers close around the headphones resting against his collarbone while his gaze drops to the salt and pepper shakers and he starts lining them up until they’re just right.

“I’m so sorry,” she says to me, words tumbling out. “I-I meant to thank you for the phone and then…well, you and Jace happened and it completely slipped my mind.” She lets out a small, breathless laugh. “You didn’t need to do that. It was really kind. I don’t even know why you did it, but…thank you.”

The color creeping into her face does something lethal to me. When she gets flustered, unsure where to put her hands or her eyes, my mind takes that softness and drags it somewhere it has no right going. I imagine how flushed she’d be beneath me as my cock eases inside her until her composure cracks and she comes apart for me.

Why the hell am I doing this to myself? The plan is to stop thinking about her like that, not give these thoughts more life every time they surface.

But I can’t stop. The more I fight it, the stronger it gets until it’s all too real. Because no matter what I tell myself, she’s the first woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, and I hate myself for it.

“You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you, Sloane. Consider me a friend now.”

Yes. Friends. That’s right. Very platonic friends…

“Thank you…friend…” Then that shy little smile appears, and I’m a goner. My damn pulse won’t stop beating harder, like I’m a sixteen-year-old boy all over again.

Chto ty so mnoy delayesh? What are you doing to me?

She bites the corner of her lip, and my teeth grind. I want to be the one to do that. To pin her to the wall, my hand curling around her throat while the other has its way with her, touching her until she’s moaning my name.

Hell, this obsession has got to stop. I should tell her to go check if our food is done, but I just don’t want her to go.

She turns to leave, and my chest pulls at the thought of it, like the second she steps away I’ll feel it.

“Sit with us for a minute,” I say before I think better of it.

She pauses. “Oh, I don’t know. I still have a couple tables.”

“They’ll wait.”

The edge in my voice surprises both of us. It’s not sharp, but it isn’t a suggestion either. She hesitates just long enough for Lev to reach out, asking her for the same thing, his small fingers curling around her hand, tugging gently but insistently.

She looks down at him, eyes softening. “You want me to sit with you?”

He nods.

Emotion flashes across her face so deeply, I feel it everywhere. She slides into the booth beside him, and Lev pulls in closer and leans into her arm, testing first, then settling his head against her. She freezes for half a second, her eyes widening at me. But I can’t move. I just watch them, something thick lodged in my throat.

Her arm wraps around him as she lowers her head so her temple rests against the top of his, and he looks like he could stay that way forever, his eyes drifting closed.

Every part of me reacts to the sight, even while it kills me. Because she isn’t his mother. She’s just the woman who serves us food, and the more he lets himself attach to her, the worse it will be if she ever walks away.

I can’t let him get hurt. Which means I won’t let her leave. Not at any cost.

Her hand brushes my thigh as she shifts—barely a touch, but it hits like a live wire, sinking straight into my bones until it’s the only thing I can feel. The only thing I want.

She inhales sharply, eyes lifting to meet mine, lips parting like she’s just remembered how to breathe. Her gaze drops to my mouth, and she bites the inside of her cheek like she’s picturing the same thing I am.

The urge to kiss her hits harder, right here in this booth with my son between us, and the sheer wrongness of it does nothing to dull the need. Images of me fucking her still flood my mind.

Her fingers start to pull away, like she’s trying to avoid touching me again, but I catch her wrist before she can go anywhere and bring it to my mouth. I press my lips to the top of her hand like a man starved for something he knows he shouldn’t want, but taking it anyway. Her eyes flare, a bright, unmistakable flicker passing through them before she goes still, her chest rising higher as I hold the kiss a beat longer than I should.

When I pull back, my fingers trace circles across her hand. The fine hairs on her arm lift beneath my touch, her breathing turning shallow, every inch of her body reacting like she’s barely holding herself together.

Lev stays tucked against her, completely unaware, while I sit here with her hand in mine like it’s mine to hold. Knowing damn well I shouldn’t have crossed this line.

And I’m already wondering how the hell I’m supposed to step back now that I’ve touched her at all.

SLOANE

His hand stays wrapped around mine, like letting go isn’t even an option. And the worst part is how quickly my body accepts it, how easily it sinks into that touch like it’s been waiting for him all along.

A low hum moves through me, every cell lighting up in response. And all I can think about is how much I don’t want him to stop touching me.

Kirill looks at me like he’s starving, like he’s one breath away from losing whatever control he has left. Heat rushes to my face, and I have to fight the urge to pull my hand back. Because the way his thumb moves against my skin makes my stomach twist and my thighs tense, and none of it should be happening.

Get it together. Your life is too complicated to get involved with anyone right now, even if he wanted you.

“How do you know Jace?” Kirill’s question cuts through the haze of my thoughts, his body rigid.

“I don’t,” I say quickly. “Not really. Mandy works at Blackthorn Ridge on the weekends and she mentioned they might need help. I just…I need extra money, and they happen to have a Friday shift available.”

He works his jaw as I go on, eyes searing into me.

“Jace told me to stop by on Sunday and talk to his sister, Greer. I don’t know if you know her, but⁠—”

“I do.”

His tension spikes instantly. I feel it in the way his hand stills, in the way his jaw tightens just enough to notice, and it sends a ripple of unease through me.

His eyes stay on me for a little longer, and the silence stretches until it starts to turn heavy. Whatever’s going on between those two, I don’t think I want to know.

Lev leans closer, his shoulder pressing into my side, and I instinctively curl toward him, remembering each time Milo would curl into me like that. The agony of missing him slams into me so hard, tears gather in my eyes. Kirill must notice, because his thumb brushes across my hand.

And all I want is to get lost in him, lost in all the feelings he brings out in me without even knowing it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SLOANE

Driving past Camille’s house—our house—is the worst kind of torture. It only takes ten minutes to get there, and somehow that’s enough time for my stupid heart to hope. Hope that maybe, even this late, Milo will be at the window, his little face pressed to the glass like he’s waiting for me.

But all the blinds are closed. And just like that, the hope dies.

The soft porch light glows, and I almost pull over and knock. But all she’d do is curse me out and tell me to leave.

So I keep driving. Past the house. Past the mailbox. Past the stretch of the street where Milo learned to ride his bike last year.

My throat burns, and I fight it back because if I start crying, I don’t know if I’ll stop.

I know I messed up. I know I wasn’t perfect. But that isn’t me anymore. So when do I get a second chance?

My eyes keep going heavy, and I know if I don’t get some sleep, I’m going to be useless at work tomorrow. Sleeping in the car tonight isn’t an option, not when the cold is already inside my bones and it’s only going to get worse.

I kill time for another hour, driving in slow circles until I’m sure the cleaning crew at the diner is gone. When I finally pull in behind the building, my hands are shaking as I turn off the engine and grab my handbag and duffle. I slip around back, unlock the door, and ease it shut behind me.

In the back room, I head straight for the couch and curl up, tugging my jacket tighter as the building’s warmth slowly seeps in. The duffle slips off my shoulder and hits the floor as I dig out my blanket and the thin little pillow I took when Camille kicked me out.

I pull out my phone, then set a few alarms, early enough to make sure no one catches me sleeping here. But the second I lock the screen, it buzzes with a text from Mandy.

Why she’s still up at twelve thirty in the morning is beyond me.

Mandy

OK, can we talk about how you were practically dry humping Kirill today?

Sloane

I wasn’t even close enough to dry humping, but can we talk about why you were even thinking about me dry humping Kirill this late? Or at all?

Mandy

Stop deflecting. When are you going to fuck the man?

Sloane

Never. We are just friends. That’s all.

Mandy

The way he was staring at you while you were holding Lev was anything but friendly. It was more like, “I love you, Sloane. Be my baby mama.”

A laugh jumps out of me before my thumbs fly across the screen.

Sloane

He doesn’t love me, and I’m sure I’m not even his type.

Mandy

Girl. Don’t make me slap you.

Sloane

Lev wanted me to sit with them, so I did. Nothing happened. Don’t make it weird.

She responds a second later.

Mandy

Nothing happened, but you want it to. Just admit it, for fuck’s sake.

Of course I want it. Of course my body notices him. The way he fills a space without talking, the way his attention lands on me and doesn’t flinch away, the way he looks like the kind of man who would pin you down and make you forget any other man existed but him. Not that I’ve had any except that stupid one-night stand, but still…

Sloane

Mandy. Stop. I’m trying to sleep.

Mandy

Please, that man is hot. I bet he eats good too. I would be climbing that tree if I were you. Trust me, he’d let you.

Sloane

Is Kirill hot? Yes. Do I imagine his tongue doing things to me no man has ever done? Also yes. But will that ever happen? No. Definitely not.

The message whooshes away.

Holy crap, I can’t believe I said that! And the worst part is my brain supplies images I did not ask for—Kirill’s mouth, his hands, the feeling of his thick muscles and his weight on top of mine—and my body reacts like it’s been starving and someone waved food under its nose.

I tug the blanket higher over my legs like I can hide my thoughts under it. This is exactly why I don’t let myself want things. Want turns into need, and need turns into stupid choices.

Mandy is going to lose her shit, especially knowing it’s so uncharacteristic of me to talk like that. But whatever, it’s out there now.

Then I glance back at the screen…and my stomach drops straight through the floor.

The name at the top of the thread isn’t Mandy. It’s not even close.

It’s Kirill.

No.

No, no, NO…

Air leaves my lungs in a piercing, silent gasp, and my fingers go numb around the phone.

How the hell did you do that?!

My finger stabs the screen like I can unsend it, but no such luck. I’m still screwed.

Panic surges up my throat, and before I can think, an apology starts spilling.

But his message comes in before I can send whatever crap I’d come up with. I’m almost afraid to look, my gut knotting with pure and utter mortification. I’ll never be able to look him in the face again.

Kirill

Where exactly do you imagine my tongue, Sloane?

Oh my God… Oh my effing God.

This is how I die.

My face is completely flushed, like it’s on fire. It actually wouldn’t be so bad if I caught fire right about now…

This is the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done, completely topping the incident in high school where I barfed all over my food in front of the football player I had a crush on.

My fingers shake as I try to come up with SOMETHING. Anything at this point. But nothing good comes out.

Maybe I just say nothing, kidnap Milo, and move far, far away. I mean, it is the plan, right? I can just start early…

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I force air into my lungs before writing whatever the hell comes naturally. At this point, what could be worse?

Sloane

I’m so embarrassed. That was an accident. I’m sorry for even writing it. I meant to send it to Mandy because she saw us today and she was being Mandy. Obviously you’re way out of my league.

And oh my God, I’ll shut up now, and maybe change my identity and disappear.

The second I send the message, humiliation hits me again, even worse than before.

Why did I say all that? I just made things even worse.

I bury my face in my blanket, like it can conceal the fact that my soul just left my body and is soaring somewhere near the ceiling tiles. The phone sits in my hand like a live grenade. Then a new message appears and nausea rolls in my gut.

Kirill

I don’t want you to shut up. Your rambling is quite adorable. And if you ever disappeared, I’d find you anyway.

Adorable.

He thinks I’m adorable?

He didn’t say I wasn’t out of his league, but I didn’t expect him to. I mean, look at him. Then look at me. I glance down at my thighs that more than touch when I walk and the rolls across my stomach when I sit. I bet the kind of women Kirill dates are the ones who end up on magazine covers.

Not that I want to date him or anything.

Okay, maybe I wouldn’t say no if he asked.

And he’d find me? I don’t care if that sounded a little creepy. It was also kind of sweet. No one’s ever cared enough to come looking for me.

Unless they were trying to kill me, which I really hope isn’t the case with Kirill. That would suck.

Ugh, there I go, word vomiting to myself. Just shut up and fix this before he stops coming to the diner and you never see him or his sweet son again.

The thought of Lev makes emotions clog up my throat. Then my mind drifts to Milo, to his little face, to the way he’d probably try to make Lev laugh even if Lev didn’t want to.

Then the thought slips in: the four of us at a long dining table. Milo beside me with syrup on his fingers. Lev across from him, watching quietly as he lines up his French toast the way he lines up his chicken nuggets before he eats them. And Kirill with those intense eyes and a smirk he reserves only for me because he loves me.

In that life, I’m not looking over my shoulder anymore. I’m not doing mental math about money or sleeping in my car, nor am I bracing for Camille to rip Milo away from me. Because I have Kirill now, and he keeps me safe.

A throb hits the back of my nose, and I sniffle to fight the tears that come. It's stupid to imagine things that are never going to happen.

Another message comes through before I can decide whether to throw the phone into the fryer.

Kirill

Go to sleep, Sloane. And don’t worry about this. We are fine. I promise.

We are most definitely not fine, sir. Not at all.

The sane thing to do would be to stop writing back. To put the phone down, crawl under my blanket, and stay there for eternity.

But of course, sane has never been my strongest skill.

Sloane

Can we please forget this ever happened? Just erase it from your memory, please and thank you.

The words look pathetic the second I send them, like I’m begging him to let me have my pride back.

Kirill

Sorry, solnishko. That’s not possible.

Solnishko? What does that mean?

I immediately look it up.

Solnishko – sunshine. Can be used as a pet name or a term of affection like honey. It can be both friendly or flirty, depending on the context.

Well, which one is it?

A little sound escapes me, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, as I imagine facing him again. I press the phone to my forehead like I can absorb it into my skull and make it disappear.

Not wanting to say anything else before I ruin the situation even more, I call Mandy—which, in hindsight, is probably the worst idea ever. But hey, why stop now?

She answers on the second ring. “I was wondering why you weren’t replying.”

“Mandy.” My words come out strained. “I just did something. Something bad.”

She scoffs, like the thought of me doing anything bad is beyond far-fetched. If she only knew…

“What did you do?”

“I texted him.”

A long pause stretches between us “Who?”

I let out a huff. “Kirill. I meant to text you, and I thought I was, except the really inappropriate text about his tongue that I meant to send you went straight to him.”

Another long drag of silence hangs, so long I almost question if she’s still there, until…

“Oh my God!” Mandy starts laughing so loudly, I pull the phone back. “That’s fucking hilarious.” She tries to catch her breath. “What did you say, exactly? I need details to the letter.”

“You’re the worst,” I groan, pretending to cry.

Once I give her the whole exchange, she chuckles even harder.

“This is not funny.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to have to quit. That’s it. I have to quit.”

“You are not quitting,” she says between giggles. “You cannot text a man about his tongue and vanish! Because how else are you gonna know if he can use it right?”

“Oh my God, Mandy. I don’t want to know how well he can use it. I just want this all to go away.”

My face burns again because right now all I can picture is him between my thighs, those deep, dark eyes drinking me in while his mouth sucks on my⁠—

With a grunt, I shake my head. This can’t be my life. It just can’t.

“Of course you wanna know. And now he knows what a dirty girl you are.” She laughs again, and I’d strangle her right now if I could.

“I’m going to die of embarrassment.” I sink deeper into the leather, hoping it somehow swallows me whole.

“You’ll be fine.” I register that grin in every syllable. “I bet that man has already pictured you naked, getting tied up on his bed.”

“Mandy, stop.” Heat rushes up my neck, my brain supplying me with images before I can shut it down.

“That man is into you,” she continues, like she’s stating a fact. “He’s probably relieved to know you’re into him too.”

“Doubtful.”

I don’t bother mentioning how he never corrected me about me being out of his league. He’s just a nice man, that’s all. Didn’t want to hurt my feelings or embarrass me any more than I already was.

“He has a kid,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I don’t think he’s looking for anything serious anyway, and I’m not looking to mess around.”

Definitely not after what happened the last time I had sex. I don’t regret Milo, ever, but I hate that my one and only experience with sex was in a dark room at a party with a guy I didn’t even know. It makes me feel disgusting.

But I was just a teenager not thinking clearly, having had too much to drink. Whenever I think about Milo getting older and asking who his father is, I get nauseous. What will I tell him?

“Well, you never know if he is unless you ask,” Mandy throws in. “But even if he’s not looking for a relationship, who cares? One night with him might not be the worst thing. Friends with benefits works for a lot of people, and girl, you need some dick.”

“I don’t do friends with benefits, and I’ve survived just fine without a penis.”

My vibrator serves its purpose…

“Sure you have, but fine, I won’t bring it up again. Tonight, anyway.” She giggles.

Rubbing my temple, I pull the phone away from my ear and tap back into the thread with Kirill, rereading his messages like they might rearrange themselves into something less mortifying if I stare long enough, while Mandy shifts gears and starts rambling about Jace again.

I half listen, eyes stuck on Kirill’s words. And even as I tell myself this is nothing, I start to wonder…

What if she’s right? What if Kirill wants something?

Something real. With me.

Hope rises fast, but it only takes two seconds for reality to crush it.

If he ever found out who I really am, he wouldn’t just stop wanting me. He’d make damn sure I’m nowhere near his life. Nowhere near Lev.

And that would kill me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

KIRILL

Water runs over my face, my eyes shut, and she’s still there behind my lids like she never left, that blush creeping up her cheeks.

My hand slides down and wraps around my cock, stroking slowly while I remember how good it felt to hold her hand, the way her lips parted like she wanted more. The thoughts make me throb even more.

She’s always the one I think about when I’m alone. It’s her I’m chasing: her sweet cunt, her body, the round curve of her ass and the weight of those thick thighs I want locked around my neck while my tongue tastes her.

That text plays in my head over and over until the back of my head hits the tiles, my fingers squeezing the crown of my erection, needing her sliding on it.

No man has ever tasted her, and that knowledge pulls something possessive up from deep in me. Something I keep buried because once it’s loose, it won’t stop. Not with her.

“Blyat.”

Water beats down on my skin like it can burn her out of me, and it doesn’t even come close. My grip tightens around my length as I picture myself sinking my tongue inside her while she tugs on my hair, moaning my name.

I can’t stop seeing her. The way she would beg me to make her come while she dripped all over my mouth before I buried myself deep inside her. Stretching, filling her with every drop until it’s spilling out her. The way I’d watch our baby grow inside her.

My hand tightens, stroking hard, as the picture sharpens: her on my bed, her hands in my hair, the sound she tries to swallow turning into something she can’t hold back.

And the thought of having her legs open for me, letting me take what I want, makes my control snap. I stroke faster, chasing my release like I’m cursing myself for wanting her this much.

When it hits me, it hits rough, a full-body spasm. Her name slips out as I spill against the tile, proof of how much power she has over me without even knowing she’s holding it.

The second it’s over, the guilt hits hard. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. But even with my hand at my side and the water pouring down, she’s still there, vivid and lodged in my mind like she’s carved her way in.

Telling myself no doesn’t matter anymore. She’s all I see. And the need for her makes me violent, to the point that I almost convince myself to find her and bring her home with me.

But I won’t, no matter how badly I want to. No matter how much I crave her under me, looking into my eyes like she’s furious that she needs me the way I’m starting to need her.

The fact that she thinks she’s out of my league is crazy. My attraction to her is sinful, downright dirty and cruel. I’m held prisoner by the sheer force of it. One kiss and I’d be addicted, and I can’t let that happen.

She has no idea what kind of life I lead, what it takes from you, what it makes you become. Whatever she thinks she’s done, whatever she’s survived, it’s nothing compared to what it means to be mine.

Still, my mind won’t stop showing me the same image: Lev with a mother. A woman in the house who wants him, who brings softness where I never could. Someone who sits beside him and makes the world quieter when I can’t. And it almost feels possible.

Almost.

If I ever bring another woman into Lev’s life, I have to be sure she won’t leave him. I still see the way he cried for his mother, his little fingers twisted in her shirt like holding on tight enough would make her stay.

Suka. Bitch.

She looked him right in the eyes and told him she was going to the store. Said she’d be back just to get him to let go. He didn’t know it was goodbye.

After she left, he sat by the door for hours, waiting. Repeating that small, broken sound over and over—ma-ma-ma—tapping his forehead against the wall until I stepped in and stopped him.

But she was gone. I knew it.

And eventually, he did too.

He regressed after that. He had been starting to form words—not many, but “ma” was the first, and then it vanished days later, like he was mourning her in the only way he could.

I still don’t know if he remembers that day. Part of me hopes he doesn’t. The thought of him carrying that kind of rejection makes my chest go tight with a rage I have nowhere to put.

He was wanted. He is wanted. I want him more than anything. I always have. I just don’t know if that will ever be enough.

With a low grunt, I shove the memory of that woman out of my head. She doesn’t get space in our lives anymore. Not after what she did to my son.

Hours later, I’m still awake, staring into the dark while my mind refuses to shut off.

Lev’s room is down the hall. I know he is safe with all the cameras and my men who know what it means to fail. But none of that matters at two a.m. Not when the only thing louder than the quiet is the fear it brings.

I check his monitor, watching him sleep—hair a mess, blanket tangled around his legs.

My chest loosens just a little, then it tightens again as my thoughts spiral.

If something happens to me, he won’t be alone, I remind myself.

Konstantin will step in without question, and my other brothers would burn the world before letting anyone lay a hand on him.

Lev will be protected. That should be enough.

But it isn’t. Because it’s not just about keeping him safe tomorrow. It’s about the years after that. The moments I’ll never see. When he’s grown and I’m not here. When there’s no one left who knows him the way I do. No one who understands what calms him, what sets him off, what he’s trying to say when he can’t find the words.

What happens then? Who stands beside him when life cracks open and he doesn’t know how to hold the pieces together? Who tells him he’s enough when I’m not here to say it? When my brothers aren’t either?

Lev has improved since the diagnosis, but I still don’t know where in life he will land. I’ve watched him fight for every inch in ways most people never do. With Lev, the smallest wins are the biggest ones. A new word that appears out of nowhere. A routine that holds for a week. A new person he greets on his own.

But I don’t know what life will look like when he’s older. When expectations press harder. When the world stops being forgiving. When childhood slips away, leaving him with a body that’s grown and a mind that has its own rules.

The unknown is what haunts me.

He doesn’t have friends. He’s not even interested in other kids. Lev likes rules because rules make the world make sense. He isn’t interested in chasing other kids around and doing what comes easy to them. He’d rather read or sit with his uncles working on a puzzle.

I’m grateful he has them, grateful he has a circle who doesn’t judge him, who loves him exactly as he is. But it still kills me that he doesn’t have what comes easily to other kids his age. The casual belonging. The effortless “come play with us.” The way most kids can step into the world and the world steps back to make space.

For Lev, everything is different. When he was younger, delayed milestones didn’t scare me at first. Kids develop differently. Some are late walkers. Some talk after three. Some take their time. He was quiet, observant, locked into his own world, and I told myself he was simply behind, that he would catch up when he was ready.

Then he turned two and he still wasn’t walking or trying to talk. He liked toys that lit up and played music. Would stare at them or press them against his ears like it comforted him.

When I’d call his name, he would sometimes react and other times ignore me. But that’s kids, right? Or that’s what I told myself.

The pediatrician still was unsure it was autism, but then specialists came. Different opinions, different tests…

Then the genetic test, the whole exosome sequencing, was the one that gave me an answer. And the answer didn’t change who my son was, but it changed how I would handle it.

A mutation, they said. Something neither his mother nor I passed down. Something that happened only in him, rare enough that they told us to wait and see how he progresses. But they might as well have handed me a bomb and told me to put it under my pillow.

There were many sleepless nights, because an answer without a clear future is just another kind of uncertainty. Every time I tried to read about it, there was never enough information. I hated it. I can’t help him without answers or some fucking guidance. And if I can’t help, I’m useless.

His mother changed once we got the diagnosis. It was subtle at first. Less patience instead of more. Shorter tolerance. A tightness in her face when he groaned and screamed. Like she couldn’t be bothered now that there was something wrong.

There is nothing wrong with Lev. My son isn’t broken. He isn’t a tragedy. He is my child, and his mind works the way it works. The world can either learn to meet him where he is or I will force it to.

She didn’t see it like that. She looked at him like he’d ruined the life she wanted, like he was a burden she didn’t sign up for, and I watched the gap widen between them until it was a canyon. Every time she pulled away, I stepped closer—not because I’m noble, but because he needed me.

God help her if she ever shows her face.

The thought sits hot in my chest. Aleksei is right. I should’ve killed her.

I glance at the monitor one last time, eyes tracing the shape of his face, remembering the way he clung to Sloane like she was the only safe thing in the world.

Maybe I should ask her to be his nanny. I can behave, keep my hands to myself, if that’s what it takes to give him someone like her. Someone who sees him.

With a sigh, I set the monitor down on the nightstand and gape at the ceiling again like it might offer answers if I just look long enough.

Instead, my mind drifts somewhere I don’t like going. Back to when I was a kid. Back to the hell that passed for a childhood with a man who should’ve protected us.

The great Sergey Marinov. He wasn’t a father. He was nothing more than a tyrant. A cruel bastard who got off on breaking us, knowing we wouldn’t fight back.

When Lev’s mother told me she was pregnant, I didn’t want the baby. I hate myself for even thinking that, but I was scared out of my damn mind. Afraid I’d turn out like him. Afraid that whatever poison lived in his blood might live in mine too.

His death was the best thing that ever happened to us, but by then, it was too late. We were already men.

I shut my eyes and try to sleep, but when it comes, so does the nightmare. The same one every time. My father waiting in the dark, still finding ways to get inside.

The room is pitch black, like I’ve been dropped straight into hell. Not a single trace of light. At first, it’s silent, and then it starts low, almost like it isn’t even there until the sound is hard to miss.

A baby is crying somewhere in the distance. Not a soft whimper, but the raw, piercing kind that bleeds panic and fear. My body reacts before my mind can catch up: feet moving, muscles tightening, instinct taking over.

The crying is somewhere ahead, close enough to chase. I surge forward, arms outstretched like I can reach him, scoop him up, and get him the hell out of here. But the second I pick a direction, the sound swings, slipping away like it’s being dragged by invisible hands.

“Pizdets,” I growl, pushing harder. Damn it.

The darkness thickens as I move through it, hands searching for walls that aren’t there. Just endless space unfolding around me, empty and cold.

The crying stays out of reach, no matter how fast I run. The room shifts every time I get close, stretching the distance on purpose. I run anyway. Breath tearing through me, anger rising fast, feeding the need to move.

There has to be an end to this place. A wall. A door. Something real I can fight through.

The baby cries again, the sound uneven now and full of terror.

“Gde ti?” I shout, voice cracking through the void. Where are you?

No answer. Just a low, cruel laugh sliding through the dark like fog I can’t see.

A chill rips through me. I know that sound. I’ve heard it too many times.

This has to be one of his games. Another twisted brand of torment. It would be just like him to watch me claw and bleed just to prove I’m weak.

My lungs burn. My fists clench. The baby’s wail cuts higher, frantic, while the laughter presses beneath it.

I roar and push forward. But the cries change direction and the laugh moves nearer. If I can get my hands on him, I can make the game stop.

The room stretches again. The laugh stays close and far at the same time, like it’s right in front of me while the baby’s cry keeps pulling away.

Just keep going. You have to save him. You can’t let him die.

The crying is suddenly right in front of me, so close my body heaves with it. I reach out, ready to grab him, but the sound cuts off. Like a switch flipped.

“Net.” The word rips out of me. “Ostav yevo!” No. Leave him!

The silence that replaces it is worse than the crying ever was. But I keep running, refusing to give up.

He can’t be dead. I need to find that baby. I need to save him. I will save him this time.

Except the next thing I register is my father’s voice right behind me, his breath grating up my neck.

“Love makes you weak,” he says. “You have to kill it, or it will kill you.”

The blood drains out of me so fast my hands go numb.

Turning behind me, I try to grab him, to kill him, but he isn’t there.

His laughter hits harder.

“No,” I manage, hating that I’m begging him for anything. But I will for this. “No. Don’t do it. Don’t hurt him. I will do whatever you want.”

“You stupid boy. Getting attached to things I taught you not to. Now you will watch and you will see what happens when you fail.”

I snap, lunging into the dark, swinging at air, at the space where he should be. If I can find him and kill him, I can save the child.

“Pozhaluysta,” I choke. Please. “He is just a baby.”

The darkness moves like it’s alive, the room suddenly tilting. The laugh comes close, then far, and the voice repeats itself like it’s carving into my skull.

Love makes you weak. You have to kill it.

Then he does.

I wake up like I’ve been dragged out of deep water, lungs hauling in air that tastes wrong, heart slamming so roughly it hurts. Sweat clings to my skin while my eyes scan the room in a fury, searching for something solid to hold on to. I have to convince my body that I’m in my own bed and not trapped in that black room, knowing I can’t save the baby no matter how many times the nightmare comes.

And it comes more often than I’d like, the outcome remaining the same: I fail.

When I shut my eyes, I see him as though he’s right here in my arms. He was so little. Helpless. And it was my job to protect him.

Or at the least I thought it was.

The quiet in the room makes my thoughts spiral even more, so I swing my legs out of bed and head for the hallway, knowing I won’t sleep until I’ve checked on Lev.

I know my father can’t touch him, not anymore, but that doesn’t stop the fear. I ease the door open, eyes locking on the bed and the blanket pulled up high.

For one second, I can’t see his face.

My chest drops out. The silence from the dream hits me so hard my vision sharpens, and I cross the room in two steps, already lifting the blanket like I’m peeling back the edge of a nightmare. His eyes are closed, his face slack with sleep.

But it still isn’t enough. I need proof that he’s alive. Two fingers find the side of his neck, waiting for that steady beat.

Then I feel it: a pulse.

My exhale leaves me in a long rush.

I sit on the edge of the bed at first, watching him sleep until I slide in beside him, slow enough not to disturb him, my arm settling around him with gentle pressure.

His body moves, turning into the warmth that hits me in the chest.

My hand rests against his side, feeling the rise and fall, and I stare into the dim light while the dream keeps replaying. The baby crying, the distance stretching, the laugh that still suffocates me.

Love makes you weak. You have to kill it.

But my father was wrong. It doesn’t make you weak.

My son has given me more strength and purpose than I have ever known, and if anyone dares to take him from me, there’s nothing I won’t do to stop them.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SLOANE

I gaze at my reflection in Mandy’s full-length mirror, tugging at the bright red minidress she basically forced me into wearing. It hugs my curves like a second skin, showing off every inch I usually keep hidden under jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

Mandy’s already dressed in a hot-pink minidress, her silver heels making her legs look like they go on forever.

I managed to wedge myself into the lowest pair she owns, because unlike her, I can’t walk in heels to save my life.

“Okay, I look ridiculous.” I toss my waves off my shoulders and scowl at the mirror.

“You look smokin’ hot.” She leans in to inspect the makeup she did on me and grins like a proud stylist.

From her expression, you’d think I’d actually pulled this off, but I just don’t see it. I tug the neckline higher when it dips too low, but the second I do, the hem creeps up my thighs like it’s got a mind of its own. Apparently I get to choose between flashing my ass or my boobs tonight, and I genuinely don’t know which is worse.

“Stop fidgeting.” Mandy steps behind me and adjusts the spaghetti straps. “If Kirill saw you like this, he’d have a hard-on for days.”

My face lights up like a stop sign. “Stop. We’re just friends.”

“Mm-hmm. How many times do you have to say that before you actually believe it?”

I groan. “Well, good news is he’s not gonna see me dressed like I’m about to audition for Magic Mike.”

“That makes no sense since, ya know, they’re dudes. But either way, you’d kill it.” Her lips twitch. “Now give me your phone. We need a picture of you.”

“What? No. Why?”

“Oh, shush.” She waves me off and snatches it off her dresser. “Come on, do something sexy. Who knows when the next time I’ll be able to get you into a dress will be?”

“Please tell me you’re not posting this anywhere.”

“Of course not. I know you hate that.”

Instant relief hits me. She thinks it’s just because I’m private. That’s been enough of an explanation for her.

“Fine,” I mutter, stiffly placing my arms by my sides.

Mandy stares at me like she’s genuinely reconsidering our entire friendship. “Okay, no. That’s not gonna work. Put your hand on your hip and pop it out a little.”

She demonstrates, effortlessly striking a pose I could never pull off in a million years. I try to mimic her the best I can, turning slightly, one hand awkwardly on my hip, and forcing a smile that is about as real as the lashes glued to my face.

Honestly, I still can’t believe I agreed to go to this club in the first place. The night is already starting off like a disaster.

Mandy doesn’t seem to care. She snaps a few pictures, hums with satisfaction, and then starts typing something into my phone like she owns it.

“Mandy, what are you doing?” I reach for it, instantly suspicious.

She backs away just enough to keep it out of reach, wearing that sly grin I’ve learned to fear.

But it’s too late. I catch the name at the top of the screen, and my heart drops straight into my stomach.

Kirill.

Crap!

“Mandy! What the hell are you doing?” I lunge toward her, panic rising.

She giggles as she spins away, but this time she hands it over without a fight.

It doesn’t matter. The message is already sent. A photo of me in the dress. And beneath it:

Sloane

What do you think of this dress?

I slap a hand over my mouth, groaning into my palm like that might somehow rewind the last thirty seconds.

“Are you insane? I cannot believe you just did that.”

Mandy just shrugs, completely unbothered, irises twinkling with mischief. “Oh, please. I didn’t say anything embarrassing. If anything, I did you a favor. The ball is in his court now, and, babe, you look so good he’s gonna be licking the screen.”

“I don’t want him to lick anything!”

“Except your…” Her laugh makes a blush creep up my face.

I groan louder. “Mandy⁠—”

“Don’t Mandy me. These are the best years of our life before marriage and kids and obligations. So go get laid by the sexy Russian and have some damn fun, for fuck’s sake.”

I almost laugh. Fun isn’t really in the cards for me. My life is obligations. One in particular with a toothy smile and a favorite stuffed dinosaur. I don’t get to be a carefree twenty-three-year-old, not anymore.

But of course, I won’t tell her that. Not revealing my past is the only way I know how to keep Milo safe from it.

“He doesn’t care about me like that. I’m nothing more than a charity case.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” She crosses her arms. “But I know obsession when I see it.”

“Can we just go before I⁠—”

My phone dings.

We both freeze.

Kirill

Where are you?

“Crap, he texted back.”

“What did he say?” Mandy practically leaps over me to peer at the screen. “Oh, shit. I bet he’s gonna show up at the club.”

I frown. “No he’s not. He’s got a son. Why would he even⁠—”

“Sometimes you’re so oblivious it hurts.”

Before I can stop her, she grabs the phone right out of my hand and types something. I shake my head, officially giving up.

“There,” she says, handing it back like she just sealed a deal. “Now he knows where we’re going to be. Let’s see which one of us is right.”

Sloane

Club Viper. VIP section. It’s my friend Mandy’s birthday and she forced me to come. I’m excited though. I haven’t been dancing in forever, and that’s all I’m thinking about.

“Seriously?” I blow a harsh sigh.

Mandy just grins. “He’s going to lose his damn mind picturing you in that dress, surrounded by guys with their hands all over you. He’ll show up just to keep you in his sights. And by the end of the night? He’s gonna throw you up against the nearest wall and kiss you.”

“You’ve read way too many romance books.”

“So what?” She shrugs. “Sometimes that shit happens in real life.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

“No.” She flips her hands in the air. “But I also don’t have a sexy Russian who wants to bone me.”

I don’t even get the chance to reply before my phone buzzes again. My pulse spikes hard when I see that it’s him.

Kirill

Dancing with who?

“Oh, shit.” Mandy laughs, elbowing me. “What did I tell you? Jealous. As. Hell.”

“What do I say?” My voice goes thin as I stare down at the screen like it might bite me.

“You say nothing.”

She plucks the phone from my hand and slips it into my handbag. Her lips widen into a cocky, diabolical smirk, and I’m actually afraid of her.

“Come on, let’s go. The taxi is about to get here.” She pulls me to her side and ushers me out the door.

Downstairs, her mom is in the kitchen, stepping out with a smile and a mug of tea in her hands. She’s got this refined beauty to her: long black hair, hazel eyes. The kind of presence that makes you feel safe without trying too hard.

“Don’t you girls look beautiful?” she says. “Be careful tonight, okay? And don’t drink anything you didn’t watch get made.”

“Yes, Mom.” Mandy leans in, kissing her cheek, and my stomach twists.

Growing up, I used to wish I had a mom like hers. Someone kind. Someone who looked at me like I mattered. But the one I had barely even fed me.

Stuffing the memories aside, I start for the door, but Mandy’s mom stops me.

“Don’t I get a hug?” Her grin and outstretched arm make emotions clog up my throat.

“Sorry,” I whisper, stepping forward, and the second she wraps me up, everything inside me stumbles.

“I’m glad you’re going too. It’s good to go out sometimes.”

“Yeah.” I nod, glancing down at myself once she pulls back.

“Well, you ladies have fun. Just not too much fun. And you’re welcome to stay over, Sloane. Whenever you want, okay?” She grabs my hand and squeezes.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fields.”

She makes a teasing face. “Stop with the Mrs. stuff. I’m Trish, got it?”

A real laugh slips out. “Okay…Trish.”

“Alright, the taxi’s here. We need to go,” Mandy says, already halfway out the door. “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, girls.” She waves as she watches us head toward the gray sedan idling at the curb.

As I slide into the backseat, my thoughts drift back to Kirill’s text, to the way Mandy was so sure he’d come. Now I can’t stop wondering…what if he does?

The idea makes my body grow warm.

Just like that, this night starts sounding better and better by the second.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SLOANE

The taxi barely slows before Mandy’s out the door, heels clicking against the pavement as she grabs my hand and drags me toward the entrance, the bass thudding through the walls. The line outside stretches down the block, a blur of glittering heels, bare legs, and impatient chatter. But the second the doorman spots Mandy, his face lights up with a grin.

“Hey, kid.” He unhooks the red velvet rope without hesitation. “Go on in. No cover.”

“Thanks, Rob.” She breezes past him like this happens every weekend.

“You know the bouncer?”

She tosses a look over her shoulder. “My mom went to high school with him. He’s known me since I was in diapers.”

“Oh…”

I swear, I think Mandy knows everyone.

As we walk in, the noise inside swallows me whole. Lights flash from every angle, bodies swaying, the pounding music crashing through the large space.

Mandy doesn’t slow down. She clutches my hand and pulls me through the crowd, dodging bodies and half-drunk dancers until we reach a roped-off booth tucked in the corner. It’s just far enough from the speakers to talk, but still close enough to feel like we’re part of it.

Two girls are already there, perched on the curved red leather seat with drinks in hand, a bottle glowing with sparklers in a bucket on the table between them.

I stop at the edge, taking it all in. VIP. Bottle service. Definitely out of my budget.

But Mandy doesn’t worry about things like that. Her mom’s an accountant and her dad’s in finance. They can afford this kind of night without even thinking twice.

“Sloane, these are my girls,” Mandy yells over the beat, pulling me into the circle, her arm slung around me like I belong here.

I manage a smile as names are tossed out—Kelsey, Bella—followed by hugs, compliments, and squeals as a song they recognize comes on.

The next thing I know, a waitress appears with a tray of Jell-O shots, and the girls cheer, each grabbing one and giggling as they toss them back, while I laugh awkwardly and reach for a bottle of water instead.

I try to enjoy myself, loosely dancing to the music as I take a few sips, my eyes drifting through the packed club. And somewhere in all of it, I can’t shake the sense he might be here. That Kirill could be watching me from some dark corner.

It would be insane. Invasive. But also…kind of thrilling.

Heat runs down my spine, but I shake the thought away, biting back a smile at how ridiculous I’m being. But it doesn’t stop my hips from rolling to the beat just in case Kirill is out there somewhere, seeing the way I move.

Mandy leans in, tone pitched high with excitement. “Come on, guys! We’re going to the dance floor!”

I hesitate, but then nod, letting her take my hand again. If I’m here, I might as well have a good time.

The music gets louder as we make our way, drinks in hand, and me with my bottle of water. Mandy and her friends are already dancing together while I let my hips follow the rhythm, still getting used to the dress.

But of course, just as I start to relax, a group of guys begins circling, talking low and eyeing us like we’re next on their menu. One slides in behind Bella and says something that makes her laugh before she starts dancing with him. Another leans toward Mandy, and she answers with a flirty little wave that has him grinning like an idiot.

Then one of them turns toward me.

Oh, no. Not happening, buddy.

He’s tall, clean-cut in a stockbroker kind of way, dark eyes, brown hair slicked back. He slides in too close, an arm coming around my hip like he owns me.

“What’s your name?” His vodka breath is sticky against my cheek.

I try to shift away, pulling his hand off. “Emily. And I’m not interested.”

His grip tightens.

“You sure?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Positive.” I push harder this time, prying him off and stepping away. “Excuse me.”

I head back toward the VIP section, but I hear him right behind me.

“Hey, what’s your problem? You’re lucky I even came over. You’re like the least attractive one in that group.”

His words rock me, shame blooming in my chest. My mother used to say the same things. Always told me I was the chubby one, the ugly one, while my sister was the pretty one, the one worth a damn.

But I won’t let this asshole get to me. He’s not going to break me.

I keep walking, not saying anything, but his hand grips my arm. Rough. Tight.

Pain shoots up my wrist as I whip around and toss the water in his face without thinking. It splashes over his hair and collar, soaking his shirt.

He stumbles back, sputtering, “You little bitch! Do you know what you just did? This is Armani⁠—”

I don’t wait to hear the rest. I turn and run. My eyes blur with tears as I shove through the crowd, shooting Mandy a quick text.

Sloane

Bathroom. One of the guys is an asshole. Be right back.

The last thing I want is her seeing me cry on her birthday.

The women’s restroom has a line wrapped around the corner.

Great!

Glancing around, I spot a sign for the staff bathroom down the hall and head toward it. I just need a minute. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere to breathe.

I knew I shouldn’t have come. What was the point? This isn’t fun at all.

I reach for the door and step inside, but before it even closes behind me, someone barrels in. Fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me back as I’m shoved against the wall, my spine hitting so hard I see stars.

It’s him. The guy I threw water on. His face is red, twisted with rage.

Shit.

“What did you think, huh?” He snarls, locking the door. “That I’d just let you run? Maybe you need to be taught a lesson.” He snaps my hair until I wince. “Think you’re better than me?”

In a split second, he covers my mouth with his palm while gripping the strap of my dress with the other, yanking it down while I struggle and scream against his palm.

Tears flood my eyes, and I fight with everything I have.

My nails claw at his skin—desperate, wild—but it only makes him angrier. He grabs at my legs, fumbling with the hem of my dress and shoving it up. His body presses harder against mine and panic smashes into me.

This can’t be happening.

I twist and try to shout against his hold, every part of me bracing for something I won’t come back from.

Tears burn down my cheeks. My lungs seize. My mind screams one word on repeat.

No. No. No.

Suddenly, the door bursts open in an explosion, a thunderclap that ricochets through the narrow space as it snaps off the hinges, crashing inward.

The man barely has time to turn before Kirill comes at him like a tsunami. He slams the guy’s face against the sink, the crack of bone on porcelain so loud it sounds like a gunshot.

Again. And again. And again.

The man’s head bounces off the edge of the basin, blood spraying across the floor in messy lines until I can’t recognize his face. His legs buckle, the only sign that he’s alive, but Kirill doesn’t stop. He tosses him on the ground and kicks him in his stomach over and over, and the man lacks the strength to fight back.

Kirill’s foot presses down against his throat, pinning him there, making sure he feels every second of what’s happening.

I stumble backward, hand over my mouth, trying to breathe. Trying to believe this is real.

Kirill’s eyes never leave the guy’s as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a small knife.

Then, with a terrifying calm, he drags the blade across the man’s cheek, cutting through skin that’s already split and bloodied, like even that isn’t enough.

My body shudders, struggling to process what’s in front of me. I’ve never witnessed Kirill like this. He looks like a stranger, nothing like the sweet dad from the diner.

I should be terrified. But I’m not. Not even a little. Which says a lot about me, I guess.

The man screams, clutching his face as Kirill calmly slips a hand into his pants, pulls out his wallet, and retrieves his ID. He snaps a photo of it, then pockets the license for himself.

“You should already be dead, Kyle Scott,” he says. “But I want you to remember this. Every time you touch your face, every time you look in a mirror, I want you to remember how close you came to dying. And if you ever so much as look at her again, you won’t get another warning. Do you understand me?”

The man nods, shaking, one good eye stretched wide in terror.

Footsteps sound off behind me, and when I turn, a tall man dressed in black fills the doorway.

Who the hell is this? He’s young, broad-shouldered, with a scar slicing clean through one eyebrow.

“Mikhail,” Kirill says evenly. “Take out the trash. Drop him somewhere with heavy traffic. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a car will finish the job.”

Mikhail offers a faint smile.

“With pleasure, boss.” His Russian accent is thicker than Kirill’s.

Kyle starts mumbling something unintelligible as Mikhail grabs him by the collar and drags him across the floor.

“Get up,” he mutters, lifting him by the arms.

If not for the blood on his face, he could’ve passed for a drunk getting tossed from the club.

As soon as they’re gone, Kirill slips the knife back into his pocket. He turns to me, and just like that, the fury drains from his face. His brows knit together as his hand drags through his hair, his gaze locking on mine like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

“My God, Sloane…if I hadn’t gotten here in time—” His voice breaks off as his eyes close and his chest lifts with a shaky breath.

“But you did,” I whisper.

He moves toward me, hands reaching without hesitation. They skim over my shoulders, down my arms, across my face, like he needs to touch every inch just to believe I’m real. That I’m still standing.

“Are you hurt?” He cradles my cheek, his thumb brushing the skin like he’s afraid I might shatter.

I try to answer as I stare up, but the words don’t come. Just a small shake of my head, numbness still clinging to me like fog. But I lean into his hand anyway, desperate for the warmth. For him.

He moves closer, one hand sliding down to settle against my waist. “Are you sure he didn’t touch you anywhere?”

“No,” I whisper, barely holding it together. “He didn’t. You…you saved me.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re safe now. I swear I will never let anything happen to you.”

The words dig deep. My throat tightens, my stomach twists, and the pressure behind my eyes burns. Because I believe him. Even with blood on his hands. Even after what I just saw him do. Somehow, in the aftermath of violence, this—he—feels like safety.

“I’m taking you home.”

Dread instantly rises. I don’t have a home, and there’s no way in hell I can ever let him find out.

“I can’t,” I say too quickly, then force myself to slow down and sound casual even though my heart is racing. “I’m staying at Mandy’s. She’s not leaving yet.”

His eyes sharpen, like he’s checking me for lies. “Then you’re coming home with me.”

My pulse thumps so hard in my throat it hurts. “What?”

He smirks, and the look in his eyes makes me want to grab him by the collar and do something reckless. “I don’t mean my bed, Sloane.”

Heat floods my face anyway.

“Oh, obviously I know that’s not what you meant,” I mumble, then hate myself for rushing to explain.

He arches a brow, the smirk never leaving him, but of course, I can’t shut up.

“I just…I mean, you probably date models. Tall, perfect women. And I’m…” I motion at myself, then cringe. “Not that.”

His reaction is instantaneous. The amusement in his eyes disappears like it was never there, replaced by something darker. Hotter. A look that hits me so hard I stumble back a step.

His gaze drops to my mouth before it lifts again, hooking on to mine. “Is that what you really think? That I’m not attracted to you?”

He steps forward until all the space between us disappears. I have to tilt my head back just to look at him, and the height difference only makes my attraction for him grow even more. He’s larger. More solid. More dangerous in a way my body seems to crave without my permission.

“I…I don’t know,” I whisper, barely able to hold his stare. “Are you?”

The air shifts, charged and heavy, and I can barely speak. He doesn’t either, simply watching me.

“Do you really want to know, Sloane?”

My throat tightens.

Yes. Please.

I nod.

“Give me your hand.”

I lift it, unsure why he wants it. His fingers close around mine, warm and rough, completely swallowing my hand. The contact sends a shiver through me, heat curling low in my belly.

He brings my palm to his mouth and kisses it like he’s imprinting the feeling of me onto his lips. A quiet moan slips out while his gaze stays pinned on me with a heat that sinks beneath my skin and coils deep inside me.

He mumbles something in Russian, voice low and guttural, and the sound ripples through me like a current.

Then, slowly, he lowers my hand between us, guiding it down until it settles between his thighs. I gasp the second I feel him through the fabric.

Hard. Long. Undeniably thick.

Oh, God.

My breath leaves me in a shaky rush as every nerve in my body lights up at once. My fingers curl around his length instinctively, and the reaction from him is immediate: a sharp inhale, like he wasn’t expecting how much it would affect him too.

He leans in close, his mouth near my ear. “Do you still think I’m not attracted to you, solnishko?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

KIRILL

Lev was already asleep when I left, curled in the middle of his bed as I stood there watching him, not wanting to go.

But I couldn’t stay. Not after I saw what she was wearing and where she’d be going.

And especially not when I imagined the men around her hungry for a taste I would never let them have.

So of course I came to this godforsaken cesspool just to watch her. There was no way I’d let her walk into a place like this without protection.

I told myself it was only to keep her safe. But even that was a lie. Because every thought I have about her is wrong. Filthy. Off-limits.

And still, I can’t think straight.

V moey golove tol'ko ona. In my head, there’s only her.

And lately, she never leaves.

The second she turned toward the restrooms, I moved after her. I didn’t see him at first, not until he slipped in behind her.

Ublyudok. Scumbag.

Just thinking about him splits something open in my chest, rage flooding back so fast it makes my hands itch. I should have killed him right there. I still will.

The moment I saw the fear on her face and saw the drink spill down the front of his shirt, I knew he’d already crossed a line. He’d touched her.

She fought back. I’m proud of her for that. But it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change what he tried to do.

Men like him don’t learn. They don’t stop. They don’t deserve another chance to do it again.

What he did sealed his fate. I’ll make him suffer for every second he made her afraid.

When she looks up at me, I keep her hand in mine, gripping it tight, knowing there’s no way I can let this woman touch me again. She’s still staring at me like she can’t believe I let her to begin with.

Neither can I. But I don’t regret it. If anything, it’s worse now, the way I want her.

Just imagining the feeling of her skin against me—the softness of her palm, the way it might tremble, the way she’d watch her own hand as she stroked me…

“Blyat,” I groan.

“What?” Her eyes widen.

Idiot. Keep it together already.

“Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay. Let me just text Mandy so she doesn’t worry.”

She grabs her phone and types quickly, then slips it back into her purse. I take her hand again as we step out of the bathroom and move through the crowd. I don’t let go. Not for a second.

And the longer I hold her, the harder it gets to ignore how badly I want her. To keep myself from ripping off that dress and exploring every inch of her skin until she’s trembling, writhing under my hands, begging to be filled.

The images won’t stop.

I grit my teeth, cursing myself.

This was a mistake. I never should’ve let her touch me.

But fuck, I’d do it again.

When we step outside, a sharp gust of wind hits, and she shivers before she can hide it. Without a word, I slip off my coat and drape it around her shoulders, wrapping it close until the collar brushes her jaw.

“Slip your arms inside, malyshka.”

Her fingers disappear into the sleeves, the length engulfing her. Her eyes lift to mine, glassy with something I can’t quite name. Surprise, maybe. Gratitude.

She holds the coat tighter as we cross the lot in silence, our footsteps echoing. As the doors of my LaFerrari lift, she climbs into the passenger seat while I circle around and take the wheel.

“This is some car.” She runs her palms over the leather interior.

I laugh. “I’m glad you approve.”

Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but instead, she just smiles tightly.

Once the car is on the road, her body angles toward the exit, legs pressed together like she’s either trying to keep distance from me or like she’s nervous.

But she doesn’t realize how nervous she makes me. How much power she has without even trying. I hate that I’m thinking about her right now—in that dress, in my bed. I hate that I keep looking down at her hand and wishing mine was still in it.

Chto s toboy? What’s wrong with you?

She’s twenty-three. Too young. Completely off-limits.

But that doesn’t seem to matter when every instinct I’ve spent a lifetime burying already sees her as mine.

This isn’t some harmless attraction. It’s not patient, and it’s sure as hell not gentle. It’s volatile. Raw heat wound tight, waiting for the wrong moment to erupt.

And when it does, I won’t be able to stop it. Not with her. Not when she looks at me like she doesn’t see the danger. Or worse, like she sees it and wants me anyway.

Either way, the line between us is thinning, unraveling with every look we share. If she asks me again whether I want her, I’m going to show her just how much I actually do.

I’ll take her. I’ll wreck her. And what’s worse is I won’t regret a damn thing.

We drive in silence for a while, and the moment the car turns onto my private road, her head lifts, her eyes darting toward the tinted window like she’s trying to figure out exactly where we are. The headlights catch on the iron gates just ahead, and when they begin to open, two of my men appear, rifles at their back, nodding as we pass.

“You live here?” she asks.

I glance over, watching the way her eyes track every turn as the road curves through thick trees on both sides. “I do.”

The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we pass through the towering stone pillars flanking the entrance. An iron arch stretches between them, etched with a Russian phrase she can’t read, something about fighting until you conquer your enemy. Around the final bend, the house comes into view, built from dark stone and glass that catches the moonlight in silver streaks. At the center of the circular drive, a fountain spills water from the jaws of a stone tiger, its fangs bared, its eyes fixed forward.

She doesn’t speak, simply takes it all in. The moment the car stops, I’m out and moving toward her side. Opening her door, I help her out.

“Come.” I hold out my hand. “I will show you inside.”

As she climbs up the steps, her gaze lifts to the house, full of awe, like she’s never seen anything like this before. And I realize she probably hasn’t.

Something about that makes my chest spasm. I want her to have it all, and I want to be the one to give it to her.

She doesn’t even realize how beautiful she looks right now. How easy it is to picture her walking through that front door every night. Like she belongs here. In my space. In my kitchen. In my bed.

You could move her in. Give her a room. Start with the nanny job. That’s smart. Professional.

Right. Because hiring the woman who just had her hand wrapped around my cock is the definition of professional.

I grit my teeth and guide her up, my hand resting against the small of her back, and even that simple touch sends a jolt straight to my spine.

If I don’t get control of this, I’ll ruin the only good thing that’s ever stumbled into my life. And Lev will be the one to suffer for it.

The second we step into the foyer, Sloane's gaze sweeps over the large crystal chandelier, then to the paintings along the walls, the ones I paid too much for because the decorator said they brought “texture and contrast.” I don’t even know what they are. Just shapes and splatters and whatever the hell rich people are supposed to like.

But watching her take it all in like it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen…fuck, it makes it worth it.

Two of my men approach, nodding in greeting as they move out the front door for their shift.

“Why do you have guards everywhere?” she asks, turning toward me.

I shrug. “For protection.”

She tilts her head. “Protection from what?”

“Depends on the week.” My grin widens, but she doesn’t return it.

Her brow furrows. “What do you do for a living, exactly?”

“A little bit of this and that.” I tilt my head, watching her try to decide whether to ask more.

But she doesn’t. Umniya malyshka. Smart girl.

“Want to take off your shoes and relax?”

“Uh, yeah, but I won’t be staying long,” she blurts, a little too fast. “Hopefully Mandy will be done soon.”

“You can stay as long as you want.” I edge in closer. “You’re welcome to spend the night if you’d like. I have more bedrooms than I know what to do with. You can even borrow one of my shirts.”

She goes red instantly, tripping over her own feet like I just said something filthy. I bite back a laugh and move into her space, letting the distance between us dissolve. She retreats until her back hits the wall, and to have her cornered and at my mercy… The dirty things that spring to my head would have her face lit up in flames.

What would she do if I took her to our club, Rzvrt? Would she let me touch her? Let me tie her up to the ceiling and fuck her until her skin turned pink, flushed from the way I take her?

My knuckles brush her cheek, and she lets out a soft sound that barely escapes her lips. It’s quiet, almost nothing, but it shatters me. I shouldn’t be thinking about how good she’d feel underneath me, how easily I could make her whimper again.

Then her hand lifts, tentative at first, until her fingers thread into my hair.

I suck in a breath, my head dipping into the touch like I need it to survive.

Her fingers trace the ink that climbs my neck, curling over the side of my head and gliding up past my temple. A low, guttural growl escapes me, and when she starts to pull away, I wrap my hand around her wrist, holding her there.

“Keep doing that.”

Her eyes flick to mine.

“You like it?” she asks, quiet, unsure.

That voice alone makes my body tighten. Sweet. Innocent. Completely unaware of the effect she has on me.

“Da.” I lean in closer. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted a woman to touch me like this.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Pizdets. Fuck.

She sucks in a breath. “Really?”

I let out a low laugh, nodding once. “Yes, Sloane. Really.”

And I’m glad I said it. She deserves to know how beautiful she is. Just how badly I want her.

“I don’t date,” I admit. “Not much interest, and I’ve got my hands full with Lev.”

“I get it.” She shrugs.

“Do you?”

Our eyes meet, and something flashes there. Something real. Like maybe she does understand.

But how could she? She isn’t a parent, let alone one of a special needs child.

“I mean, I get it a little. I don’t date either. I’m always working.”

She peers down, and I tip her chin back up, holding her face still.

“I wish you didn’t have to work so damn hard.”

“Me too,” she whispers, biting her lip.

I stare at her mouth like I’m starving. And maybe I am.

“Don’t bite that lip again. I can’t take it anymore.” My face drops closer, and I groan.

“I’m sorry?” Her chest rises and falls and my fingers curl across her hips.

“Ya khachu tebya,” I mutter in Russian. I want you.

“What?” She rises on her feet, just a little, like she wants a taste of me that I’d gladly give her.

My hand slides up her inner thigh, testing the tension between us.

Her breath hitches. Fingers tighten in my hair. And I know I should stop. I know I need to walk away.

But I don’t.

Just a touch, I tell myself.

That’s all this is going to be. One stroke of my finger, just enough to take the edge off.

But I know I’m lying the moment my hand slides between her thighs and I push her panties aside. Because as soon as I feel how wet she is, how ready…

There’s no going back.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SLOANE

His fingers slide higher and brush over my clit again, and I jolt.

“My God, you’re so wet for me already.”

A soft, breathless whimper slips out, and the moment he hears it, he makes this low sound in his throat. My hand flies up to his forearm, digging into hard muscle as he presses into me—only a knuckle at first, but it’s enough to make my legs shake.

It’s filthy how much I want more, how fast my body turns desperate for him.

He moves like he’s done this a thousand times before and he’s just reacquainting himself with what’s his. There’s nothing hesitant about the way he touches me. Every stroke is firm, possessive, confident in the most addictive way.

I’ve never imagined I could be touched like this, not with this kind of hunger and want.

His eyes don’t leave mine, and it makes everything worse in the best way. He keeps circling my clit while another finger slides deeper, and a helpless sound breaks from me.

I swear I could die from the way this feels, from the way he watches me come apart with every touch.

His fingers pinch my clit just enough to make the pleasure spike sharp on both sides, and a cry tears out of me before I can swallow it. He leans in, his mouth so close, lips firm and tempting enough that I almost get brave enough to go for a kiss.

But I don’t, held back by the lack of experience.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “You know that?”

His thumb brushes over my center once more as his thrusts deepen, and I’m so wet I can hear the slick sound of my body responding to him.

When he circles my clit just right, it hits so hard that my breath stutters and a whimper slips out. My body gives in completely, my hand gripping his forearm, the muscle flexing beneath my fingers as he presses inside me to the third knuckle. It’s too much. Too good. I never imagined it could be like this.

I’ve wanted him for so long, there’s no escaping it now. Every time he walked into the diner, I wondered what it would be like to be wanted by him like this. And now that I have it, there’s no going back.

His other hand slides up my back until he’s got my hair twisted tight around his wrist. The sharp pull knocks another moan out of me, and he answers with a low growl.

“Dai mne kazhdyi zvuk.”

He drives deeper, harder, until my legs tremble and I’m barely holding myself upright.

“That’s it,” he says, rough in my ear. “Give me every sound, detka. It’s mine.”

I want to be his. Right here, right now, it’s as though I already am.

My nails sink into his arm, and the heat rushes through me in one hard wave that starts low and keeps spreading until I’m trembling and I can’t do anything but hold on.

“Oh, God.” The words fall out of me on a raspy whisper.

Kirill groans, rough and strained, vibrating against my skin.

“I can’t stop now, solnishko.” His teeth clench, like he’s barely able to restrain himself.

“I don’t want you to.” The truth spills out before I can think it through.

I don’t know if I’m ready to go all the way, not completely, but I want to. That much is undeniable.

He lets out another husky sound, his eyes locked on mine, his grip in my hair firm as he keeps me exactly where he wants me. Circling my throbbing center, he draws out his finger, then thrusts in with a slow curl, dragging every nerve ending awake until my knees are weak and my head starts to spin. My body arches toward his touch, chasing the pleasure like it’s the only thing that matters.

“How many men have been inside this pretty cunt?”

Shame flares for half a second, then turns into something hotter, and I grip around him on instinct, like my body is answering him faster than words ever could.

“Just one,” I manage, my breath catching when his thumb doesn’t stop, when it keeps circling like he wants to pull the truth out of me with pleasure. “And it only happened once.”

His features twist like the idea pains him. It’s absurd, considering a man like him has probably had dozens of women—women who know exactly what to do with him—while I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“And no one has had a taste of all of this before?” He pushes his palm flat against my pussy and rubs until I cry out, my nails digging into him, my body riding on a high I’ve never experienced.

“No, never.”

His mouth curls like he likes that answer too much. “That’s good.”

Then he plunges two fingers inside me, sudden and deep enough that I gasp, my body writhing around him before I can catch up.

“That’s really good.”

“Yes…oh, God.” My voice breaks, not even sounding like mine as the sensation builds too fast, too sharp.

My body is reacting in ways I’m not prepared for, everything pulling tighter and tighter, until it all snaps.

“Kirill!” I cry out as the orgasm tears through me in waves.

My head falls back as it hits harder than anything I’ve ever felt, leaving me shaking as I try to come down from it.

He grunts. “I will never get the sound of you saying my name like that out of my head.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, still riding the aftershock while he leans in, his mouth dropping to my neck, kissing a slow path down to my collarbone. My hands find him, fingers sliding into his hair, holding on while the scent of his woodsy cologne fills my lungs, making my head go light because it’s him—all of him—close enough to ruin every rational thought I’ve ever had.

His lips start to descend, fingers catching the strap of my dress, and my nerves flicker. But the moment his devouring eyes pin me in place, it all melts away.

He draws the material down until my breasts are exposed to the cool air, and the way he looks at me makes me feel stripped right down to my very soul. Then he lowers himself, settling on his knees in front of me, his gaze still fixed on mine as he looks up.

“Wha-what are you doing?” I barely get the words out while a lazy smirk appears, his palm lifting one leg until it’s hooked around his shoulder.

“Fucking you with my tongue.” The promise in his tone makes my stomach clench.

He leans in and presses a kiss along my bikini line, slow enough to feel like he’s teasing me on purpose. He kisses me again, closer now, until my fingers slide into his thick hair and hold on.

When the tip of his tongue slides into my wet slit, I jolt, body bowing, head falling back.

“I can’t…I…”

I’m beyond sensitive. The very idea of coming again doesn’t seem possible.

“Mm.” He grips my hips and pushes me into him, inhaling me, tasting me, owning my every thought. “You will give me what I want, and what I want is to feel your cunt tighten around my tongue while you come, solnishko.”

I jolt when he tastes me, and as he draws me into his mouth, flicking my clit, my vision blurs with the rising pleasure until everything else fades away. My hands stay on him, holding on to the solid muscles of his arms while my pulse starts to trip over itself and my thoughts dissolve into pure sensation. There’s nothing left but the way he keeps me right on the edge, the pressure that builds and builds, the ache twisting tighter inside me until I’m shaking for it.

He devours me like I’m the only thing that can fix whatever hunger lives in him, and I want to be the one who does.

His pace quickens, his chestnut eyes locked on mine as though he’s waiting for the exact second I break. His fingers slide inside me, the sensation turning sharp and overwhelming, and when his teeth graze my clit, that’s all it takes.

“Kirill!” His name breaks out of me as I shatter, coming undone so hard I can’t hold myself together.

I can’t seem to move or think. It’s like I’m floating somewhere above myself, watching it happen from a distance while my body keeps pulsing and trembling.

He laps me up, greedy for all of it, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. When he’s done, he rises, pushing his body into me, right before he kisses the corner of my mouth.

“What a good girl.” His lips feather over mine. “Thank you for that.” The words are gruff, sending another rush of heat through me.

Wait, shouldn’t I be thanking him?

My head spins. My heart pounds. My entire body is lit from the inside out, like I’m riding some impossible high I never want to come down from. He pulls back just enough to peer at me, tugging fabric into place until everything is where it should be while I’m still shuddering.

I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I did it with him.

Reality starts creeping back in, nerves stirring low in my stomach, but one thing doesn’t change: nothing has ever felt like this before, and no man has ever had the chance to get this close to me.

He brings his hand up, the same fingers that had me shaking, and drags them across my lips. “Open.”

I do, closing my mouth around them, and the sound he makes is pure approval. His gaze stays fixed on me like he doesn’t want to miss any of it, and the hunger in his expression doesn’t fade.

He releases a rough breath, his body pinning me further, and as he does, his hardness presses into my stomach. A part of me wants to help him with that, but the words die in my throat. I wouldn’t even know what to do.

“Are you alright?” He cradles my cheek.

I nod. “That was…”

My teeth sink around my bottom lip.

“Incredible, I hope.” His knuckles stroke my jaw.

“More than that.” A smile appears on my face, even as my cheeks heat up.

“Don’t be shy.” His thumb brushes my chin. “You’re beautiful, Sloane. You were perfect. You are too perfect for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You don’t know who I am.”

He’s right. I don’t. And maybe I’d rather live in denial a little longer.

“You don’t know who I am, either.”

“Maybe.” His voice drops, rougher now. “If I was a different man, you’d be mine already.”

“Right,” I say, even though it stings. “Of course. Someone like me doesn’t belong in your world. I get it.”

“What?” His brows knit, surprise flashing before irritation hardens his mouth. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then what?” I try to slide out of his grasp, not wanting him to see me hurt by his words.

But he doesn’t let me go, caging me in with two fists planted on either side of my head. “My business comes with risks, and you’re too young. There’s also Lev, and he needs a lot of my time.”

A bitter little laugh escapes me. “You think I wouldn’t understand that? Me, of all people?”

He sighs as he pushes off of me. “You have a whole life to live, and I’m the last man who can give you everything you deserve. I would only destroy you.”

“I’m already broken.” The smile that pulls at my mouth is dry and worn. “You have no idea what I’ve been through and what I’ve done to survive. I’m not asking you to be with me, okay? But don’t tell me what I need. I know what I need.”

I need money. Safety. The kind of safety I feel when I’m with you.

Emotion clogs my throat because he’s right, and I hate that he is.

I don’t know why I’m fighting it when I should be thinking about Milo, about what kind of life I can actually give him. Whatever line of work Kirill is in, it can’t be safe. Milo is my priority, just like Lev is his.

“Maybe I should go.” The words come out quiet, but I can’t help but feel scraped to the bone, like he took what he wanted and now he’s rewriting the moment into nothing.

Except we didn’t even sleep together, so what did he really take? And why does it still feel like this?

“I don’t mean to hurt you.” His knuckle slopes my cheek, making my lashes flutter, and I curse myself for reacting like this when I’m trying to put distance between us.

“You didn’t hurt me.” My chin lifts. “You were honest. This was just…whatever it was.”

His hands close around my face, and he pulls me in until his forehead rests against mine. “This was everything, malyshka. Too much.”

My heart twists. I hate this. All of it. We don’t work, no matter how much we like each other.

He pulls in a long drag of air and backs away, like he has to force his feet to move. “You should get some sleep.”

He’s right, even though I shouldn’t stay here, but the last thing I want is to sleep in my car tonight. I know sleep won’t come anyway. Not with everything we just shared. Still, I have to try, because I can’t show up at the Whitlocks’ ranch tomorrow looking exhausted. Greer definitely won’t hire me then.

“Fine.” A yawn sneaks out.

“I will show you to your room.” His arm circles my back as he guides me out, and that touch alone is enough to make me forget—for half a second—why we’re wrong for each other.

We climb the spiral staircase in silence, my fingertips skimming the railing as we go, my heart still pounding like it can’t catch up to my body. When we reach the top, he stops at a door to the right and opens it, flicking on a soft lamp inside.

“This is the guest room. I’m right next door if you need anything.”

That knowledge is comforting and unsettling at the same time.

“Let me get you a shirt.”

He goes to another room before returning with a plain white T-shirt, holding it out for me. When I take it, our fingers just barely brush, but the contact sends a quick jolt straight through me. It’s nothing, a second at most, and still his gaze drops to where our hands meet, his jaw tightening like he felt it too. My pulse skitters wildly in response.

“Bathroom’s through there,” he adds.

“Thank you.” I take the shirt and head inside, bracing my hands on the sink while I stare at my reflection and will myself to relax.

So what? He doesn’t want anything serious. You already knew that.

With a sigh, I back off and change fast, slipping into his shirt. It’s impossible to just forget a man like Kirill, but I’ll have to try.

When I return to the bedroom, he’s still there, leaning against the wall by the door with his back to me, like he doesn’t trust himself to look. Something about him standing there like that, holding himself so tight, makes me want to wrap my arms around him.

“Kirill,” I whisper.

Yet he doesn’t move.

“Thank you.” My words slip out softly. “For what you did tonight.”

For a long second, I think he might leave without another word. Instead, he turns, his shoulders rising.

“Don’t thank me.” His voice drops, rougher now. “You should have never been in that situation. That’s on me.”

What? No, it isn’t. But the words don’t come out. I just meet his gaze before he turns away again and starts for the door.

“Lock the door behind me,” he says, glancing back once before he disappears.

KIRILL

I brace myself against the wall outside her door, one fist pressed into the plaster, the other curled tight at my side. Every tendon in my body is pulled to its limit, like one wrong breath and I’m going to snap.

She’s just a few feet away. In my shirt. And I’m out here like a coward.

I could go to her and make it undeniable that she’s different, that I care too much, that she’s gotten under my skin in a way no one has ever managed. Not even Lev’s mother. Not even close.

But I won’t. I’ve already gone too far tonight. Done things I never should have.

The way I touched her. The way I looked at her. The way my hands didn’t want to let go.

But it happened, and that’s as far as it will go.

I push off the wall and head to my bedroom, stripping as I move, shedding clothes like they’re the problem as I enter the bathroom. The water is scalding as I turn it on, biting into my skin, steam rising fast around me. I let it. I welcome it. My palm presses to the tile, but nothing burns away the way I crave her.

My cock is hard, needing her, and it would be easy to take what my body is demanding, to lose myself in her for one fucking night.

She doesn’t deserve that, though. She deserves more than a man like me. A man with blood on his hands and a past that never stops rotting.

But it doesn’t seem to matter. I still want her. Won’t let anyone else have her.

Because even with everything I am, she belongs to me now. And there’s nothing I can do to change that.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SLOANE

My body stretches as I wake up, not knowing where I am at first, only registering the soft sheets beneath me and the cloudlike comforter wrapped around me. The pillow smells like clean cotton and something faintly masculine, and that’s enough to bring it all back.

My eyes open slowly as the night returns in pieces. His hands on my skin, the sounds I couldn’t hold back, my fingers in his hair, the way he handled me like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I don’t even know the kinds of things I like. The lack of experience makes that difficult, but with Kirill, I discovered parts of myself I didn’t know I had. I can just imagine the world he’d awaken if we were together.

Too bad I’ll never find out.

Pushing the blanket off, I slide out of bed, the hem of his shirt brushing my thighs as I cross the room to the clothes I wore last night, folded neatly on the chaise.

My fingers roll over the fabric, caught between putting my dress back on and staying wrapped in something that still smells like him.

I pick up the dress anyway, my hands hesitating as I take in how short it is. I remember the way he pulled it off of me, the look in his eyes when he did.

But it’s all I have. Unless I plan on going downstairs in his shirt—or nothing at all, which would be uncomfortable for both of us.

I slide the dress on and smooth the fabric down over my midsection, cringing at how bare I am as I pad into the bathroom. The space resembles a luxurious hotel suite with its shiny marble and gold accents.

I look at myself in the mirror, trying to recognize the girl standing there. My hair is a disaster, my makeup is long gone, and my eyes are still a little swollen from sleep and everything that happened with him last night, but I push it down.

It’s over. It didn’t mean anything. We’re two adults. We can move on.

Except I can’t seem to do that.

Ignoring the mess in my head, I spot some mouthwash and decide to use it, trying to pull myself together. Seeing him again is inevitable, and that thought alone knots my stomach.

Screw it. There’s no way around this. I step out, grab my shoes and bag, and go downstairs. I need to get to Mandy’s, get my car, and make it to my interview with Greer today.

A shower would be nice, but I’m not about to do it here. Mandy would let me if I asked, so there’s that.

Halfway down, I notice one of Kirill’s men standing off to the side of the staircase, arms folded, posture alert. He straightens when he sees me, dark eyes flicking up and then politely away.

“Kitchen this way,” he says, his Russian accent thick, gesturing down the hall. “Boss ask you join him for breakfast.”

“Okay.”

A hard pulse starts behind my ribs. I could refuse and go home, but as soon as my stomach lets out a low growl, I know I shouldn’t. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten, and who knows the next time I’ll eat again? Sometimes I’ll grab a little something at the diner when it isn’t busy, but it’s not all the time.

The guard goes back to his post while I square my shoulders and follow the hall he pointed down, telling myself I can handle breakfast. I can handle seeing Kirill in this house one more time before I go back to reality.

Even if my heart doesn’t believe the lie.

I step into the kitchen, off to the right, unsure what I’m walking into at first. The room is sunlit and bright, the kind of kitchen you only see in magazines.

But it’s not the space that knocks the air from my chest. It’s them.

Kirill is seated at the table as he takes a sip of his coffee, his dress shirt riding up his forearms, the veins there flexing. The sight of it makes desire roll through me, my body remembering exactly what those hands did last night.

In that moment, his eyes meet mine and his features soften.

Before I can even process it, Lev turns in his seat. When he notices me, his whole face lights up like it’s the best surprise in the world.

“Sloane.” The word comes out small, but it might as well move mountains.

He jumps to his feet and hurries across the room toward me. I don’t even have time to brace myself before he throws his arms around my waist in a tight hug, pressing his cheek into me like I’m someone who matters. Like I belong.

My throat closes as I comb my fingers through his hair. “It’s so good to see you, Lev.”

When I look up again, Kirill is still watching us, his expression unreadable at first. Then something flickers there—a tiny curve at the edge of his mouth that could almost be a smile. And somehow, it’s worse than if he looked away because it makes my heart ache in this sharp, slow way I don’t know how to stop.

Lev tugs my hand, leading me over to the table without letting go, like he’s afraid I might disappear. He climbs back into his seat and pulls me onto the chair beside him. His hand stays wrapped around mine as he reaches for his orange juice with the other. I don’t even try to take it back.

“How about we let Sloane eat, Lev?” Kirill says as he rises to make me a plate.

“Don’t you dare.” I narrow a playful gaze at him. “I’ll have you know I’m very good at eating one-handed.”

That causes Lev to laugh under his breath, and Kirill grins at seeing his son happy. Who wouldn’t be? That’s what we want for our kids. For them to have a good life, to be loved and cared for.

Sharp panic hits my chest at the thought of Milo eating alone without me, my sister probably snapping at him over spilled milk the way Mom used to snap at us over anything she could find.

I force the image down before it can drown me. I can’t get upset in front of Lev.

Instead, I eat with my free hand, awkwardly spearing pancakes with my fork, and I don’t care how ridiculous I look. Not when Lev’s beaming beside me like I’m the best part of his morning. It’s a good feeling being wanted like that.

Kirill watches us from across the table, taking sips of his coffee. His eyes keep drifting lower, like he’s processing the fact that Lev is holding my hand.

Does he not do that? I don’t want to ask, not when Lev is here to hear it.

We eat like that: Lev content holding my hand while Kirill glances occasionally, taking it all in. After we’re done, Lev wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns toward his father.

“Piano,” he says.

Kirill tilts his head. “You want me to play?”

Lev nods, eyes bright.

He plays the piano? I can’t picture it. This big, dangerous man at a keyboard, those hands doing something that gentle. Then again, he’s been gentle with me.

“Ladno. Paydom.” Kirill straightens from his seat, glancing over at me. “Come. He likes it when I play.”

I follow them through the hall until we reach the grand piano by the foyer. Kirill slides in first, settling on the edge of the bench while Lev sits on his lap.

Hovering near the side, I wait for the first note, but Lev reaches his hand out toward me. He doesn’t say anything, just waits with that sweet expectant look, like I’m meant to be part of this.

I sit beside them, and my thigh brushes Kirill’s. It’s barely anything, a simple contact, but it hits like a spark anyway, lighting up nerves I’m trying not to acknowledge. His shoulder grazes mine when he shifts, and the warmth of him sinks in fast, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.

His gaze collides with mine and doesn’t let go, heavy enough to pin me in place. It drops to my lips, slow and possessive, like he’s deciding whether he’s going to kiss me or make me beg for it, and my mouth parts, offering without meaning to. But instead, his features tighten and he turns back to the keys.

The moment his fingers touch them, I stare in wonder. The sound is soft at first, then it swells into something haunting and beautiful, something that builds in my chest like a memory I never had. I don’t recognize the piece, but it wraps around me all the same, notes curling into the space, drawing every emotion from me. Joy, sorrow, pain, regret. It’s all there, drifting in the air around me as though he summoned it.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes before I even realize they’re coming. I blink them back, swallowing the lump in my throat, trying to fight past the throbbing that rises up out of nowhere.

I don’t know why it hits me this way, but it does. Maybe because it’s so unexpected. Maybe because there’s something about watching this man—this hard and terrifying man—create something so beautiful with his hands while his son sits on his lap. But I’m lost to him.

And for one fragile moment, as I continue to watch him play, it feels like we’re something close to a family.

Something real. Something just as haunting and beautiful. And altogether ours.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SLOANE

Kirill’s SUV is quiet on the drive to Mandy’s, broken only by the occasional shift from the backseat when Lev hums to himself. I sit in the passenger seat with my hands folded in my lap, too aware of how close Kirill is, of the space between us that feels heavier now than it did when we were pressed together last night.

I can’t get the way he played out of my head. It was beyond beautiful. The melody keeps looping in the back of my mind, and I already know it’s going to be one of those things I carry around with me, something I’ll think of on a bad day when I need to remember what it feels like to be happy.

The silence between us keeps growing and I don’t know what to do with it, not after last night and this morning. Taking out my phone, I text Mandy that I’m coming by to just grab my car from her driveway, and she replies immediately.

Mandy

Looks like you survived a night at the sexy Russian’s house. So…how was it? Was he great in bed or what?

My face turns hot, and I glance at him as though he could see what she wrote, but his eyes remain on the road. Thankfully.

Sloane

I can’t talk right now. He’s right next to me.

Mandy

OK, but did you bang him?

I bite the inside of my cheek and type back quickly, keeping my screen angled away.

Sloane

No.

Mandy

WHAT! Did he kiss you at least? Anything??? How can you still be a virgin after last night?

Sloane

I’m not a virgin. One time is still one time.

Mandy

Stop it. You’re a virgin.

I glimpse at Kirill again, his square jaw, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. He looks calm—calmer than me, that’s for sure.

Sloane

We didn’t bang, but something did happen. I’ll tell you everything when I get there.

Mandy

I knew it! Hurry the fuck up, and you’d better not leave anything out!

I slip the phone back into my purse as I stare out the window. Every time Kirill changes gears or adjusts his grip on the wheel, I sense it low in my stomach. His hands are just so big and manly; I can’t seem to stop thinking about them all over me.

Shame slides across my face. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t think about sexual things. But here I am, thinking about every dirty thing he could do to me.

As though hearing my thoughts, he peers at me, a smirk tilting one side of his mouth…and there goes the rest of my pulse. But we’re nothing more than friends, and I have to keep reminding myself of that, no matter how many times it takes to get him out of my system.

Good luck to me.

When we pull onto Mandy’s street, he slows the car and parks in front of her place, the engine idling as silence fills the space between us. I swallow and reach for the door handle, but my fingers hesitate on the metal.

“Thank you,” I say, more aware of his masculinity than I was on the ride here, if that’s even possible. “You know, for everything last night. And this morning.”

Before I can pull the handle, his hand closes around my knee. The reaction is instant: a shudder goes straight through me, heat following right behind it.

“Sloane, wait.”

The way he says my name makes me jump. I turn toward him, and it’s there on his face, all of it. The restraint, the tension, the fight he’s having with himself. He’s holding so still, it makes him look carved out of stone, shoulders tight like he’s swallowing words he doesn’t trust in his own mouth.

His thumb presses into my knee, just enough pressure to remind me he’s there, and that single touch ricochets through me. His other hand lifts, stopping short of my face, hovering like he wants to cup my cheek, but he retreats and disappointment floods me.

He glances at Lev in the rearview mirror, then back at me, and instead of touching my face, he takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.

“What are you doing today?” he asks.

“I’m going to Blackthorn Ridge for an interview.” I give myself a once-over and wince. “Well, as soon as I change into something a little more appropriate.”

He stiffens instantly, his eyes sharpening a fraction.

“What time?” His grip on me firms.

“Probably in a couple of hours. Why?”

Are you gonna follow me there?

The thought is ridiculous. It was one thing to show up at the club, and I’m grateful he did, but he has no reason to go anywhere near that ranch.

Kirill’s chest lifts on a slow breath, his gaze still locked on me, and whatever I see in his eyes makes my skin prickle.

“I’ll see you later,” I manage, and I hate how hard it is to let go of his hand.

I turn toward the backseat instead and smile at the beautiful boy staring at me. “Love you, buddy. I’ll see you later, okay?”

His smile is small, but it explodes inside my heart into a million pieces that I want to grab all at once.

“L-l-l-love you,” he says, clear as day.

Oh my God. He loves me.

The words hit me so hard my throat closes up.

When I glance at Kirill, something flashes across his expression, unguarded and achingly tender. I make myself look away. If I don’t, I might do something stupid. Like kiss him. Or never leave this car.

“Bye, guys,” I tell them as I open the door and step out.

The morning air is cool against my legs, my mind still tangled up in everything I’m trying not to feel. When I pull the door shut, I catch Kirill through the window, his eyes locked on me. The chill doesn’t stand a chance against the heat in his gaze.

And I know with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, whatever this is between us won’t just go away. It’ll only grow, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive that.

As I start toward the house, Kirill stays parked behind me. I don’t look back, but I feel his gaze on me anyway, like he’s waiting to make sure I actually go inside.

The second Mandy opens the door, she yanks me into a hug, and right over her shoulder, I register the car pull away. Her eyes track the sound, then she lifts a brow.

“So? Did he give you a mind-blowing orgasm, or do I need to kill him?”

I release a sigh and step inside, kicking off my shoes and dropping my bag by the couch. If I don’t give her something, she’s going to explode.

I don’t tell her everything—not the intensity of it, not the way it felt like something in me cracked open—but enough. Enough for her eyes to go wide, her jaw to drop, and her voice to jump into that high pitch it gets when she’s too excited to be cool about it.

“Holy. Shit.” She fans herself. “Where can I get a man who knows how to use his tongue like that?”

Heat crawls up my face. “Mandy.”

“What? I’m asking for a friend…who’s me.”

I let out a laugh, getting the words out before she can build a whole fantasy around what happened. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. He doesn’t want anything real, and I’m not about to set myself up for heartbreak.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh, like I just told her Christmas is cancelled. “I won’t lie. I’m disappointed.”

I am too…

“Anyway…” I say, dragging us into safer territory before she sees too much on my face. “Mind if I take a quick shower? I just need to grab the extra clothes I keep in the car.”

“I’ve got clothes. I can doll you up so even Greer can’t say no.”

I let out a laugh. “I’m a bit terrified to sit in a room with her.”

“I don’t blame you. She’ll look at you like she’s trying to peel you from the inside out, but we won’t let her.”

“I hope not.” I grimace. “Anyway, let me go grab some clean underwear from the car. Give me a sec.”

I step back outside, pop the back door, and dig through the duffle until I find a simple white pair, then head inside again, shutting the cold out behind me.

Mandy throws an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the stairs like I’m a project she’s excited to start. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed.”

In her room, she beelines for the walk-in closet and starts flipping through hangers, talking as she goes.

“I’ve got the perfect jeans that’ll definitely fit, cute over-the-knee boots, and a blouse that shows the exact right amount of boobage to say, ‘I’m competent, but also extremely hirable.’”

I groan and cover my face. “You’re the worst.”

She grins over her shoulder. “And yet you keep coming back for more.”

“I’m starting to think I’m a glutton for punishment.” I plop down on her bed and lie back.

“You sure as fuck are.” She pops her head out. “Alright, here are your clothes.”

Mandy hands them to me as I sit up, then grabs a towel from the hallway closet and tosses it at me. I push up and head for her bathroom, really hoping I can impress Greer.

The second the water turns hot, I strip out of my dress and step under the spray, letting it hit my skin hard enough to feel like it might wash off the memory of his hands on me, his mouth, the way I melted for him until I forgot how to be anything but his.

It doesn’t work. No amount of soap makes me forget the way it felt to be wanted like that, or the way it scared me because wanting it back feels like the first step toward losing my grip on reality. He’ll never be mine.

I shut the water off, wrap the towel around myself, and blow-dry my hair until it’s mostly tame, then pull on Mandy’s clothes. The jeans are a little too long, but I can deal with that.

When I step out, Mandy looks up from the edge of the bed and lets out a slow whistle. “Dayum. Kirill doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes, but my face goes warm anyway. “I’m over him.”

“Sure you are.” Her lips curve.

I ignore her, forcing myself to focus on anything but Kirill while I grab the flat riding boots and slip into them as she laughs.

“You over him or him under you. Either way, you’re not getting rid of that man. Just watch.”

“Yeah, okay…”

But a part of me hopes she’s right.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SLOANE

We pass through black iron gates that slowly swing open, revealing a gravel path framed by sprawling pasture and neat fencing. A wooden sign welcomes guests to Blackthorn Ridge Bed & Breakfast, nestled beside a second one that reads Main Office with an arrow pointing left.

Mandy follows the sign for the office, her fingers drumming the steering wheel while I try not to let my nerves get any louder than they already are. Worst case, I don’t get the extra cash and Camille loses her mind until my first paycheck from the diner hits.

It’ll be okay. It has to be.

Once we arrive, Mandy parks in front of the office, a small house-style building set back from the road, and kills the engine. “You okay?”

“Nervous.” I shrug. “But yeah.”

“Hey…” She turns to me. “You’re going to be great. Just be yourself. Well…maybe not the part of yourself that cries at dog commercials or stress-cleans the fridge at one in the morning. But the rest of you? Total catch.”

“I knew I never should’ve told you the one time I did that.”

She quirks a brow.

“Okay, maybe it was more than once.”

She laughs as we get out, climbing the stone steps before entering a brightly lit room that gives off cabin vibes. It’s quite homey.

A woman in a pale blue suit jacket looks up at us from her laptop and smiles. “Hi there. May I help you?”

“My name is Sloane. I’m here to see Greer for a job interview.”

She types something, then reaches for the phone. “Sure, I will let Ms. Whitlock know. Please have a seat.”

I glance around the space: wood floors, a eucalyptus tree tucked into the corner, paintings of horses lining the walls. It’s calm, but I feel nothing of the sort. My hands tighten around the strap of my purse as I take a seat, Mandy dropping down beside me.

“Relax,” she whispers. “You’re gonna be fine. This is no big deal.”

But it is. She has no idea the kind of mess I’m trying to crawl out of.

My foot starts bouncing as the minutes drag, my eyes catching on the large black clock across the room, watching every second tick by. Mandy scrolls on her phone while I try not to make myself even more nervous, so I start thinking about my boy. What he’s doing right now. If he misses me. If he’s asking where I am.

Camille only lets me talk to him once a week, so the second I’m done here, I’m calling him. I just need to hear his voice.

The door down the hall opens, and a woman steps out.

“That’s her,” Mandy whispers.

My eyes follow Greer as she struts past us toward another room, long brown curls bouncing down her back, the kind of edge around her that warns people off before they ever get too close. She moves like everything in this world belongs to her.

She’s the kind of beautiful that looks effortless, but there’s something hard beneath it that makes my skin tighten. I’ve only ever seen her from a distance and heard about her reputation, and from the look in her eyes, she more than lives up to it. She seems like the type of woman who could end a man with one hand and never smudge her lipstick. I’ve met women like her before.

Jess was like that. The first time I saw her kill someone, I was fifteen. We were on a job at a local pawn shop, and when it didn’t go as well as they had hoped, she killed the witness.

I couldn’t sleep for weeks after that. I was going to leave as soon as it happened, but you don’t leave a gang once you’re in it. Not when you’ve seen what you’ve seen and know what they can do to you if you try.

Eli taught me that. He taught me a lot of things, like how to crack safes until I became better than him—so good, they started calling me Ghosthands. It definitely wasn’t the type of talent I wanted to discover I had, but by sixteen, I was their it girl, and Barrett treated me like his golden prize.

Right up until I became a problem.

Eli was Barrett’s prodigy, the second-in-command. The one who acted like your friend until you weren’t useful. I didn’t know that back then. I was young and wanted so badly to belong, and Eli knew it too.

Images flash behind my eyes.

Eli with a bullet in his leg. Two others dead. Cops hauling some of the crew away while everything fell apart.

I got out. I don’t even know how, just that I ran and didn’t stop until my lungs burned. Samuel, my neighbor, found me after. The same man who later set me, Milo, and Camille up with new identities, whose house we’re renting now.

If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be dead. I still don’t know how he found me. He always felt bad for me, for the way I grew up, and once I got involved with Barrett, he tried to warn me. I just didn’t listen.

It didn’t matter at that point, though. All that mattered was that I was out, and I’d wanted out for so long it almost didn’t feel real.

But Samuel told me Barrett wanted me found. He blamed me when all of it went down. Someone had been talking to the police, and he’d decided it was me. But I never would have done that. Never. I had a son, and Barrett knew it. I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to put Milo in the crosshairs.

The door Greer walked into opens and she returns back to the one she came out of. I clear my throat, the past snapping shut as the secretary peers over from her desk.

“Ms. Maddox?”

“Yes?”

“Ms. Whitlock is ready for you now.”

My stomach squeezes as I rise, smoothing my hands down my jeans.

“Good luck,” Mandy whispers. “Don’t let her eat you.”

That doesn’t help. At all.

By the time I reach the last door, my hand hovers in front of it, frozen for half a second before I knock.

“Come in.”

Here goes nothing…

I push the door open and step inside, and there she is: the infamous Greer Whitlock, seated at a large desk with papers stacked neatly around her. She flips her curls over her shoulder, her eyes sharp and assessing as they lift to meet mine.

“You must be Sloane,” she says, her words smooth with a thread of subtle Southern drawl.

“I am.” I step forward, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Whitlock.”

She sits up straighter, looking me up and down before glancing toward the chair in front of her. “Well, don’t just stand there looking like I might bite.”

A nervous laugh slips out as I shut the door and drop into the seat, forcing myself not to fidget.

“So…” She crosses her jean-clad legs. “What’d Mandy tell you about me?”

I grimace. “Uh, nothing really.”

Her brow lifts. “Come on. I know people around here talk. Hell, if they stopped, I’d think I was doin’ something wrong.” She leans back as she folds her arms like she’s settling in for entertainment. “Don’t be shy. I wanna hear it. Nobody ever tells me this stuff to my face. Probably think I’ll shoot them or somethin’.”

That’s because you probably would.

I hesitate, my fingers twisting together in my lap. “I don’t want to offend you.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” A faint grin tugs at her mouth. “If I got offended that easy, I’d never survive.”

I exhale and glance up at the ceiling before giving in. “Okay. Um…someone once said you have razor blades in your boots and⁠—”

“Mm…” Her eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”

“And that you skinned a man alive once.” My face stiffens, but I keep going. “That you tied another one to your horse and dragged him until he died. And that down in Texas, you poisoned a woman with your lipstick because she went after your boyfriend, but nobody could ever prove it.”

Silence. She just stares at me, her expression going completely unreadable. My nerves sink the longer she doesn’t say anything.

Okay, so this is the part where I get asked to leave…

Then, out of nowhere, she lets out a sharp bark of laughter, tipping her head back slightly as it rolls out of her.

“Well, damn.” She shakes her head. “People around here got more imagination than folks back home, that’s for sure.” She rests her forearms on the desk, eyes locking on to mine with a wicked glint. “I’ll tell you this much.”

My breath catches.

“Half of that’s true.” Her mouth curves into a slow smile. “I’ll let you decide which half.”

No, thank you. I’d rather not.

She studies me a moment longer. “So, why do you want this job?”

I sit up straighter. “Honestly? I need the money. That’s the truth. But I also love horses. I’ve always loved being around animals, and I really like working with people. I’m managing the diner now and still waitressing there six days a week. But I’m hoping to pick up extra hours here.”

Greer nods thoughtfully. “We can put you on payroll and see how it goes. How’s this Friday?”

My heart leaps. “Really?”

It can’t be that easy.

“Yeah, why not? If you’ve got enough balls to tell me all that to my face when not even my brothers could, then I’ve gotta give you a chance now, don’t I?”

Emotions stir in my chest. “Thank you so much. I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t.” Grabbing the phone off her desk, she types something, then glances back up. “We’ve also got a petting zoo behind the bed and breakfast. You’d help out there too.”

“That’s fine. Whatever you need.”

Her smile grows a touch wider. “Perfect. Nice to have you, Sloane.”

“Thank you.” I try not to grin like an idiot as I stand.

I got the job. I really got the job.

“Alright, come on. I wanna show you around and introduce you to my sister, Thora, who helps me run this place.”

She starts to rise, and I follow suit, keeping pace with her as she starts for where Mandy is waiting. When she sees me, she gives a subtle thumbs-up, and I nod, letting her know I got it.

“You can come too, Mandy,” Greer calls over her shoulder.

Mandy immediately jumps to her feet and walks up beside me.

“Where are we going?” she whispers in my ear.

“She’s gonna show me around.”

“I told you she’d love you.”

“That’s a stretch,” I say under my breath.

Once we arrive at the lot, Greer unlocks her cherry-red SUV.

“Damn, that’s a Rolls-Royce,” Mandy breathes.

I wouldn’t have recognized that unless she’d told me. I know very little about pricey cars.

Once we’re all strapped in, Greer pulls out and heads down a narrow stretch of road that winds through the property, the scenery shifting from open pasture to carefully kept grounds that look like they belong in a magazine. It must be nice to live like this and know nothing about hunger or desperation.

We drive for maybe a mile before the trees thin and a large white cottage-style house comes into view, wide and welcoming with a wraparound porch.

To one side, fenced off but still close enough to feel like part of the same world, is a small petting zoo where sheep and goats graze lazily, their wool thick and cream-colored against the green grass.

Greer parks and hops out, and we catch up, noticing a woman inside the pen with the sheep, crouched slightly as she checks one of them.

“That’s Thora,” she says as we get closer. “She deals with most of the hands-on animal stuff.”

Thora looks up and straightens when she hears us coming, stepping out of the pen and brushing her hands off on her jeans as she comes toward us. She’s about the same height as her sister, but where Greer is tougher, Thora is softer, her brown eyes kind, long auburn hair falling in loose waves down her back.

“Hey.” Her gaze moves between us.

“I brought on Mandy’s friend Sloane.” Greer nods toward me. “She’s gonna be helping out on Fridays.”

Thora’s eyes bounce to me. “Good to have you.”

She holds out her hand, and I shake it.

“Thanks. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I hope my sister didn’t give you a rough time.” Her lips tilt at one corner.

“Not at all.”

“You must have caught her on a good day.” She laughs, causing Greer to roll her eyes.

“Please, I’m a peach.”

“Sweet as they come.” Thora elbows Greer, and just as I’m about to laugh, the faint sound of voices carries across the field.

When I look over, I find a little girl with long brown curls running toward us.

“Rue, slow down!” Jace calls, running after her, but she’s like a typhoon.

“I’m not done yet, Daddy!” the little girl yells back. “I wanna pet the sheep first!”

Greer smirks, arms folded. “Here comes Miss Trouble.”

Rue’s blue eyes are bright and mischievous as she skids to a stop right in front of us, Jace shaking his head as he finally reaches her.

“Hi, Auntie Greer, Aunt Thora, Mandy…” She pauses when she spots me, hands on her hips, eyes thinning with curious sass. “And who are you?”

Though I’ve seen Jace’s daughter around, I’ve never actually met her. Clearly she’s all personality and confidence. It’ll do her good in the world we live in.

“I’m Sloane. And you are?”

Her chest puffs just a little. “I’m Rue. Are you staying here?”

“Manners, Rue,” Jace says. “She doesn’t owe you any explanations.”

Rue rolls her eyes dramatically, then flashes me a toothy grin that says she’s not even a little bit sorry while her aunts laugh softly behind me.

“You’d better figure out how to unroll those eyes real quick, young lady,” Jace warns.

“Sorry, Daddy.” She lifts one shoulder, innocently resting her head against it in this sweet way that has him melting into a puddle of goo at her feet.

Nicely played, kid.

She’s got him wrapped, and she knows it.

He glances back at me. “I hope everything worked out with the job.”

“Yeah. Greer was great. I’m starting this Friday.”

He snorts. “Greer and great in the same sentence. That’s a first.”

She snickers. “Don’t make me show you how great I can be.”

He raises his palms in the air with a small chuckle. “My apologies.”

“Ignore my brother. He seems to have lost his manners too.”

“So, how do you know my daddy?” Rue eyes me speculatively, and I suddenly feel as though I’m being interrogated.

“I…uh…I don’t, really. I just met him the other day.” I’m unsure how honest I’m supposed to be.

She squints like she doesn’t believe me, arms folding across her chest. “My daddy has a girlfriend.”

My brows lift. “Oh. I wasn’t⁠—”

“Yeah. Her name is Savannah. And she’s reallllly pretty. Right, Daddy?” She gazes up with a sparkle in her irises.

Jace’s mouth opens, but only a grunt comes out. “I don’t—she’s not my girlfriend.”

Rue throws her hand in the air, a dramatic sweep that reminds me of a miniature soap opera star. “He’s just being shy. He has a big crush on her and they’re gonna get married.”

“Oh. Wow. Congratulations.” I try hard not to laugh and fail miserably at keeping a straight face.

Jace groans, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re not.”

Greer breaks first, a chuckle spilling out, and when I glance back, Thora is failing to hide her smile behind her hand, while Mandy bites the inside of her cheek like she’s one breath away from losing it completely.

“My daughter has a big imagination,” Jace adds. “I’m definitely not getting married. Especially not to Savannah.”

“You are so silly, Daddy.” Rue laughs like she didn’t just toss a live grenade into the conversation. “Of course you’re gonna marry Savannah.”

His eyes close and he runs a hand down his face while Greer snorts.

Rue turns that bright, beaming smile on me. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“I haven’t.”

Her mouth pops open. “You have to try. It’s so fun. Wanna see mine?”

“You have a horse?”

She nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, curls bouncing as she takes off toward the stables at the far side of the bed and breakfast. We fall in behind her.

This kid is going to run the country one day.

“I have two.” She peers over. “One here and one at home. The one here is Snickers and the one at home is Skittles.”

My lips quirk. “Let me guess, your favorite candies?”

“Yep!” She giggles, grabbing my hand. “Come on. I’ll show you Snickers. Can I, Daddy. Please?”

Jace sighs, but there’s the barest curve tugging at his mouth, like he’s trying not to let her win too easy. “Sure, baby bear.”

Rue squeals and hurries down the path, pulling me along with her while the others follow behind at a slower pace.

Mandy catches up beside me and loops her arm through mine as we head toward the stables.

“I can be his Savannah if he wants.” She dons a mischievous smile.

“Cut it out,” I mumble under my breath. “He’s gonna hear you.”

She just shrugs. “Good. Maybe he needs the push.”

Of course she’d say that. She has this kind of confidence I don’t even know how to fake.

When I glance back, Jace is a few steps behind us with Greer and Thora, his attention locked on Rue in that protective way. That hard, unreadable face of his softens a bit as he watches her, and in that instant, it’s easy to forget how intimidating he is.

When we reach the stables, Rue lets go, marches straight to the last stall, and points proudly at a white horse with a shiny black tail.

“That’s Snickers. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He’s gorgeous.” I step closer just as Jace opens the stall.

The horse lifts his head and lets me stroke his nose.

“Daddy, look, he likes her. Can we let Sloane ride him?”

“Only if she wants to.” He rests his hand on the top of the gate.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I chuckle nervously. “I’d probably fall and hurt myself.”

“Don’t worry. My daddy will help.” She shimmies up to him and wraps her arms around his legs. “He’s very strong,” she throws in proudly like it’s a proven fact, not even slightly up for debate.

And the way Jace stands just a little taller, eyes warm… Yeah, she just made her daddy feel like a damn superhero, and she knows it too.

He steps toward the horse and starts getting him ready, calm and unhurried, like he’s giving me time to change my mind. I watch him work and try not to overthink it, but my nerves are already building.

When he finishes, he looks back at me. “You wanna try?”

My stomach flips.

“That depends….” I grimace playfully. “Are you absolutely sure he’s not going to throw me off?”

“I’m sure. You’ll be fine.” A miniscule smile pulls at his face, and there’s something calming in his voice that makes it easier to believe him. “Snickers will take care of you.”

His palm feathers down the horse’s head right before he offers his hand. I take it, trying not to show how badly I’m scared. The second I lift my boot and his other hand slides to my hip, a low rumble cuts through the air, the sound of tires crunching in fast.

“What the hell?” He lowers me back down, and we all turn at the same time.

I recognize the SUV immediately.

Kirill.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I can’t imagine why he’s here, but seeing him again sends a rush through me I don’t even try to fight.

Greer’s body stiffens beside me, her tone sharpening. “Who the hell is that?”

“A Marinov.” He places his hand around the outline of a pistol at his waist that I missed.

She lets out a low laugh. “Which one?”

The SUV comes to a sharp stop, and before the dust can settle, the driver’s door flies open, then the passenger side. He steps out with Lev, whose headphones are hanging around his neck.

Kirill storms in, his eyes locked on Jace’s hand still hovering near my hip, his mouth set in a flat line. His gaze sparks pure fire, burning across my skin. I feel it before he even reaches us.

Jace straightens, his hand dropping, but neither of them dares to look away. Kirill stops just short of him, close enough that it’s a challenge.

I step back, putting space between us, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference at all.

Well, this is fun…

“Oh, man. Here they go being all sexy and angry again,” Mandy whispers.

I give her a hush it stare.

When Lev sees me, his face brightens.

“Hi,” he calls out low, and my chest spreads with warmth.

“Hey, buddy.” I drop into a crouch and open my arms, and he comes right into them like I’m safe.

His wrap around me, and the world narrows down to the feeling of him against my chest. I’ve never loved a child who wasn’t mine, didn’t think I could, but I love this little guy more than words can say.

“What are you guys doing here?” I straighten to my full height, my gaze flicking warily to Kirill.

“We were driving by. Lev wanted to see you again.” His words come out low and rough.

I hug Lev tighter. “I’m glad you came.”

When I look back at Kirill, his eyes are still on me—dark, possessive.

And I wonder…was that jealousy, or did I just see what I wanted to see?

CHAPTER TWENTY

KIRILL

I lied. Lev wasn’t the one who wanted to come to the ranch and see her. I was.

When I didn’t find her at the office and was told Greer drove her up here, I thought it would just be the two of them. Instead, I was met with Jace.

He touched her. Had his hands on her.

On my Sloane.

My fingers twitch on my holster. Blyat, the temptation to shoot him is still strong, the image of his hand on her hip burned into my retinas.

Staying away from her is working very well, it appears.

But I’m not letting anyone else have her, especially not a Whitlock. The thought of her with another man…I’d kill him.

Jace steps forward and offers Lev a hand. “Nice to meet you, kid.”

Lev studies it, then shifts closer to Sloane, pressing in until his shoulder touches her hip while peering up at me for silent guidance.

“He is autistic,” I explain. “He is shy around new people.”

Every time I have to tell someone about his diagnosis, I hate it, because all I see after is pity.

“Got it.” Jace smiles like it’s no big deal. “Well, it's very nice to meet you.”

“We have a whole petting zoo here,” Thora chimes in. “If he wants to look around…”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

But Lev only tucks himself into Sloane. My hand closes around his shoulder in a small squeeze.

Rue bounces over to her father with dirt on her jeans, then tilts her head up at him and asks, “What’s autistic, Daddy?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, like he’s suddenly afraid of getting it wrong. If this wasn’t about Lev, I wouldn’t give a shit. But I want to make sure she understands.

“It is when someone’s brain works a bit differently and something Lev was born with.” I keep my arm on Lev’s shoulder in reassurance, hating to talk about him like he isn’t here, while trying to come up with something age-appropriate. “For him, loud noises can be too much, so that’s why he brings his headphones out. He also likes having a good routine. When he meets new people, he can be a bit shy and nervous. He also doesn’t talk a lot, but he understands everything.”

Rue considers that for half a heartbeat, then shrugs like it’s simple.

Don’t I wish?

“My daddy says I talk way too much.” She giggles and turns her attention to Lev. “I like your headphones. I have pink ones like those.”

Lev’s hand lifts to the band across them, his fingertips tracing it while his eyes stay on her face, and everything in me goes rigid when I feel his hold on me begin to ease. His breathing turns heavier, and I watch him push through whatever wall usually keeps him from people.

“What grade are you in?” she asks. “I’m in first. Do you like school?”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer, just keeps going while he gapes at her like he can’t quite believe she’s real.

“I think recess is fun. Also reading, but the rest of it is booooring.”

She laughs again, and he takes a step toward her, still holding on to me. I let him, barely able to believe it. He never warms up to anyone this fast.

Then, little by little, his fingers begin to slip from Sloane’s. I go perfectly still, afraid one wrong move will make him pull back. When he lets go completely, he takes a few careful steps toward Rue.

“F-f-fourth,” he tells her, and my lungs seize so hard it hurts, as though someone cracked my ribs open with their bare hands.

“Wow, you’re big.” Rue beams up at him. “Do you like horses? This is my horse, Snickers. Wanna pet him? He’s really nice and won’t hurt you. He loooves kids. Come on, you can meet him.”

When she grabs his hand without asking, I almost stop her, but he lets her—just like that—and walks over to the horse with her.

A minute later, he smiles at something she says about Snickers, and I swear Rue has to be using some kind of magic.

Sloane is beside me before I realize she moved, close enough that her warmth reaches me. When she grabs my forearm and grins, I almost have to wonder how the hell this day went from being hell to perfect in an instant.

“I think he’s got a friend now.”

Of course it had to be a Whitlock.

She keeps looking at Lev as she says it, and there’s something in her tone that hits too deep, like she knows what this means to me. To him.

Bozhe moy. My God. This woman is special.

Ona tvoya. She’s yours.

But it’s selfish to want her the way I do.

I wind my arm around her and pull her in, ignoring the Whitlocks watching, ignoring her friend’s shock. None of it matters—not with her this close, not with my son smiling at another kid and looking like he finally belongs.

Lev keeps his eyes on Rue like he’s taking in everything about her. Every sound, every expression. He doesn’t speak again, but he doesn’t pull away either, petting the horse carefully the way she shows him.

Thora clasps her hands together.

“Seems like the kids like each other.” Her voice grows a little softer.

Our families are inching toward a war, and our kids decide to become friends in the middle of it. Yeah, that’s going to be a problem.

Jace’s features pull taut, like he’s had the same thought.

Lev and Rue stay by the horse for a few more minutes, her little hand pointing at one thing after another while he watches closely, taking it all in.

The fact that he’s still right there with her, still engaged, pulls at this part of me that feels a lot like hope. Hope that he’ll be okay. That maybe when I’m gone, he’ll have people around him who see him and love him exactly as he is, the way I do.

After a bit more, I drop my arm from Sloane and call to him. “Lev, davay poshli.” Lev, come on, let’s go.

But he simply glances at me, then ignores me. It should annoy me, but it brings satisfaction instead. This is exactly what he should be doing at his age.

“You’re leaving already?” Sloane asks, her eyes flicking to mine, cheeks growing crimson when my gaze drops to her mouth.

“Yes. He has therapy soon and I don’t want us to be late.”

“Okay. I should probably get going too, then.”

Did she think she had an option? That’s cute.

Sloane clears her throat, her attention flicking to Greer, like holding my gaze too long does something to her, the same way it does to me. “Thank you again for this opportunity, Greer. I’m looking forward to working here.”

“We’ll see you Friday. Mandy will show you the ropes, I’m sure.”

“I sure will.” Mandy grins, and a hard tension moves through me.

I hate the idea of Sloane spending another second here, not just because it’s dangerous, but because I don’t want any Whitlock man anywhere near her.

Thora turns to Sloane. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Sloane tells her.

“Come on, Rue. We need to get lunch,” Jace calls to his daughter, who scowls.

“Ugh, I’m not hungry. I wanna play with Lev. Please, Daddy!”

“They need to go now. Next time.”

But we both know that’s not happening. It kills me to say that, but Lev can make new friends. At least I hope he can.

I head for him and take his hand.

“Bye, Rue,” I tell her, and she pouts.

“Bye.”

“Need me to drive you girls to your car?” Greer asks.

“No.” I slide my hand into Sloane’s, fingers locking. “I’ll drive her.”

It hurts how perfect it is to be with her like this.

Greer’s mouth quirks, like she’s entertained. “Got it.”

Beside me, Sloane goes still like she can’t quite believe I said that, and I curl my fingers more firmly around her hand.

Jace sees it. They all do.

I want them to. No one touches her. He can remember that the next time he thinks about putting his hands where they don’t belong.

Rue turns toward Lev. “I hope we can play again.”

Before I can even process it, she darts forward and throws her arms around him.

“Rue, you have to ask before you do that,” Jace scolds, but I barely hear him.

All I see is Lev, standing there at first with his arms stiff at his sides, then inching them up, little by little, until he wraps them around her back.

“Oh my God,” Sloane whispers, emotions clogging her throat. “They’re so cute.”

When Rue pulls back, she’s grinning.

“Maybe we can have a playdate. Right, Daddy?” She glances over her shoulder at him.

A playdate. I almost laugh. She has no idea how complicated things are about to get between our families.

Lev peers up at me, asking without asking.

Pizdets. Chto mne teper delat? Fuck. What am I supposed to do now?

I would give him anything he wants. That’s the truth. He’s my weakness and my purpose, and the way he’s standing there staring at me sure as hell doesn’t make any of this easier.

“We’ll see.” I keep my tone even, not trusting what comes out of me when I let myself feel too much. “Say goodbye now, Lev.”

“B-b-bye,” he whispers.

Rue rushes to give him one more hug, and he returns it.

When she finally steps away and waves, his fingers lift, just a little, before he grabs Sloane’s other hand again, holding on like he’s already decided she’s home and he’s not letting go.

The worst part is, I already know I won’t either.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SLOANE

The second we pull away from the ranch, Mandy practically explodes in the backseat beside Lev. She’s trying to hold it in, bouncing in her seat, chewing on the inside of her cheek like the gossip is too juicy to survive another minute.

I know what she’s dying to say: I told you he’s obsessed with you.

But I don’t know what to believe anymore. The man is a well of contradictions too deep to swim through. I sit in the passenger seat, my hands curled in my lap, trying to act normal. Whatever that even means anymore.

He hasn’t said a word since we left. He just drives, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. Every so often, I feel his gaze slide over to me—not a quick glance, but a slow, measured look like he’s turning something over in his head, and I keep wondering what it is.

My attentions drifts to Lev, clutching his headphones. He’s quiet too, watching the road ahead.

“Rue really liked talking to you. Did you like her horse?”

He doesn’t answer at first, fingers tightening around the headphones, but then I catch it: his mouth tugging up at the corner as he nods.

My heart squeezes. “Yeah, I love horses too. They’re so beautiful, aren’t they?”

I used to dream about having one when I was a kid. It started with this book about a girl escaping a monster on a magical horse, and after that, I spent years imagining I had one of my own. A horse that could carry me out of the hell of my childhood. But that never happened. Magic just doesn’t exist.

I face forward again and let out a slow breath, trying to quiet the swell of emotion and all the memories it drags up.

When my eyes fall shut, I become aware of Kirill’s hand on my knee, sending warmth shooting through me. It’s as though he sensed something was off and wanted to show me he cares without saying a word. My insides give a sharp little swoop as I glance over, but he doesn’t look at me. He just drives, eyes planted on the road like none of this affects him.

Unlike me.

His thumb makes one slow pass across my knee. I squeeze my thighs together to try to tame the reaction, but it only makes it worse.

When we pull into the parking lot, Mandy climbs out slower than usual, like she’s suddenly aware of exactly where his hand still is. She glances back at me.

“Bye,” I say.

“Bye…” She shuts the door, and even from here, I can tell she’s bursting to ask a hundred questions.

“I should probably go with her.” I keep my eyes forward, afraid to look at him. “My car’s still at her place.”

“No.” His answer comes out low and final, like the decision has already been made. “I’ll take you to your car.”

My heart kicks harder as I finally drag my gaze to him. “Are you sure? Doesn’t Lev have therapy? I don’t want to inconvenience you. I need to get to the diner for my shift and was going to change at Mandy’s.”

He looks at me then, really looks, and the force of it sets every nerve in me humming.

His fingers curl more firmly around my knee for a beat before he says, “I’m sure.”

“Okay…” I bite down on my bottom lip, barely holding it together under the way he’s looking at me.

Mandy pulls out first, and he follows her. The silence between us returns, but his hand never leaves my knee, and the moment his hand slides slowly up my leg, then back down again, all logic evaporates. My fingernails dig into the seat as desire blooms low in my gut.

Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? How cruel it is to touch me like this when we both know we can’t have each other?

His hand moves again, higher this time, stopping just shy of where I’m aching most, like he’s testing me, daring me to react. I steal a glance at him, but he’s still watching the road, his expression cut from stone.

I can feel it anyway—in the tension of his grip, in the faint flex of his fingers against my skin like he’s barely keeping himself in check. The urge to forget who I am, to forget every reason we’re wrong for each other, slams into me so hard I almost lean into him, almost let go and give in to this pull between us.

“Kirill…” It comes out low as I study his profile, a quiet plea for things I’m nowhere near ready to say.

His hand freezes, then tightens possessively.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he says, tilting his head just enough that our eyes meet. “You make it hard for me to remember all the reasons I’m not supposed to want you.”

He wants me?

My chest throbs at the thought, at the truth behind his words.

His hand doesn’t leave me. If anything, it presses into me, like he’s staking a claim he doesn’t know how to walk away from. We don’t say another word as we follow Mandy toward her place, both of us pretending nothing’s changed. But everything has.

Whatever this is between us, it’s only getting harder to ignore.

The diner is louder than usual, every clink of silverware and burst of laughter grating against my nerves as I tie my apron and force myself back into motion.

If I keep moving, if I keep working, maybe my body will forget the way Kirill’s hand felt on my thigh. The way his eyes tracked me at the stables like I was something he wasn’t supposed to want but couldn’t stop looking at anyway.

Mandy, of course, hasn’t forgotten the way he acted and is still dying to talk about it—which she would’ve done at her place, but I played the I’m-in-a-rush-to-change-for-work card. She knows all my tricks and let it go.

Until now.

She corners me by the coffee station, leaning one elbow against the counter, eyes sparkling like she’s just been handed the world’s best piece of gossip.

“So…” She drags the word out. “Are we still pretending he isn’t obsessed with you, or are we acknowledging that a very large and sexy man almost ripped someone’s head off because he touched you? Not to mention the way he touched you in the car. You know I saw that, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I focus on the receipts for the day, shuffling and straightening them.

She snorts. “Please. I’ve seen men jealous before. That was territorial. That man is crazy about you. I don’t care what he actually says. Actions speak louder.”

I have no idea how to answer that. If I admit how much I liked it, how badly I want him, it will only make the fact that I can’t have him that much more real.

Mandy keeps going, which is totally on brand for her. “Look, if you don’t want him, that’s fine. Maybe I can shoot my shot and see if⁠—”

“Don’t you dare.” My voice grows uncharacteristically harsh, and the laugh that bursts out of her tells me she was testing me.

Crap.

“Look who else can be territorial.” She wags her brows. “I’m calling dibs on the maid of honor position.”

I scoff. “Well, who else would it be?”

“Your sister?”

Rolling my eyes, I let out a chuckle. “Not if I can help it.”

“Ooh, Sloane’s being bad today. I like it.”

Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “I’m not stupid. I have always known where I stood with her, but she’s family, so what can I do?”

“Throw her in front of a moving bus? Give her crabs? Maybe at the very least force her to step on some Legos.”

“I think that’s fair.” An easy chuckle slips free. “Anyway, Kirill and I just…we’re not compatible. That’s all. It’s whatever, you know?”

“Sure…” Mandy drags the word out like she’s humoring me. “Whatever you say.”

I pretend not to hear the way she clearly doesn’t believe a single syllable and go wipe down a spot on the counter that’s already clean. Anything to keep my hands moving while she disappears into the kitchen to grab orders.

I know I’m right. Kirill and I are a no-go.

To prove it, my brain starts putting together a list of all the reasons we’d never work, like I can talk myself out of the way he gazes at me. The way my body reacts when he’s too close. The way it felt when his hand didn’t let mine go. I do it anyway, because pretending we don’t work is easier than sitting with how much it hurts that we might.

He doesn’t know me. I’m a murderer with a criminal past. Once he finds out, he’s not going to want me anywhere near Lev.

I’m a mom. What if he doesn’t even want more kids?

He’s older, which is more of a downside for him than me. I’d take him at any age. Wait, no… Maybe I shouldn’t add this to my list.

I have nothing to offer. I don’t have money or an education. I would suck up everything he has, and who the hell wants that for a girlfriend?

I’m sure there are plenty more reasons, but I can’t think of any right now.

I let out a sigh, grab the coffee carafe, and start toward the dining room to hit a few tables when I feel someone step up behind me. I go still, the back of my neck erupting in goose bumps as warm, heavy breaths fan over my skin, making every nerve in my body spike with familiar fear.

I don’t know why I don’t turn around. Maybe my intuition already knows. Maybe it’s trying to protect me.

But it’s already too late.

“Hello, Eden. It’s been a long time.”

Eli.

Oh, God. Nonono…

The sound of my name in his mouth hits like a blow. The carafe slips from my fingers, hot coffee splashing over my legs. The burn is sharp, vicious, but it barely registers over the roar in my ears.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” Mandy and another waitress rush in on either side of me, reaching for the carafe and my arms, while I stay rooted to the spot.

Panic clamps down so hard I can’t move. My breaths turn jagged, my body folding in on itself because the life I’ve been running from has finally caught up to me.

I force myself to turn, to face him, to prove I’m not losing my mind. But when I do, he’s gone. Like he was never there at all.

I almost convince myself I imagined it, but I know better. I know what I heard. What I felt.

He was here, standing close enough to touch. Somewhere out there, he’s still watching. Waiting for the right moment to take what he wants.

Starting with me.

KIRILL

Once I drop Lev at therapy, I end up driving straight back to the diner, sitting in the car and watching her for a few minutes before I have to meet my brothers.

Everything about her gets under my skin. The curve of her mouth. The way she shoves her hair back from her face. The way she gives some stranger a soft smile.

And all I can think about is how much I want that look aimed at me instead.

I check the time on the dash, knowing if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for the meeting and for picking up Lev.

Blyat.

I keep telling myself things would be easier if I had a nanny again, but I stopped interviewing days ago, already calling it a lost cause. But the truth is, it isn’t that complicated. I already know who I want, and no one else is ever going to come close.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of our office building. I’m already halfway to the elevator before the doorman finishes his greeting.

Upstairs, the front secretary looks up the moment I walk in, her posture snapping straight when she spots me.

“Mr. Marinov,” she says quickly.

I don’t slow down. “Where are they?”

“Conference room.”

When I step inside, my brothers are already there, Anton standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, Aleksei at the table. Konstantin is at the head, finishing a call before slipping his phone into his pocket.

“So, what is this meeting about? I don’t have long. I have to pick Lev up.”

Konstantin’s flips a hand in the air. “You should’ve told me. I would have conferenced you.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. I’ll make it.” I take a seat at the table. “What’s going on? Your text said it was urgent.”

Konstantin studies each of us. “Harlan Whitlock called me this morning. They want a sit-down to discuss the trouble between us.”

Aleksei lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You mean how they have been trying to take our business.”

“Yes.” Konstantin nods. “And like I told you last time, we are going to sit down with them and have an open dialogue before we escalate matters.”

Aleksei’s mouth twists. “Do you trust those assholes?”

Konstantin’s gaze slides to him. “No. Of course not. But if we are going to conduct ourselves like proper businessmen, this is what we must do first.” He leans back slightly as he considers his next words. “We meet them tomorrow at their ranch. We see what they have to say. If we do not like it…” His expression hardens. “That is the end of it.”

“Fine.” I’m already pushing to my feet. “Is that all?”

“For now.” He tips his chin.

I head for the door, ready to get the hell out of here, when his voice stops me.

“Kirill. Everything alright? Do you need help with Lev?”

I peer over my shoulder. “No. I’m okay. I’ll find someone.”

He studies me like he doesn’t quite believe it. “Khorosho. But if you do need help, let me and Emilia know. We are family. We help each other. We are nothing without that.”

“Spasebo,” I tell him, and I mean it…right up until Aleksei cuts in, ruining the moment like always.

“You still haven’t asked the homeless girl to marry you? That would help your nanny situation.”

His grin only stretches when I hit him with a glower.

“Her name is Sloane,” I correct flatly. “And no, I don’t plan on marrying her.”

“That’s good,” Anton adds almost idly, like it’s an offhand observation. “Marriage would only weaken you. And you already have Lev doing that.”

I’m on him before the last word even leaves his mouth. One second, he’s standing there, and the next, he’s slammed against the wall, my forearm locked across his throat, holding him there. He doesn’t fight back. He simply watches me, calm as ever, like he genuinely can’t understand what he said wrong.

My blood roars in my ears.

“My son is not a weakness.” Every word is edged with fury. “Ti ponil?” You understand?

Hands grab at my arm, my brothers trying to pull me off him, but it’s useless when I’m like this. When all I can see is Lev’s face. When my father appears, repeating the same words.

The past crashes into the present until I don’t know whose throat my arm is actually against.

Anton’s eyes don’t change. If anything, he looks…curious. Like I’m a puzzle he wants to pull apart and study.

Somewhere under all the anger, I know he didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He doesn’t know what it is to have a child or to love someone so much it terrifies you. But hearing him say that about my son? I couldn't let it go.

My grip loosens a fraction and I step back, forcing air through my nose. Anton calmly straightens his jacket, smoothing the fabric like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“You just proved my point,” he says, almost bored.

I move toward him again, right on the edge of ending this, brother or not.

Konstantin steps between us, one hand on my chest as his gaze cuts to Anton. “Enough. I think it is time you shut your mouth.”

Anton’s lips twitch like he’s nowhere near done, but he stays silent while I back off and head for the door.

If I stay another second, I’m bound to do something I can’t take back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

SLOANE

After work, I head to the mini-mart I always go to, needing tampons and Tylenol, but my nerves are on high alert the entire drive. Every street I turn onto feels like Eli’s behind me, close enough that if I glance in the mirror, I’ll finally see him.

I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still close. He has to be. He wouldn’t show up at the diner just to disappear. He wants something from me. Either to kill me or drag me back into the game. Neither of which I’m willing to let him do.

Pulling into a busy parking lot, I take a spot right in the middle just in case he’s nearby. More cars means more witnesses. Grabbing my bag, I shut the door, pull up my hoodie, and walk in like I’m not scared at all.

I head to the aisle I need and grab a box of tampons without really looking, then cut to the next one to find the meds when that same cold prickle climbs the back of my neck. The exact one from the diner.

No, no, no. Please let me be wrong. Please let it be in my head and not him standing right behind me.

My fingers clamp around the box until the cardboard bends. My pulse hammers in my throat, my skin going tight and hot while the rest of me feels ice cold. I can’t make myself turn around. I’m scared that if I see him, it makes all of this real, and if I don’t, maybe I can still pretend I’m safe.

Milo flashes through my mind in a rush. What happens to my baby if I disappear?

I see my sister’s face, the way she barely looks at him now, and I know she’d dump him into the system just to be rid of the responsibility. She doesn’t love him. She never has. She never will.

“Hi, Eden. I thought this was a better place for us to talk.”

A brutal shudder rips through me.

Of course. I knew it. I knew he was still watching me.

“Please…” I force myself to turn, inch by inch, like one wrong move might set him off. “I–I don’t know what you want from me, but I swear I wasn’t the one who called the cops that night. I would never do that to any of you.”

Every syllable comes out thin and shaking, my eyes tied to his, begging for something, any hint of doubt or mercy, but there’s nothing there. No remorse or hesitation. Just flat brown eyes that give nothing away.

He hasn’t aged much since the last time I saw him. Same sharp cheekbones, same easy good looks, the same smile I used to think was charming. The handsome devil I once knew.

Only there’s nothing attractive about him now. All I see is what he really is: poison in a pretty package. Barrett’s monster. The kind of man who would kill me in the middle of this aisle without blinking if that’s what he was told to do.

His assessing gaze drifts over me. “If that’s true, why’d you run?”

The question knocks the air out of my lungs and I just stand there, fingers digging into the box in my hand, nails biting through the cardboard.

“Because I wanted out.” The words scrape out of me. “Once I had Milo, I couldn’t raise him in that life. I needed a fresh start with my son. Can’t you understand that?”

Of course he can’t. Men like Eli don’t understand loving someone more than yourself.

My throat burns, but I keep my chin up. “I’m begging you, please don’t hurt me.”

He takes a step closer, and instinct shoves me back. My shoulders hit the shelf, boxes rattling, a few tumbling to the floor around my feet.

Eli laughs. “Don't look so afraid of me, Ghosthands. I'm almost insulted.”

His fingers brush under my chin and I jerk away, stomach lurching as another memory slams into me. The last time he tried something with me, the way I told him no, the way his eyes went flat like a switch flipping and all the warmth draining out, leaving nothing but anger in its place.

“What do you want, Eli?” I’m trying to relax my pulse, but it just keeps pounding harder. “If you’re here to kill me, at least let me see my son first. Let me say goodbye.”

Someone pushes a cart past the end of the aisle, and his smile smooths out, harmless on the surface. He waits until they’re gone before he answers.

“I’m not here to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”

He reaches past me and a fresh wave of nausea hits as he nudges one of the boxes back into place on the shelf.

“I need something.” His gaze fastens on me. “And you’re the only one who can get it for me.”

This makes no sense. Barrett would want me dead. There’s absolutely no way he’d want anything from me if he thinks I’m a rat.

“What exactly do you need? Is this for you or Barrett?”

Did Eli cut ties? Did he start something on his own? I remember how much he hated being second to Barrett, how badly he wanted more power than he was ever trusted with.

“Does it matter?” His features pinch, a flicker of anger slipping through that calm mask.

For the first time since he walked up behind me, I get the sick, sinking feeling that whatever he’s about to ask isn’t going to be good.

“I just wanna know what's going on, okay? I want to know why you're here.”

He steps in closer, breath hot against my ear.

“Barrett has nothing to do with this. I’m the one who found you, and I’m the one who can ruin your entire fucking life if you don’t do what I say. You understand, bitch?” he whispers.

Ice crawls through my veins. I know exactly what he’s capable of, what I’ve watched him do to other people who crossed him. There is nothing empty about that threat.

“I understand.” The words barely make it out.

“That’s good.” His grin turns sinister, and I swallow down the bile climbing up my throat. “That’s real good.” The back of his hand drags down my cheek, and every muscle in my body screams to get away. “Go pay for your things. We’re going to my car to talk.”

I nod and turn toward the front of the store. He falls in behind me, so close that something hard presses into the center of my back, and I instantly know it’s a gun.

“If you say anything to anyone, I will kill you and your fucking kid. Got it?”

My knees buckle. “I won’t. You know I won’t.”

“Smart girl. You were always so smart. Now move.”

He gives me a small shove, and I pick up my pace, forcing my legs to carry me to the checkout. I stand in line, every second stretching, the bulk of the gun at my spine keeping me straight.

The cashier rings me up, her attention flicking between us. I paste on what I hope passes for a normal expression, praying she doesn’t see the terror behind it and call the cops.

“Thank you,” I manage, grabbing my bag with shaking hands.

Eli steps up beside me, close enough that our arms brush, and walks out of the store with me.

“My car is right here.” He points to a white Benz and opens the doors. “Get in.”

My pulse batters at the base of my throat. I don’t know if he plans to kill me now or later, only that either way, this is how it starts.

He doesn’t wait for me to move on my own. The passenger door swings open, and he shoves me inside when I hesitate, my shoulder knocking the seat. The door slams with a sharp bang that makes me jump, and he’s in the driver’s seat a second later, locking the doors.

The tinted windows turn the car into a dark little box, cutting us off from the lot, from the world. And all I can think is no one can see in. He can do whatever he wants to me and no one will even know I was here.

For a moment, he just sits there, studying me in silence in a way that unnerves me more than any threat. Then he reaches into the glove compartment, pulls out a manila folder, and sets it on his lap like this is a business meeting and not a hostage situation.

“I have a job for you.”

My fingers curl against my thighs. “What kind of job?”

“I’ve been following you for a while now.”

What?

The words make the inside of the car tilt. I grip the edge of the seat. How long has he been watching?

I don’t even want to know how he found me. That’s an answer that will only make everything worse.

“What's in the envelope?”

His grin widens. “Straight to business. I love that about you. I remember when you first started with us. A shy little thing like yourself.” His gaze drags over my face like he’s cataloging every flinch. “Did you forget who molded you into what you became, Ghosthands? Fuck, I miss watching you work.”

Just thinking about those days makes me want to retreat and forget I was that person, because I'm not her anymore. I'm Sloane. Eden is dead, and I want to keep it that way.

“I'm not going back,” I tell him, clinging to whatever semblance of strength I have left.

He lets out a short laugh. “You really think you have a choice?” The laugh cuts off almost immediately, his amusement draining away until what’s left on his face is darker. Colder. “You do what I say, how I say it, or I tell Barrett exactly where you are. You know he still has a bounty on your head, right? I’d be happy to cash that in.”

Fear slides icy fingers up my spine. I’ve known this was hanging over me since the night I ran, but hearing it out loud makes it feel real in a way it never has before.

He leans in. “I’m doing you a favor, little girl. You should thank me.”

My mouth goes dry. “This is your idea of a favor?”

He ignores the question, eyes gleaming. “And if you don’t behave…” His smile sharpens. “I’ll take your kid. I’ll bring him to Barrett myself. I’ll make sure he never leaves our world. Grows up in it. Belongs to it.” He watches my face, clearly enjoying the way it drains. “Because for you, that would be worse than death, wouldn’t it?”

Something tears inside my chest. He’s right, and he knows it.

In one breath, he wraps a leash around my throat. In the next, he fastens the other end around my son.

Of course I would never want that life for Milo. Who would? They’re criminals, murderers. They’ve done things most people can’t even imagine. I came close to killing for them once, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. Eli did it for me, and he never let me live it down.

I was seventeen then, basically still a kid, and they expected me to put a bullet in someone and carry it on my conscience like it was nothing. I couldn’t do it. My fingers wouldn’t move. But that’s what they want from you in that world. You do what they say, no matter how bloody it gets, or you’re the one who ends up on the floor.

He opens the manila folder, and at first it’s just photo after photo of men I don’t recognize, faces blurring together…until he flips to the last one.

The second I see who’s in it, all the blood drains from my body.

“I already know that you know him, so don't sit there and lie to me.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand. What does he have to do with anything?”

The words trip over themselves as I gawk at the photo, hoping for even a second that I’m wrong. But I’m not. It’s Kirill sitting at a bar, the lighting low and grainy, a drink in front of him. Even with the bad resolution, I’d know him anywhere.

“I need you to steal something from him. Something valuable he keeps in a safe. Or that’s where I’m betting it is. It’s your job to find it. And since you already have a nice little connection with him and his kid, you’re going to be the one to get it for me.”

This can’t be happening. He’s talking about Kirill like he’s just another mark, and he’s not. He’s the man who trusted me with his son, who let me into his home, into their lives.

I can’t steal from him. I don’t care what Eli says, what he threatens. There’s no version of this where I rob Kirill behind his back.

The words stumble out, my tongue thick in my mouth. “I don’t know what your problem is with him, but he’s a friend. And I don’t hurt my friends.”

“He’s a friend, huh?” Eli’s mouth twists. “That’s even better. Makes the next part easier. Especially if you’ve already fucked him.”

Heat rushes to my face so fast I feel dizzy. I stare straight ahead, refusing to give him anything. It’s none of his business what we have or haven’t done. None of that belongs to him.

Eli flips through the photos again and stops on a close-up of a brown leather book, spine cracked, edges worn, something in Russian written on it, or so I think.

“His family is very particular. They keep the locations of certain stash houses written down in a ledger, locked up in their vault. He’s the one who keeps it, so I need you to take it.”

“How do you know? Who is he?”

Eli laughs. “You really don’t know, huh? Maybe it’s better you don’t.”

I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. All I’ve seen from Kirill is kindness and protectiveness.

“There’s no way in hell I’m doing this. Not that I even could. I’ve seen his house. Wherever he keeps a safe, it’ll have cameras, guards, alarms. I’d be an idiot to try.”

Eli exhales like I’m annoying him. “It seems you still think this is some kind of negotiation, Eden, so let me make it simple. You have two options. One, I kill you and your fucking kid, or hand you both over to Barrett, depending on my mood. Two, you steal what I tell you to steal, hand it to me, and then you can run off and start whatever shiny new life you want.”

My hands won’t stop shaking. He says it like he’s offering me a gift, but it’s far from it. I’m screwed either way.

“And how the hell do I even get to his safe? It’s not like I have access.”

“You don’t need to worry about that part. All you need to do is get into his house.”

A hollow laugh slips out. “Right. Maybe I can just move in. Ask him nicely.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” His teeth grind, eyes flashing. “I’ve already thought of that.”

The fire in his tone makes terror fill my veins. I bite back anything else I want to say, because pushing him when he’s like this is suicide.

“He and his family own a very exclusive club called Rzvrt. Means mayhem in Russian,” he says, a little laugh under the word. “Fitting, considering what kind of place it is.”

My brows furrow, not understanding what he's talking about. “What kind of club, exactly?”

“It's a sex club, Sloane.”

“I'm sorry…what?”

Kirill, the man who brought his son into my diner, who handed me large tips and bought me a phone, owning a place like that. I can’t even wrap my head around it.

Eli blows out a sharp breath. “Listen to me, because I’m not going to repeat myself. There is an auction you are going to join at the club. I’ll email you an application. You’re going to fill it out and send in photos of yourself, and you’d better hope they accept you and he doesn’t find out before you apply, because then the plan is fucked. Do you understand me? Do not screw this up.”

My chest grows tight, my breaths suffocating in my lungs. “And how am I supposed to make sure he doesn't find out if he owns it?”

He shrugs. “That’s on you. If this plan doesn’t work, then you figure out another way, because I’m getting that fucking ledger. Do you hear me?”

He leans in, his face so close I can smell his cologne, and every part of me recoils. I’m terrified of what he’ll do to me if I don’t go along with this, but I’m even more terrified of what he’ll do to Milo.

“So I’m supposed to apply to the auction,” I say, my mouth dry. “Then what?”

“On the application, you’ll indicate you’re interested in the claim auction.”

“What the heck is that?”

“You don't get to ask questions. You just do whatever the fuck I say. Got it?” His tone sharpens, then smooths like he’s explaining something simple to a child. “Whatever the winning bid is, you get half of the money, so it's a nice payday for you.”

Half the money. How much money are we even talking about?

“The bidding starts at half a million dollars.” He grins. “You’re welcome.”

“What?” The word comes out thin, almost soundless.

“That’s right.” He leans back like he’s proud of himself.

But I know this isn’t good. Whatever I’m forced into isn’t going to be safe for me. No one gives you that kind of money unless you’re selling yourself.

Disgust rolls in the pit of my stomach. What the hell is he making me do?

“Please. Maybe I can figure out another way. I don't think I can do this.”

“If I needed your help coming up with a plan, I would have asked you, but I don't. Not unless this one fails. This is what's going to happen. Your goal is to make sure that Kirill is the winner, so you’d better make sure he sees you getting up on that stage about to sell your own dignity.” His lips tilt in a pleased little smile, like he’s savoring the idea of hurting me.

“And if he wins me, then what?” I ask. “You think he’s just going to magically move me into his house? Your plan is ridiculous.”

A short, bitter laugh breaks free before his palm cracks across my cheek so hard my head whips to the side.

“You think you can laugh at me, you little skank?!”

White-hot pain explodes along my skin. My hand flies up to my cheek, ears ringing, eyes flooding, but I swallow hard and force the tears back.

I won’t let him see me cry. I’ve given him enough already.

“He’ll see how desperate you are for money and he’ll want to help you, so yeah, this plan will work. And if it doesn’t…” His tone dips. “Then he’ll be visiting your grave instead.”

Everything in me recoils. He talks about killing me like it’s nothing.

“How do you live with yourself?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can bite them back. “Do you actually enjoy this?”

“Yeah, I enjoy it very much.” His irises glitter. “Now get the fuck out of my car.”

“Don't you need my e-mail or number?”

“I already have both, so don’t worry about that.” His mouth twists into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Like I said, I’ve been tracking you for a while.”

Chills run up my arms as I picture him everywhere, just waiting for his chance to get to me.

I grab the handle and push the door open, desperate to put space between us, to breathe air that doesn’t taste like him. It feels like climbing out of a cage.

I’m halfway out when his voice cuts through the quiet lot.

“Just remember, if you say anything about this to anyone, you die and your kid dies. And you know I’m not bluffing.”

Of course I do.

“Do me a favor,” I say, my hand still on the door. “Don’t call me Eden anymore, okay? Not here. Not if you want this plan to work.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Go find yourself something nice to wear to the club, and if you’re accepted, they’ll mail you a masquerade mask. Make sure you wear it or you won’t get in.”

“I’m supposed to just go there on my own?”

“What, you think I’m going to hold your hand?” His lip curls.

Before I go, I ask him, “When is the auction, exactly?”

“They’ll let you know once you’re accepted. These things happen every week.”

My brows lift. Every week. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. People lining up to sell themselves, men lining up to buy them. All for money.

Finally climbing out of the car, I start toward mine, the world around me looking painfully normal. My fingers tighten around the bag I’m still holding like it's going to save me from the shitstorm that is my life.

But I don't see what other choice I have. It's either hurt Kirill or hurt my son, and I can't do that.

Once I’m back in the supposed safety of my Volkswagen, I shut the door and just sit there, forehead resting against the steering wheel while my heart tries to calm down. The threat of Eli, the folder, Kirill’s picture…it all presses in until I can barely breathe, and there’s only one thing I need right now.

Grabbing my phone, I call my sister, praying she’ll have a shred of compassion left and let me talk to Milo, even for a minute. I know he should be home from school by now.

The phone rings—once, twice, three, four times—and just when I think it’s going to voicemail, she finally answers.

“What do you want?” She sighs like I’ve already ruined her day just by calling.

“Hey, Camille.” My fingers clasp the phone tighter. “I was just hoping to say hi to Milo, if you don’t mind. I really miss him, and I’ve had a really bad day.”

“He’s eating a snack right now, so it’s not a good time.”

“Please,” I breathe. “I’m begging you. I just want to hear his voice. It’s been too long, and I’m his mother. I know I’ve fucked up in the past, and I’m not perfect, but I’m asking you for a sliver here, okay? Just a minute. Just to hear my own son.”

She goes quiet, and every second of that silence stretches me thin. I brace for the no, for the click, for the way she likes to twist the knife.

Instead, she exhales. “Okay, fine. You have two minutes.”

My eyes sting with instant relief.

“Thank you,” I whisper, but I don’t think she hears it.

I listen to her call him. “Milo, your mom’s on the phone. Come say hi.”

The next thing I register is his little scream. “Mommy!”

And for the first time all day, my heart feels like it might actually stay in my chest.

“Mommy, when are you coming to get me? I don't want to stay here anymore.”

The words punch straight through me. Before I can answer, I hear my sister in the background.

“You’re an ungrateful little shit.”

“Don't listen to her,” I tell him. “Mommy’s trying really hard to get us a place to live, and that way we can be together, okay? I promise I'm trying so hard for you. Just know how much I love you. Not a minute goes by that I don't think about you or want to be with you.”

“I don't care where we live. I just want to be with you.”

I can just see that little pout, and it destroys me.

“I know, baby. But for now, you have to be my brave boy and be good for your aunt. Do you promise?”

“Yes, Mommy. I promise.” His small, sad voice just about breaks my heart.

Tears sting my eyes, but I fight them. “I love you so much, sweetheart. You’re the only thing that matters to me in this world. Do you know that? Mommy loves you so, so much.”

“I know you do, Mommy.”

Choking back a cry, I press the phone against my chest as the tears finally spill over.

“Come on, Milo,” my sister calls. “Go finish your food. Mama's done now.”

“I don’t want to be done,” he says, and it slices right through me.

The next thing I hear is her. “All right, are you happy now? You talked to him. I have things to do, so if there's nothing else…”

“Please just be good to him, okay?”

“I’m always good,” she snaps, then the call cuts off.

I stare at the dark screen as everything inside me cracks open. I fold forward over the steering wheel, sobs shaking out of me, not knowing if the promise I just made to my baby will ever actually come true.

It takes a while before I can breathe again. When I finally pull myself together, I start the car, edge out of the lot, and drive until I find a side street where I can park without anyone seeing me. Hands still trembling, I shift into park just as a text comes in from an unknown number.

But I already know who it is.

Eli

This is the link. Make sure you submit a hot picture of yourself. Not the way you looked today or you'll never get accepted.

I go a little lightheaded, fingers digging into the edges of my phone, but I tap the link anyway. A simple application pops up, asking for my name, age, measurements, a few “recent photos.” I scroll past that and hit the terms of use.

Once submitted, your application is final and cannot be withdrawn.

My throat dries out. So if I send this, that’s it. No changing my mind?

Oh my God. How the hell am I supposed to do this?

I keep scrolling to the section listing different auctions: a virginity auction, a marriage auction, and the one Eli mentioned, the claim auction. When I click it, a new page opens with a neat little block of text, like it’s advertising a vacation package.

Have you ever wanted to submit to someone else? Give them power over you? The claim auction is designed for those who crave giving someone else complete ownership.

Starting bids begin at $500,000. The winning claimant will take you home that night. You are required to live with the person (or persons) who claim you for a period of thirty days. During that time, you will be expected to be available to them in all ways they see fit. Upon completion of the thirty days, you will receive 50% of the final winning bid.

That means I would have to have sex and God knows what else with whoever wins me?

My head spins. I gape at the words until they blur, then hit the little X and close the page. I can’t. I can’t do this.

My mind races in circles, looking for exits that don’t exist. Maybe I can pull Milo out of school and disappear with him. Just run. Different state, different name. Live out of the car if I have to.

But the thought of him curled up in the backseat night after night like I do now makes me sick. He deserves a bed. A home. A proper childhood.

No. I can’t do that to him.

The tears come again, spilling over. The car feels smaller now, like the air itself is pressing in, squeezing my lungs until I can barely pull in oxygen.

Tomorrow, I have to see Kirill. It’s the day he brings Lev in, just like he does every week.

I have no idea how I’m supposed to look him in the eye, set their food down like nothing’s changed, and pretend I’m not the one who’s just been ordered to betray him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KIRILL

Sloane leans in to whisper something to her friend just as we slide into our usual booth, and for half a second, I tell myself she’s just busy. That I’m imagining it. But I know I’m not, not when it’s Mandy who comes over with a notepad in her hand instead of Sloane.

“What can I get you guys?” she asks.

“Why isn’t Sloane serving us?”

She hesitates, teeth catching on her bottom lip. Her shoulders lift like she’s brushing it off, but the tension in her face says something else entirely.

“There’s been a little moving around today,” she says. “I’m your server.”

Across the room, Sloane is already at another table with her back to me, shoulders tight under that diner shirt, hair pulled up, hands moving fast as she writes down an order. When she glances over, it’s quick, like she regrets it the second her eyes land on mine. Then she turns away again.

Yeah. She’s avoiding me. And I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit.

My attention is still on Sloane as I give Mandy our order and she scribbles it down.

“All right, I'll get you your drinks. The food should be ready shortly.”

She heads toward the back while I remain focused on Sloane. On why she’s acting like this.

What the hell happened? Is this about the other night? How I told her it wouldn’t work between us?

Blyat. I never want her to think I’m using her. She should know by now I would never do that. Haven’t I shown her how much I care?

Just because I told her we can’t be together doesn’t mean she doesn’t matter. It’s the opposite. She matters too much.

And I hate that she doesn’t know it.

Mandy comes back with our drinks and sets them down, but instead of walking off, she hesitates, her eyes flicking toward where Sloane is.

“She really likes you, you know,” she says quietly. “She’d probably kill me for telling you—and hell, you probably don’t even deserve her—but she deserves to be happy. She’s an amazing person.”

Before I can get a word out, she’s already turning away, heading back toward the counter and leaving me sitting there with that little bomb she just dropped.

I wrap my hand around the glass, barely tasting the drink, eyes finding Sloane again. What the fuck has she told Mandy about me?

When our food arrives, I barely touch mine and let Lev finish before we head out.

On our way to the door, I cut toward Sloane and stop in front of her just as she turns from the counter, ready to head to another table. She stops short the second she notices me there, her face going carefully blank, like she’s purposely trying not to act like herself with me.

“Kirill.” Her voice is polite. Too polite. Like I’m any other customer.

I reach into my wallet and hand her a stack of cash. “This is for you. I was going to leave it as your tip, but you decided to avoid me today. Any reason why?”

“Kirill, please. I don't want your money, okay? And I wasn't avoiding you. I…um…was just serving another section today.”

A dry laugh slips out of me. I lift my hand and catch a loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear, my fingertip brushing her soft skin. Her lashes flutter, her chest rising on a sharp breath she tries to hide.

“You expect me to believe that? You think I don't know you well enough to know when you're ignoring me?”

She sighs. “I can’t keep taking money from you.”

“Why not? I have more than I know what to do with.”

Her eyes flash, a quick spark of anger. “Because I’m not your charity case, that’s why.”

My jaw tightens. My first instinct is to tell her she’s being ridiculous, that she doesn’t get to decide what I do with my money, but I don’t say that.

“You think that’s what this is?” I ask instead.

She exhales loudly like she’s exhausted, and it makes me wonder even more what’s going on with her.

“What else would it be?” She raises a brow.

I draw closer, close enough to feel the tension humming off her. “Friends help each other, and I thought we already established that we are friends.”

Her mouth tightens. “We’re not friends.”

Those words punch right into me. In an instant, I catch her hand before she can move away, my fingers closing around hers, not giving her the chance to pull back.

I lean in, my voice dropping low so only she can hear. “Then what are we, solnishko?”

“Please, Kirill.” The words tear out of her like they hurt coming out.

“Whatever is going on, you can tell me.”

“Nothing is going on.” She yanks her hand free, eyes flicking toward the tables. “I’ve gotta work.”

“Fine. But you are taking this money, and I will not accept no for an answer.”

Her face falls, and she stares at my outstretched hand before she takes the cash.

“Thanks.” She bites the inside of her cheek like she wants to say more, but is afraid to.

I lower my mouth to her ear. “I care about you, malyshka. Deeply. So if anything is going on or you need my help, all you have to do is tell me and I will fix it. No questions asked.”

Her eyes fill with tears when I return my gaze, and every instinct in me screams to demand answers, but that would only scare her. I don’t want to do that.

“I want you to trust me.”

My lips drop to the spot just beneath her ear, and I press a slow kiss there. She shudders, a small tremor running through her body that I feel all the way to my bones.

“You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted to give the world to, Sloane. I need you to know that.”

“Don’t say that.” Tears well up again, glassing her eyes.

I lift my hands, thumbs brushing the tops of her cheeks, catching one before it can fall. Every part of me wants to haul her against me, to kiss her until she believes me.

My jaw locks when she wraps her fingers around my wrists and gently pulls my hands away.

“I really have to go back to work now,” she whispers, even though I can see how badly she wants to stay.

She clears her throat, straightens her spine, and turns from me, tucking everything she feels back behind that brave little smile. Then she crouches in front of Lev.

“It was so good to see you, sweetie.”

He gives her a small, shy smile, then suddenly throws his arms around her neck, clinging to her. His hands knot in the fabric at her back, and she folds him in tight, eyes fluttering shut as she holds him like she’s afraid to let go. There’s something final in it, something that looks too damn much like goodbye.

Cold settles in my chest.

Did Barrett do something? Eli? Have they come near her? Threatened her? Backed her into a corner she thinks she has to stand in alone?

If she believes I’m going to let her run from me without a fight, she’s wrong. Dead wrong.

I don’t know what’s going on with her yet. But once I find out, I’m going to fix it.

Whatever it takes.

SLOANE

The second they’re out the door, whatever composure I’ve been faking snaps. I rush to the back, push through the swinging door, and head straight for the locker room.

As soon as I’m alone, the sound rips out of me. A raw, broken cry I can’t swallow down this time. I grab the edge of the metal bench and bend over, shoulders shaking, trying to survive the guilt ripping through me.

Facing him, knowing what I might have to do to him, to Lev… I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with myself.

I’m a fraud. A failure.

It’s like I’m trapped between two doors and both lead straight to hell. If I tell him what’s happening, if I confess everything, Eli might go after Milo, and then what? How do I wake up every day knowing I put my son in the line of fire? How do I go on if something happens to him because of me?

But if I stay quiet and do what Eli wants, I’m handing Kirill and his son over to danger too.

No matter which way I turn, someone I love gets hurt.

I drag myself to the sink and splash cold water on my face, trying to wash off the panic, the shame, the way his voice sounded when he told me he wanted to give me the world. My reflection looks pale and wild-eyed. I don’t even recognize myself.

Before I can even reach for a paper towel, my phone buzzes in my apron pocket. I don’t have to look at the screen to know who it is.

Eli

Did you apply?

My thumb hovers. Every instinct in me wants to lie, but there’s no point.

Sloane

No.

A few seconds crawl by, heavy and thick, and my heart pounds harder with each one. Then another text pops up, and my pulse drops straight through the floor.

Eli

I figured you’d say that. So I made sure to have a little leverage. Just so you understand how serious I am.

The next message is a picture.

Milo.

He’s at the park near my sister’s place, standing by the swings with a ball in his hands, head thrown back mid-laugh. I recognize the shirt he’s wearing, the one with the faded dinosaur on it that I bought him. There’s no mistaking that this is recent.

A sick, rolling wave hits me so hard I grab the edge of the sink.

Eli

That’s how easily I can get to him. Anytime I want. Your deadline is tonight. If you haven’t submitted your application by then, he’s dead.

The words blur. The picture doubles. I can’t breathe.

Milo’s little face stares up at me from the screen.

The room tilts as I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. There’s no way out. Not one that doesn’t risk my baby boy.

Sloane

Just leave him alone. I’ll do it. You made your point.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Eli

Let me know when it’s done.

I shove the phone into my jeans and push to my feet just as the door swings open and Mandy steps in, concern written all over her face.

“Are you alright? I saw you rush back here and wanted to check on you.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I drag in a breath and pull my shoulders back, tucking everything ugly away behind the same tired smile. “It was just…hard to see him.”

Which is the truth, just not all of it.

Her expression softens. “Are you sure putting distance between you two is the right thing here?”

“It is.” The answer comes out fast.

“I do think he wants you, Sloane.”

“It doesn’t matter. It would never work.”

She studies me like she wants to argue, but whatever she sees on my face must shut it down. I’m wrung out. There’s nothing in me.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”

“Okay. But I’m here for whatever you need. Always.”

Her arm comes around my shoulders and I let myself lean into it, just for a while.

“We should totally get shit-faced tonight,” she adds. “I think that might help you a little.”

A small laugh slips out of me. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Crap. I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Plus, I don’t think that would help anyway.”

“You’re right.” She shrugs. “Maybe you can come over and we can watch a movie or something, if you want. I have lots of snacks.”

Part of me feels like I’m using her for somewhere warm to crash, but the bigger part just doesn’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight. And I do love being around her. She’s one of the only good things I’ve got.

“That sounds nice. Thanks, Mandy.”

“Of course.” She scrunches her face like it’s nothing. “You can even sleep over if you’d like. That way you don’t have to be around your nasty sister.”

The irony twists deep. I actually want to be at my sister’s, just to be closer to Milo.

But Mandy doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know the half of it.

She never will.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

KIRILL

After I drop Lev off with Emilia, I’m back on the road, the truck eating up miles toward the Whitlocks’ home while my head is somewhere else entirely.

Sloane’s face won’t leave me alone. The way her mouth tightened when she told me we weren’t friends, like she needed to believe it.

Not friends.

What a joke.

But maybe she’s right. Because the thoughts I have of her are anything but friendly. Friends don’t imagine fucking each other, and they definitely don’t stay up late at night and wonder what it would be like to wake up next to that person. To kiss them, to hold them, to say things they have never told anyone else.

So no, maybe we’re not just friends. We’re something a lot more complicated.

And she knows it too. I felt it. The way she shivered when I got close, the way her breath hitched when my mouth touched her skin, the way she could barely look at me when I told her I wanted to give her the world. There was nothing indifferent about any of that.

But she’s right to stay away, no matter the reasons. I can’t offer her the one thing she needs: safety. Not the real kind. Not in my world.

If she found out who I am, she would run, and I wouldn’t even be able to blame her.

But the thought of her running makes something black and ugly curl in my chest. No matter what, I’d be there keeping her safe, even from a distance.

As the road turns off up ahead, I take it, the Whitlocks’ land stretching out on either side. By the time the gates come into view, my grip has already tightened on the wheel, dragging my focus back where it needs to be: on this meeting and the trouble circling our family.

I roll through the gates, passing the little bed and breakfast and heading straight for the main house set deep on the property. When I pull up in front of the towering house and cut the engine, another car pulls in behind me. Then two more. My brothers are here.

Konstantin gets out first, eyes sweeping over the property once before landing on Aleksei. The look he gives him is clear enough: don’t start trouble.

Aleksei catches it and laughs like the whole thing amuses him.

“Ya ponil,” he says. I understand.

Hopefully he does, because if he ruins this, Konstantin won’t hesitate to put him down.

Konstantin turns his laser focus on me, studying my face like he can see the tension crawling under my skin.

“Are you alright, brother? Are you sleeping?”

No. Not even close. Between the nightmares with that baby crying and Sloane taking up permanent space in my head, I don’t remember what real sleep feels like.

“I’m fine.” The lie comes easy. Easier than the truth.

“Okay.” He nods once. “Paydom.” Let’s go.

We move as a unit, up the stone steps toward the front door, Konstantin in the lead. He reaches for the bell and presses it once.

A moment later, the door opens. An older woman in a maid’s uniform stands there, her gaze moving over Konstantin first, then the rest of us.

“Welcome.” Her smile is polite, but guarded. “Mr. Whitlock and his family are waiting for you. Down the left hall.” She points that way. “The door all the way at the end.”

Konstantin gives her a short nod. “Thank you.”

We step inside, past the grand foyer and the guard posted there, then take a left into a wide hallway. When we reach the door at the end, Konstantin knocks once. From the other side, Harlan Whitlock’s voice carries through.

“Come in, gentlemen.”

This better be a productive meeting, or it won’t end well for them.

As soon as we walk in, the whole nest of roaches is already there. Harlan sits behind his desk like a king on a cheap throne, Jace at his shoulder. Greer, with that cocky little smirk, is settled back in an armchair. The other three sons—Nash, Theo, and Cole—line the suede sofa.

Cole eyes us like he’s begging someone to swing first. That’s what happens when you’re young and stupid. Except he’s around thirty, which is old enough to know better.

“Welcome.” Harlan nods, running a hand through his gray goatee. “We’re grateful you could join us.”

“It seemed necessary.” Konstantin lets out a hint of a smirk as he takes one of the empty sofas.

Aleksei and I sit with him while Anton chooses the wall, arms crossed, gaze moving over every inch of the room. He’s already counted exits and cameras, I’d bet my life on it.

“It certainly is,” Harlan says.

“Well, it seems to us there’s been a misunderstanding,” Konstantin goes on.

“What sort of misunderstanding?” Harlan’s gaze narrows.

“The kind that involves your family running guns on our turf, with our clients,” Aleksei cuts in, and I catch the exact second Konstantin’s jaw tics.

“I’m sure your intention was not to steal from us,” Konstantin adds, voice calm but edged.

The svolich laughs. “We all need a little competition in life. It makes things more fun, don’t you think?”

Konstantin doesn’t answer, just watches him, and Harlan mistakes the silence for invitation.

“Look, son⁠—”

“I am not your son.” Konstantin leans forward, his gaze lethal, tone vicious.

On the sofa, Cole damn near vibrates with the urge to start something, blue eyes sharpening as he edges closer to the front of his seat. I’d be happy to give him what he’s asking for.

Nash cuts him a hard stare, and he eases back, but barely.

“In any case…” Harlan adjusts like he’s trying to keep control of the room. “I respect you and your family as businessmen, but you have to respect us too. Our family has been in this business for generations, and we aren’t going anywhere. So instead of fighting about this, I say we work together.”

“We do not work well with others,” Aleksei throws in with wry smirk.

“You don’t say,” Greer scoffs, and Harlan shoots her a warning look that has her rolling her eyes.

“Fine, Daddy. I promise to be a good girl.” Her glare cuts to Aleksei, and he meets it head-on, just as savage.

“Look, you’re still new here in New Jersey,” Konstantin continues. “And maybe they do things differently down in Texas, but here, businessmen respect each other’s turfs. Those are our clients, and we don’t take kindly to people who poach them.”

“Oh, I very much do respect you, Mr. Marinov.” Harlan’s mouth curves like he’s trying to charm him. “Your reputation precedes you, and I know all about your family legacy, as I’m sure you know about mine. My father’s father was in this line of work, his father before that, and so on. We’re hardworking people and a family business, just like yours. I’m sure you can appreciate that we need to feed our families too.”

“You can feed whatever family you like.” Konstantin leans back. “Just not with our money.”

“Look,” Jace jumps in. “You’ve got a supply problem, and we’ve got a solution.”

His mouth pulls up in a smug half-smile, and I can see Konstantin’s patience wearing thin. Mine too, in fact. I’ve been itching for any reason to kill him just for touching Sloane.

Konstantin’s muscles go rigid, tension running through him even as he smiles. “We do not have a problem. But you will if you don’t stop selling to our customers.”

Harlan sighs, like we’re being unreasonable. “Come on, now. This is business. You should understand this is not meant as disrespect.”

“You don’t belong here.” Konstantin’s hand curls at his side, knuckles pale.

“But we’re here anyway.” Harlan flips his hands in the air, leaning back in his chair. “And we aren’t going anywhere.”

My desire to see this entire family dead has turned into a priority.

“Now, we wanted this meeting as a goodwill gesture so we can talk like men,” Harlan adds, like he is the reasonable one in the room. “If we can’t do that, there’s nothin’ we need to discuss. My enterprise, everything my family built, isn’t goin’ anywhere, and I hope you can appreciate that, being who you are. Blackthorn is here to stay, and our roots may be in Texas, but we’ve put some down here too.”

He lifts his chin slightly as he continues. “And you should know, I help my friends. If that’s what we become, we can help each other. I’ve got contacts miles long, people from all walks of life who’d be willin’ to help you any way you want. Contracts, land, new ports, whatever you need. No messy red tape. All you need to do is accept that we’ll be supplying the people you can’t. At least for the time being. They need what you don’t have.”

“We have it,” Konstantin says, the lie effortless, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

When he rises, we do the same, the friction in the room tightening with every second.

“This was a productive meeting,” my brother says. “It is important to know where your adversaries stand.”

Greer snickers as she stands, that smirk back in place, and saunters closer. “Now, I hope that wasn’t some kind of threat.”

Konstantin’s mouth tilts up as he looks down at her. “You take it however you want to, Ms. Whitlock.”

Her stare sharpens, mouth flattening. “Oh, I will. You’d better believe it.”

“Now, now,” Harlan cuts in, stepping forward just as Cole jumps to his feet to stand beside his sister, like he might actually do something.

“Better keep yourself far away from my sister.” A muscle in Cole’s chin twitches.

Konstantin laughs and glances Harlan’s way. “You have yourself a bulldog, it appears. Good for you.”

Cole’s nostrils flare, ready to snap. I almost hope he does.

Harlan’s hand lands on his son’s shoulder, fingers pressing down. “He gets excited when his family is threatened. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Of course I do.” Konstantin flicks a hand in the air like it’s nothing.

But I know him well enough to see what sits beneath the calm. In his mind, he has already killed Cole twice over and is deciding how many times more he wants to do it.

“You all have yourselves a good day.” Harlan moves toward the door, clearly eager to walk us out before the charge in the room explodes into something he cannot contain. “And please take a bottle of whiskey on your way out. We make it back home. It’s our specialty.”

“We don’t drink whiskey,” Konstantin answers, and the brief tightening of Harlan’s face is almost satisfying.

“Very well, then. Have a pleasant day. We hope we made our position clear and, as I said, once you have things in order, we can step back.”

“Oh, your position is quite clear to us.” Konstantin turns as we head for the hall.

We walk out together, and once we are outside and far enough from the house, Konstantin looks at each of us, danger humming under his words.

“That was a declaration of war. And I know exactly how we will hurt them.”

“How?” Anton asks, eyes bright with that clinical curiosity.

“Not here.” Konstantin claps his shoulder. “We will talk later. For now, we reach out to other contacts. We get the weapons, and we get them now.”

I peer back once at the Whitlock estate, at the pretty facade and all the arrogance inside it.

War it is, then.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SLOANE

The diner is dark as I settle on the sofa, hoping to eventually get some sleep on this cold night.

But sleep is the last thing on my mind. My muscles are knotted so tight that my body aches in places I don’t usually notice. Every time I try to relax, I only manage to tense somewhere else, like fear is a liquid that just moves to the next crack.

I’ve been telling myself for an hour that I’m going to fill out the application, upload the photo of myself from Mandy’s birthday, and hit submit. Then it will be done. But the truth is, I keep scrolling up and down the form like I’m looking for an escape hatch that isn’t there.

Just do it. There’s no other way.

My thumb hovers over the first field, the cursor blinking like it’s impatient. With my pulse beating in my skull, I start typing.

Name. Birthday. Phone number. Email. Address. Every field completed until I have to choose the auction type I want to submit for.

I stare at the words—Claim Auction—just imagining what they will cost me, what I am volunteering for, and every sane part of me screams to close the tab and run.

But I check the box anyway. If I start thinking about any of this more than I already am, I won’t be able to go through with it.

When I tap the upload button and my camera roll opens, Milo’s face pops up. There’s a picture of him from last week when I drove past his school just as he got out and I quickly snapped a photo of my baby. Him smiling so wide at a friend, his cheeks look round.

I almost lose it right here, almost fold in half on this couch and let the tears come. I don’t deserve him. I never have.

I scroll until I find the photo of me in the dress. The image attaches to the application, and then I move down to the section where I can list what I don’t want the winner to do to me.

I don’t understand what half of them mean, so I select no on those, plus some that I don’t want to even attempt to try like golden showers. I know what those are, thank you very much.

My thumb drifts down to the bottom of the form where the submit button waits, and a wave of dizziness hits, like the room tilts around me.

Once it’s sent, I can’t take it back.

“Oh, God.” I press a palm to my sternum.

Then I picture Milo asleep, warm and safe and unaware that a monster could be coming for him, and that fear turns into something sharper.

I hit submit in an instant, and simple check mark appears with the word RZVRT on the bottom.

It’s done. I did it.

Shit.

My hands start to shake so badly, I have to knot my fingers around the phone just to keep from dropping it. I gape at the confirmation page until my eyes blur, until the letters smear and I am not even seeing them anymore.

The phone buzzes in my grip.

The sound punches straight through me. I fumble for my messages, half convinced it’s Eli already, sending me a picture of Milo’s body on some dirty floor. The thought is so violent, it’s like a blade twisting under my ribs, and I shove it down as I open the thread.

But all I find is a text from a private number.

Unknown

Your application has been received. If you are accepted, you will be notified within 24 hours. You will also receive a separate message with the time and location of the event. A masquerade mask will be mailed to you and must be worn to enter the event. The message containing the time and location will disappear 30 seconds after being opened. You are responsible for recording the information.

I read it once, then again. Disappear in thirty seconds? That’s crazy.

Willing my nerves to settle, I pull up Eli’s thread and type with stiff fingers.

Sloane

It’s done.

Eli

K.

K. Like I just told him I picked up milk.

Throwing my arm over my forehead, I focus on the ceiling, the dim outline of water stains and old tiles blurring as my eyes burn.

I keep waiting to wake up from this, to find out it’s just some messed-up dream, but it’s worse than a nightmare.

At least you can wake up from those.

The next day, my phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m balancing two plates on one arm, and the second that buzz hits, my stomach drops.

Eli. It has to be.

Probably texting to harass me about the auction, asking if I’ve heard anything yet, which I haven’t. It hasn’t even been twenty hours, but of course he’d be impatient.

As soon as I drop the plates at a table, I ask one of the girls to watch my section for a minute so I can run to the bathroom. My hands are already sweating by the time I slip into the stall and lock the door. Pulling out my phone, I open my messages, bracing for his name.

But it isn’t a text from Eli.

It’s from an unknown number again. My heart climbs right up my throat as I open it.

Unknown

Congratulations. You have been formally accepted to the auction. Below are your instructions. Please note: this text will disappear in thirty seconds.

I just stare, hardly trusting what I’m seeing.

I’m in.

I’m actually in, which somehow feels like a victory and a loss at the same time.

The details blur as I read: the auction is in four days, the time, the address, more rules about what to wear. Four days. That isn’t a lot of time to figure out what I’ll wear, how to get there, or how not to throw up every time I think about what I’m doing.

Then it hits me.

Oh my God. I have thirty seconds.

Panic lances through me. My fingers go numb as I try to screenshot the text, but a warning pops up and blocks it.

My inhales stutter as I scramble instead to copy and paste the information into an email draft, hands shaking so badly I almost hit the wrong button. I send it to myself, and the moment the message leaves my screen, the original text vanishes like it was never there.

Holy…

I unlock the stall and walk to the sink on unsteady legs, clutching the edge of the counter to take in my reflection.

How did my life end up here? Was I doomed from the start? Or did I choose this?

I don’t even know the answer, but whatever my life has become, I have to try to get out from under Eli’s thumb.

How am I even supposed to make sure Kirill shows up at the club that night? I don’t know if he goes there often or if he’s the kind of owner who keeps his distance, and it’s not like I can just ask him.

I need him to be there. I need him to win. He’s the only man I trust not to hurt me the way the others would. Maybe if I tell him I’m doing it for money, that I fought with my sister and got kicked out, he’ll feel sorry for me and let me crash at his place long enough for me to find the safe, block the cameras somehow, and take whatever Eli wants without Kirill ever knowing.

The idea is so pathetic, I almost laugh. It’s never going to work. I’ll have to stall with Eli as long as I can and pray I find another way to keep Milo safe.

In my head, I try to make it sound simple. Maybe Milo can stay with me. Kirill wouldn’t even have to see us. He could stay in his area of the house and we could stay in the basement or something.

Except that’s a lie and I know it, because I want to see him. All the time. I can’t stop thinking about him. About how gentle he is with Lev, how kind he’s been to me, and how much of a father he could be to Milo.

I’m sorry, Kirill. But I need to be done with the gang once and for all.

Even if I have to hurt you to do it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SLOANE

The rest of the week blurs into a nervous haze, and before I’m ready, the night of the auction arrives.

I’m already in the driver’s seat, the black pencil dress I’ve owned forever hugging my hips and thighs—a little tighter than I remember, though. I smooth it down for the fifth time, my fingers shaking from the nerves sitting in the pit of my gut.

Mandy’s kitten heels are on my feet, the ones I was supposed to return and completely forgot about. At least they’re cute and low enough that I won’t snap an ankle in them tonight.

My brain is wired like I swallowed ten coffees, even though I’ve had nothing but water and a few bites of food I barely tasted.

I sit there with both hands braced on the wheel, dragging air in and out until my lungs start working again.

You’re doing this for Milo. You’re protecting him. It’s what any good mother would do.

The words don’t calm me, but they’re the only ones I’ve got.

The mask sits on the passenger seat, still nestled in its black velvet box, the lid stamped with a black circle and a red club. I’m supposed to put it on when I get there, wherever “there” even is.

It’s gorgeous; I’ll give it that. Deep green with intricate lace and tiny stones around the eyes. It also looks expensive enough to make my stomach tighten.

I start the car before I can chicken out, the engine coughing to life. The address from the text is already pulled up on my phone, a blue line guiding me turn by turn toward the worst decision I’ve ever made.

Streetlights thin out as I drive, buildings giving way to warehouses, auto shops, and lots packed with shipping containers. Then the cars start appearing, one after another, too polished for this part of town. Black sedans. Low, sleek sports cars. SUVs with tinted windows.

By the time the navigation tells me I’ve arrived, my palms are slick on the wheel.

A line of masked people moves toward a glass door. Men in tuxes, women in beautiful gowns. Their voices drift back to me, easy and amused, like this is a normal Friday night for them.

Maybe it is, but for me, this is insanity.

The building itself looks like an abandoned warehouse, three stories of dark brick and blacked-out windows looming ahead, set back from the road. People start to form a line before a man in a red devil’s mask appears.

I roll forward with the line of cars, my little Volkswagen hopelessly out of place between a sleek black sedan and a low silver sports car, then pull into an open spot and cut the engine before I can talk myself out of it.

“Okay,” I whisper. “You’re a big girl. You’ve got this.”

But the last time I was at any kind of party, I got too drunk and ended up pregnant, so I’m not much of a party girl these days. Especially when said party is actually a sex club.

My God, I never thought I’d actually say that.

Sliding my mask into place, I grab my handbag and step out, shutting the door behind me. My nerves hit my gut as I wait in line, a few women glancing over with knowing grins.

“Hi,” one of them says.

“Uh, hey…”

Her gaze rakes over me like she’s sizing me up. “You look nervous.” A laugh slips out, her red lips tipping up. “First time?”

I nod, and the woman beside her giggles, both of them glittering behind gold masks studded with rhinestones. The first one leans closer like she’s about to share gossip, then pauses when her friend murmurs something in her ear, and her whole expression stills.

“Are you joining the claim?”

My pulse jumps as the line inches forward. “How did you know?”

She flicks her eyes to my mask. “Color gives it away. People doing the claim wear the same shade.”

“You’re brave,” her friend adds, tugging at the delicate straps of a white gown that barely qualifies as fabric. It’s sheer enough that I can make out everything. She looks pleased about it too. “A month with a stranger is…a lot.”

Yeah, thanks for the reminder, asshole.

“She’ll be fine. People here know how to behave.”

“Because if they don’t…” the friend says, smile turning sly. “The owners get unhappy.”

They both laugh like it’s a private joke.

“What do you know about them?” I ask.

They both fall into a long silence.

The first woman tips her chin up. “If you don’t already know, you don’t need to.”

The friend glances toward the door, then back. “Trust me.”

As soon as I’m about to ask more, they’re next in line. The man in that red devil’s mask scans theirs and lets them pass through the glass doors. Inside, I catch a flash of a chandelier and velvet sofas before they’re swallowed by the crowd.

They step into an elevator, and the doors slide shut.

Then it’s my turn. The same man scans my mask and a soft beep sounds.

“Phone.”

“What?”

“You have phone in bag, yes?” His thick Russian accent carries a bite.

“Oh. Yeah. I have to hand it in?”

He nods once. “Da. You get it after you are done.”

Clearly, I have no choice. Digging the phone out of my bag, I hand it over, hating that I have to. If something goes wrong in there, I’m on my own.

He drops it into a clear bag and writes a number on it that probably matches whatever’s coded into my mask.

“Do not remove your mask inside.”

I nod again, not trusting my voice.

“Go.” He motions toward the door, and I slip inside fast, where a woman immediately steps into my path. She’s in a fitted black gown that skims every curve, a slim red collar sitting snug at her throat.

Without a word, she reaches past me to press the elevator button. I stay close to her, tension humming under my skin as I try to guess what’s waiting for me upstairs. When the doors glide open, she tips her chin toward the car, letting me step in first.

As the elevator climbs, my heartbeat ramps up with it, each number lighting and changing overhead like a countdown I can’t stop watching.

“Once you arrive, check in at the table located to the left,” she finally says. “Do not enter through the main doors. That is for club participants only.”

“Okay.”

Trust me, I have no desire to participate, lady.

When the elevator finally slows, I swear the air leaves my lungs.

I can’t back out now. All I can do is hang on to my one desperate hope that Kirill is the one who wins and keeps this from turning into something I can’t undo.

The doors slide open and I step out alone, the woman in the black gown staying inside as the elevator closes and carries her back down.

Straight ahead, two men in plain black masks stand guard at the doors she warned me about, and to my left, a coat check sits tucked against the wall like it belongs in a hotel. A few steps beyond it, a small check-in table waits, the woman behind it already assisting a few others, her red collar flashing when she turns her head.

I head toward her just as the two women she was helping glance back over their shoulders, their white masks trimmed with lace and feathers. I wonder what auction they’re here for.

“Hi,” the woman says. “Checking in?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out mousy.

My gaze catches on her collar again, realizing it’s identical to the one the elevator woman wore. Maybe all the employees wear them.

“Perfect.” She lifts a handheld scanner, sweeps it over my mask, then taps at the tablet in front of her, eyes moving like she’s confirming something I’m not supposed to know.

A moment later, another woman steps out of the main doors and heads straight for me.

“I’m Kira.” She offers me her hand, and I take it. “Come on. I’ll bring you to the back and get you dressed.”

“I have a dress.” I glance down at myself.

“And it’s lovely.” One corner of her mouth lifts. “But every auction participant wears one of our gowns. Come on. I’ll show you.”

She turns toward the club, and I follow, trying to prepare myself for what I’m about to see.

The bass thumps louder as we enter. The main floor opens wide beneath a high ceiling washed in deep purple and blue light. At the center, a chandelier made of chains and crystals glitters above the dance floor where masked bodies sway together in slow, intimate rhythms. Hands slide over backs and hips, people kissing and touching shamelessly, though their clothes seem to be mostly on…

I keep to the edge of the dance floor as I continue to follow her, weaving around bodies without letting anyone brush me. We turn right, the space opening into a hallway with doors lining both sides, some shut tight, others open wide.

I tell myself to mind my business, but I take a peek anyway.

In one room, a woman kneels on a padded bench, wrists bound behind her, breasts covered in pink jeweled pasties, the rest of her bare. A man in a tux pounds into her, one hand tangled lightly in her hair, the other resting lazily around a glass of dark liquor. She’s moaning against the gag in her mouth, like this is the best night of her life.

Heat grows between my legs, and I try to ignore it, but it’s impossible. I’ve never watched anyone like this, nor could I ever imagine myself doing that. I force my gaze away, but it doesn’t matter. Kirill is already there in my mind, his hands on me, his mouth warm against my skin while everyone here watches.

In the next doorway, a man hangs from the ceiling by his wrists, arms stretched wide while a woman stands before him with a flogger, each swing leaving thin red marks across a chest that looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine.

Warmth keeps creeping through me and I try to push it down, focusing on Kira as I follow her deeper inside. We turn into another hallway, quieter now, the music dulling behind us as two men in suits stand outside a black door with holstered guns resting openly at their hips. The sight of guns would probably scare normal girls, but I’ve been around them long enough not to be afraid.

One of them steps aside and pulls the door open, and every instinct inside me flares to life, urging me to turn around and run. I’d rather face a firing squad than what I’m about to go through.

The room beyond feels like a different world. Deep gray sofas are arranged in clusters around a lengthy bar that stretches along one wall. Women fill the space. Some wear gowns, others silk robes or delicate lingerie, every face hidden behind a mask.

Kira guides me into a smaller adjoining room clearly meant for dressing. One wall is lined with mirrors framed in glowing bulbs, and opposite them, racks are crowded with dresses, robes, and lace.

A few girls sit at the vanities while women in corsets and red collars adjust straps and smooth hair.

Kira taps a chair in front of an empty mirror. “Sit. I’ll grab your dress.”

I lower myself into it, hands knotted in my lap while she starts flinging through the racks until she finds a green lace see-through slip-on gown.

“I-I can’t wear that.” Panic surges through me.

“It’s in the rules.” She gently gathers the dress. “Now, come. Stand up so I can help you dress.”

Shit. I probably should’ve read the fine print a bit better…

Forcing my legs to cooperate, I get to my feet as she pulls down the zipper, my dress sliding away along with my bra before she hangs them neatly on a hook. The new gown slips over me, the fabric settling against my skin and leaving far too much of me exposed.

What would Kirill think of this? I know he owns the place, and what people do with their body is their choice, but this was never a choice for me.

“All right.” Kira steps back. “You look perfect. Quick rundown. The contract says no forced acts, so whoever wins can’t do anything you don’t agree to. Anything you marked as a no on your application is automatically off the table. If they try anyway, you report it to the number we’ll give you once your winner is called.”

“Okay,” I manage, though my mind immediately spirals to what happens if they don’t listen.

“Good. Let’s get back out. You’ll wait with the other girls, and when it’s your turn, I’ll take you.”

A shudder slices through me.

You’re doing this for Milo.

I repeat it under my breath as the minutes drag while I listen for my name, for Kira’s footsteps coming back for me, for the moment I’m led onto that stage where everything in my life is about to change.

And the only thing I cling to is hope that Kirill is there. That somehow he’ll find me before it’s too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KIRILL

It’s past midnight when Aleksei calls, just as I’m turning off the light in Lev’s room.

He finally fell asleep after another nightmare. I wish he would tell me what he sees in his head when he wakes up shaking, eyes wide and searching for something that isn’t there. I know he remembers. I see it in the way he clings to me after. But he won’t say a word, like he’s afraid that saying it out loud will make it real again.

My phone lights up, Aleksei’s name across the screen. He never calls this late unless something’s wrong.

“Da?” I answer quietly, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door almost closed behind me so I don’t wake my son.

“I suggest you come to the club tonight. Let’s just say it’s urgent.”

“How urgent? I don’t want to leave Lev unless I have to.”

“Well, let’s just say…” He snickers. “If you don’t come, you’re going to regret it.”

The line goes dead before I can get another word in.

I stare at the screen, trying to decide if my brother is playing games or actually warning me. But with him, it’s usually both.

“Pizdets,” I mutter, already knowing I have to go.

Downstairs, Katya, the head housekeeper, is doing one last pass over the furniture, wiping everything down before turning in for the night.

“Katya,” I call.

She looks up, smoothing her hands over her apron. “Yes, sir?”

“I need to step out. Lev is asleep, but keep his monitor with you. If he wakes up, you call me. I won’t be gone long.”

“Of course.” She nods without hesitation.

I pause, listening for any sound from upstairs, for anything, while that familiar guilt needles at me for leaving him at night. But Lev is safe here. I know he is.

I snag the keys to the red Ferrari from the hook by the door and head out.

The drive to the warehouse isn’t far, especially with the way I drive, and this one is closer than the other locations we use to host the club. Rzvrt moves spots often. Old factories. Buildings we own. We have many properties at our disposal.

When I pull up, I don’t waste time. I slip on the plain black mask I keep in the car and head straight for Igor, the one checking masks at the entrance. He gives me a quick nod the second he sees me.

I step into the elevator and ride up to the top floor, cutting past the flow of people filing into the club. At the end of the hall, I head for the first door and let myself into the office.

Aleksei is there, seated in front of a bank of monitors. Security feeds cover the wall, every angle of the club under our control. The dance floor. The hallways. The private rooms. The staging area for the auctions.

“What the hell did you need me for?” I shut the door behind me.

He doesn’t look up right away, just flicks a few keys on the keyboard in front of him, switching camera angles and pulling up another window.

“I missed you too,” he says dryly.

“Aleksei.” My patience is already gone. “I left Lev at home for this. You know how much I hate doing that. So talk.”

He exhales like I’m the problem, then clicks once and drags something onto the center monitor until it fills the screen. “Okay. Here. Take a look.”

An application form stares back at me, Rzvrt’s logo at the top. Below it, blocks of text and filled-in fields.

“What am I looking at?”

“Claim auction paperwork. Tonight’s lineup.” He leans back a fraction. “One in particular may interest you. It did me.”

I scan the form, trying to focus on the words, but my attention keeps snagging on his expression, the edges of his mouth going tight like he’s holding back a grin.

He’s enjoying this too much. Which means I’m about to hate it.

Names blur past until one catches me off-guard.

Sloane Maddox

Net. Nemozhet byt. No. It can’t be.

She wouldn’t come here. There’s no way. How would she even know about the club? It’s secret unless someone is personally invited or knows another member. Who the hell does she know?

I scan the rest of the application, and when I hit the photo, my rage climbs fast.

She’s wearing that dress. The one from the night I saved her from that svolich. The dress that drove me out of my mind. It still does. I think about it more than I should, think about peeling it off her and all the dirty things I want to do to her, and I hate myself for every second of it.

Aleksei’s mouth curves. “It seems your homeless girl decided to join the claim.”

Why would you do this?

“Gde ona?” My throat grows tighter. Where is she?

Aleksei peers at another monitor, fingers moving as he pulls up a live feed from backstage. Women in masks and sheer gowns wait in a room, but I don’t care about any of them. I only need to see her.

When the camera angle shifts and he zooms in, that’s when I find her.

She sits on the far edge of a row of chairs, hands locked together in her lap so tightly her knuckles are white. The mask covers half her face, but I’d recognize the line of that jaw anywhere. I’d know every inch of her in a dark room. She keeps rubbing her thumb over the same spot on her wrist like she’s trying to calm herself.

Shto ti delayesh zdes, detka? What are you doing here, baby?

“I would hurry if I were you,” Aleksei says, like this is all a fucking joke. “She’s about to go up.”

My fist hits the desk, and I lean in until my face is inches from his. “We need to shut it down.”

He lifts a brow. “You know the rules as well as I do. We don’t stop an auction once the lineup is announced. Not for anyone.”

“This isn’t anyone,” I snap. “This is…”

Mine.

I bite the word back before it can slip out. I don’t need to hand my brother any more ammunition than he already has.

“Blyat!” I slam my fist into the concrete wall beside the monitors.

Pain shoots up my arm, but it barely registers. Not compared to the hit that goes straight through my chest at the thought of someone else putting their hands on her.

I won’t let it happen.

“You still have a chance to claim her for yourself.” He flicks a hand in the air. “And we both know you want to. So go ahead. Act like you saved her, then keep her all for yourself.”

He’s right, and I hate him for it.

But I’m not wasting time arguing. I need to get to her before she’s handed off to the winner. Because if I’m too late, I’ll have to do something a lot more drastic to make sure she comes home with me.

The door bangs open as I storm out, my footsteps pounding down the corridor. The music swells the second I hit the main floor, lights flashing over masked faces and bare skin.

I cut along the edge of the dance floor, past the bar, past a couple pressed against the wall, my focus locked on the one woman who should never be here. By the time I reach the auction room, my gaze goes straight to the stage at the far end. Hundreds sit in attendance, little numbered paddles resting in their laps.

I step in just as the emcee finishes with the girl onstage and an employee guides her off.

“And now,” he announces, his voice carrying through the room, “please help me welcome claim number four, Ms. Sloane. Twenty-three, stunning, eager to please, ready to belong to her new owner for the next thirty days.”

A hush rolls through the crowd. Then she walks out, led by a woman who releases her hand at center stage before fading back into the shadows.

Every one of my muscles spirals as she stands there, barely dressed, under the eyes of everyone in the room.

My gaze drags over the crowd, over the people staring at her, and a violent urge rises to tear their eyes out for daring to look—at her perfect breasts, at the curve of her hips, at everything that makes my hands itch to take her, to mark her as mine.

When her hands tremble at her sides, I’m already moving toward the stage with every intention of pulling her off it. Consequences be damned.

What are you doing, solnishko?

The answer is obvious. Money. Desperation. Every reason she should have come to me instead of walking into a room full of strangers who will treat her like something to play with instead of taking care of her the way I would.

When the emcee lays a hand against the small of her back, giving her a little turn so the crowd can appreciate what they think is for sale, she goes rigid, and my jaw clamps so tight it throbs.

I’m going to kill him for this. I don’t care what Konstantin says about it.

“Starting bid at five hundred thousand,” he calls. “Do I have five?”

“Five,” I say, loud enough that the first few rows turn toward me.

The emcee’s head snaps in my direction. “We have five hundred. Do I hear six?”

Her eyes find mine, and her chest lifts like she just drew in a sharp breath.

That’s right. I’m here. You really thought you could hide this from me?

My anger only sharpens.

To my right, a man in a blue mask leans back in his chair, his attention shifting from Sloane to me as if I’ve finally made this interesting for him.

You don’t want to play this game, mudak.

“Six hundred.” He throws on a condescending smirk.

Sloane tenses, like she doesn’t want him to win.

Don’t worry, detka. He won’t.

“Eight hundred.” I raise my paddle.

I don’t lose. Not when it matters this much.

“Eight hundred. Do I hear nine?” the emcee presses.

“Nine.” The man’s eyes fix on me, grin widening like he has a death wish I will gladly grant.

“I would stop now if I were you,” I tell him.

A couple of people close enough to hear go still, but he just lets out a short laugh.

“I don’t think I will.” He draws in a long shallow breath. “I want her.” He lifts his paddle higher. “One million.”

Well, that was a mistake on his part.

Sloane sways, her knees dipping, and I would tear apart heaven and hell to get her off that fucking stage right now.

“One million,” the emcee calls. “Do I hear one point one?”

My gaze returns to the idiot who apparently wants to die tonight. “One point five.”

His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens.

“Last chance,” I tell him. “You should stop now. It’s in your best interest.”

His paddle lowers a fraction, his eyes sliding back to Sloane, taking in the way she’s shaking, the way her chest rises and falls too fast.

I almost think he might listen.

I’m wrong.

“Two million,” he calls, and the edges of my vision darken.

“I warned you.”

The room goes silent, and my hand is inside my jacket before anyone understands what’s happening.

Until the shot cracks through the room, bouncing off the walls.

His head snaps back as the bullet hits between his eyes, mask shattering as his body drops bonelessly to the floor. The woman beside him screams as blood sprays across her face, chairs scraping and panic rippling through the crowd as voices rise all around us.

But I ignore all of that, moving toward Sloane, who’s barely able to stand upright, swaying like her body hasn’t caught up to what just happened. She gapes down at the man bleeding out, then lifts her gaze to me, eyes wide and horrified even through the mask.

Then Aleksei appears, clasping my back as he laughs. “You’re even crazier than me.”

I push off of him, heading for the stage. He calls after me over the chaos.

“Konstantin will hate this mess! You know that, right?”

“Ask me if I give a shit.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SLOANE

He found me.

Hope floods my system at the knowledge that there’s no way he’ll let me go home with anyone else.

Minutes crawl by while I stand under the lights, every second stretching thin, my body locked tight as I wait for it to be over.

When the man in the blue mask calls two million, my vision tilts. I wait for Kirill to bid higher. I need him to. But he doesn’t lift his paddle. Instead, his hand slides into his jacket.

“I warned you,” he says.

The room freezes around his words. Even the music seems farther away, like it’s muffled.

Right before the gun goes off. The sound splits the room and goes straight through me. I jerk back on instinct, feet skidding, and my stomach drops as the man collapses.

For a second, my mind won’t accept it, even as the blood spreads and the man lies there without moving. My stomach lurches, my skin going cold all at once, like my body is trying to pull away from what my eyes are forcing me to see.

He’s…he’s dead.

Oh my God. Kirill just killed someone. In front of everybody. Without a second of hesitation or regret.

My eyes go to his while he stands there talking to another man, gun at his side, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.

What have you done? Who are you?

The emcee clears his throat, the sound scraping across the room like sandpaper.

“Well…” he says, faltering only once before he forces himself through it. “That was…an unfortunate turn of events. But the auction will continue.”

People are still gasping. Some are cursing. One woman stumbles to her feet and rushes for the door. Two men in black masks move in, lifting the dead man and dragging him out like all of this is somehow normal.

I still can’t move. My hands are tangled together in front of me so tightly my knuckles throb.

Kirill, though? He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and when he moves toward the stage, I back away a step.

“The last bid at one and a half million still stands,” the emcee continues, voice smoothing out as if we haven’t all just watched a man die. “If anyone wishes to raise to two million, now is your chance.”

No paddles lift. No one even moves this time. You could hear a pin drop if not for the muffled bass thumping somewhere beyond these walls, the club outside this tense bubble still pulsing along like nothing happened.

“Very well,” the emcee says. “Going once. Going twice.” He lifts his hand, gesturing toward where Kirill stands. “Sold. To the gentleman right there.”

My legs feel like they’re made of wet paper as Kira appears at my side, materializing out of nowhere.

“Come on.” Her hand clasps around my elbow. “Let’s get you backstage.”

She tries to steer me away just as Kirill steps onto the stage.

“Don’t touch her.”

Three words, and the air changes. His tone is cold enough that I shrink back.

Kira’s hand instantly falls away and she starts to retreat, but both of us already forgot that she exists, unable to look at anything but each other. The weapon is still in his hand, and when he notices my eyes there, he slides it back in its holster like it will change what I just saw him do.

The longer I look at him, the more I come apart, until a cry barrels free.

How did I let myself fall for a criminal? It’s what he is, isn’t it? Unless he just causally murders people for fun, which would also make him a criminal.

God. Who is he?

How deep does this go? Is he one of Barrett’s contacts? Is this how Eli knew about him, about this place, this auction? My stomach twists itself into knots so tight I can barely stand it.

And what happens now? Am I his to do with as he pleases? Will he hurt me?

Did I ever know him at all?

Even still, my fingers ache to touch him, to trace the line of his cheek still half hidden by the mask, to feel his lips on mine.

But it’s the eyes that get me. Sharp, blazing, and locked on me like I’m all that he sees. His chest rises on a harsh inhale, and the muscle in his neck tics like he’s forcing himself not to break apart right here in front of me.

“You’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t wait for my answer. His hand closes around mine as he leads me to the back and into the dressing room I used earlier, now empty, before locking the door behind us.

I take a step back on instinct, my pulse hammering so hard I sense it in my throat. The room suddenly seems smaller than it did before, and the man in front of me nothing like the one I thought I knew.

He crosses the room in three strides, his hand closing around my throat, his thumb brushing along my jaw.

“Why?” he asks, and it sounds like it hurts him to say it. “Why did you do this?”

“Kirill…” I manage, my voice shaking.

He lets out a low growl and backs me into the wall, caging me in with his hands on either side of my head. His eyes are wild, searching my face like he’s trying to force the truth out of me.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sloane? Answer me.”

I don’t know what to say. I just stare at him, tears stinging my eyes, trying to give him something real so he understands my desperation without uncovering my deception.

“I needed money.” My mouth goes dry. “A friend told me I could make some here doing this, and I just thought…”

“Why do you need money, Sloane?” he presses, tension pulling tight across his face. “You have a job. You have a place to live. Is something going on I don’t know about?”

My eyes drop, but he tilts my chin back up, his thumb tracing the edge of my bottom lip.

I swallow around the thickness in my throat. “I was living with my sister until we got into a huge fight and she kicked me out of the house.”

His expression hardens. “Where have you been staying?”

“Here and there.”

“That’s not an answer.” His tone cuts sharper. “Tell me before I lose my mind more than you’ve already made me.”

Something in him fractures on the last word, and it pulls at something in me too.

“I’ve been…” Heat creeps up my face. I close my eyes because I can’t stand to watch him see this part of me. “I’ve been living in my car. Sometimes I sleep at the diner.”

His breathing catches, and something breaks across his features before he locks it down again. “Why the hell didn't you tell me?”

“Why would I have to tell you that?” I snap. “We don't know each other like that, and it's not something I tell anyone. My best friend doesn't even know.”

“God damn it, Sloane.” His hand clasps my cheek, and it makes everything hurt, knowing he cares when I don’t deserve it. “I would have helped you. Don’t you understand that? I would have done whatever you needed.” His eyes drag over my face like he’s trying to read every bruise I’m not showing. “Instead, you thought selling yourself to some stranger who would do God knows what to you was the answer?”

Bitterness floods my mouth; I hate every second of what he's saying.

“Maybe it's easy for you to judge me.” I let out a dry laugh, blinking past the tears blurring my vision. “But I have nothing. No money. No education. I barely have clothes, and when you’re starving and scared and alone, desperation makes you do ugly things.” Fighting my emotions, I continue. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my life. You don’t know what I’ve had to crawl through just to still be standing here by some miracle.”

He flinches at the edge in my tone. His hand drifts down my cheek, slower now, like he’s trying to calm me.

“This ends today.” His stare traps me in place. “Do you understand me?” His knuckles brush along my chin, the touch gentler than the words that follow. “There's no more living in your car or sleeping in the diner or lying to me about any of it. I own you now, Sloane Maddox, and you will do what I say when I say it.”

I know I shouldn’t like the sound of that, but my body doesn’t seem to care. Heat pools between my thighs, a slow pulse throbbing with every word, with the certainty behind them, the way he says my name like it already belongs to him.

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

“You will find out, but for now, let's get you back into your clothes.” He tries to look anywhere but at my naked form, even as his eyes keep dropping to the swell of my breasts. “I’m taking you home. We’ll continue this conversation there.” He grabs the back of his neck and grumbles something in Russian. “Blyat, I can’t stand the fact that all those people saw you like this.”

He groans, grabbing my hip and pushing himself flush against me—and that’s when I feel the swell of his cock, hard and heavy against me.

“God, Sloane, the things I want to do to them for it.”

What do you want to do to me?

The question snakes across my mind, even though he should be the last man I want right now. Still, I can’t help how badly I want him.

“You killed someone.”

“Yes.” A faint curve touches his mouth. “And I would do it again if it meant protecting you.”

I wait for the fear to come. For my stomach to turn. For the image of the man hitting the floor to finally push me away from him. But it doesn’t.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The back of his hand feathers over my breast, fingers pinching my nipple until I moan in pleasure, needing more.

“No,” I whisper, tipping my head back.

Something shifts in his expression at that, darker and heavier. “Then ask me who I am, malenkaya vorovka.”

My thoughts tangle. I don’t want the answer. I’m afraid of it, afraid it will change everything. That whatever this is between us won’t survive hearing it out loud. The small, fragile picture of the family I let myself build in my head already feels like it’s cracking.

“Ask me, Sloane.” He leans closer until his mouth is just before mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Ask me who just saved you.”

My grip tightens around his bicep.

“Who…who are you?” The words barely make it out.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans in, and his lips meet mine for the briefest moment, a barely there kiss that I feel in every part of my soul. I slide my hand into his hair and pull him closer, but with a low growl, he catches my wrist and tips my head back, stopping me.

“Don't do that,” he warns. “I won't be able to restrain myself if you kiss me, and I'm trying really hard to be a gentleman right now.”

I don’t want you to be…

My God, what’s wrong with me? Why do I still want him so badly?

“Are you a criminal?” The question barely makes it out.

His deep chuckle rolls through me. “You could say that.”

“What kind?” My pulse hammers louder.

I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say, but I need to. Maybe this will be the moment it finally sinks in, the moment I understand how far away from him I need to stay.

“Russian Mafia.”

A cold shudder rolls through me.

Oh my God.

I didn’t see that coming, but I probably should have.

Now I’m going to have to steal from him. From the Russian Mafia.

That is, if he doesn’t find out and kill me first.

How the hell am I supposed to break into some safe now that I know who he is?

But what if I stall? What if I make Eli believe I’ll do it long enough to get to Milo and run? If I get that auction money, I could. Half of one and a half million is more than enough to disappear.

“Go get dressed,” Kirill says, and the unease inside me only deepens.

He turns away while I change. When I’m done, he faces me again, and his gaze sweeps over my pencil dress, making me suddenly aware of every inch of my body.

Casually, he slips out of his suit jacket and wraps it around me.

“It’s cold outside,” he says softly against my ear, then kisses my temple like I matter.

The tenderness resonates more than anything else tonight.

And I pray he never finds out that I'm here to betray him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SLOANE

His house looks different as we pull into the driveway. Bigger somehow. Colder.

Maybe it’s knowing what he is now, what his family is. Or maybe it’s the fact that I know what I’m being forced to do inside these walls.

Kirill kills the engine, then circles to my side and opens the door. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, and the heat of it makes my body tighten. Like he’s seeing me on that stage all over again.

When he offers me his hand, I take it. His fingers close around mine—large, solid, and warm—and he doesn’t let go as he leads me up the steps, through the front doors, and down the hallway.

My mind won’t stay in the present. It keeps dragging me back to the gunshot, the man on the ground, and the way Kirill never once looked away from me through all of it.

Could he really be different than Barrett and Eli? Is that even possible?

He brings me to the same guest room as last time. The moment we step inside, he releases my hand, and I hate how quickly I feel the absence of him, how my fingers curl slightly like they’re still expecting his.

“You’ll stay here tonight.” That husky tone wraps around me. “Tomorrow, I will have someone bring your car from the club.”

“Thank you.” I fold my arms around myself. “My clothes and things are in the duffel in the backseat, so…that helps.”

His face tightens, like I just reminded him of that and he hates every second of it. “We will also go shopping.”

“What? No, I-I don’t want you to spend money on me. You’ve already done enough.”

His gaze sharpens, all that irritation and worry simmering together. “I did not ask if you wanted it. I’m simply telling you what’s going to happen.”

He closes the distance between us before I can step back. A loose strand of my hair falls forward, and he catches it between his fingers, slowly sliding it through them as those irises drop to my mouth.

My core clenches as I feel his touch, that gaze, in every part of me.

“You do what I say. Remember?” The faint smirk he gives me makes my heart stumble in my chest.

How could I forget?

A yawn slips out of me, my body finally catching up to everything that’s happened, though I don’t even think I can sleep tonight.

“Let me get you something to wear.”

His brows knit when he peers at me, almost like it pains him, and then he turns and leaves the room. The door shuts behind him, and the space immediately feels too big, too quiet, without him in it.

A minute later, he returns with a plain white T-shirt draped over his forearm, along with a white robe and towel.

“This is all I have right now.” He holds them out to me. “That will change tomorrow.”

I set the towel and robe on the chaise and take the shirt. The cotton is soft beneath my fingers and it smells like him, so I hold it a little tighter.

“Thank you.”

But what I really mean is, I don’t deserve this. Any of it. Not from you.

“You don’t ever need to thank me, malyshka.” His fingertips glide up my arm, leaving goose bumps behind. “And just so you know, you will get the money from the auction.”

My brows shoot up. “Really?”

Oh God, that’s a relief. My plan hinges on that money.

“Yes. You signed up for it, and the terms will be honored. But I don’t expect anything from you in return. Do you understand?”

Does he mean sex?

I pinch my thighs, the memory of his mouth on me that night flashing through me. The way he looked afterward, like he hadn’t wanted to stop.

“But it will take the full thirty days before you get it,” he goes on. “My brother Konstantin is very strict about the rules.”

Crap. I don’t have thirty days. I bite back the panic and try to act casual.

“And you will be staying here until we figure out where you’ll live.” His fingers climb higher, gliding up my neck.

“Okay…”

“But I do need something from you.”

“What’s that?”

“My last nanny quit, and I haven’t been able to find a proper replacement. Lev and I…we have been managing, but it’s not good enough. He needs someone consistent. Someone he already trusts.”

“And you’re asking me?”

“Da.” He nods. “If it is something you are willing to do.”

My heart squeezes. “Of course I will.” I don’t even need time to think about it. “I love being around Lev. And if I can help, I want to.”

Relief flickers across his face. “Good.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Lev is in school during the day, so he will need you to drop him off and pick him up, and he needs to be taken to his therapy appointments too. Other than that, it’s pretty easy. When I’m gone, you keep him company. Follow his routines. Play with him. Nothing complicated. Just be with him.”

“I can do that.” A smile slips out.

“You will get paid every week.”

“That’s not necessary—” Even as I say it, I know how badly I need the money.

“It is. This isn’t free work. I would never expect that.” He releases my hand, and I feel the loss of it immediately. “Fifteen thousand a week.”

I choke. “Fifteen… Kirill, no. That’s insane. That’s too much.”

“It isn’t,” he says simply. “You will be responsible for my son. That is worth more than I am offering. Don’t argue with me about my own money, malyshka.”

My thoughts spin around the number and what it could mean. I could pay my sister to take care of Milo. I could start saving. Maybe even leave with him someday.

Just not soon enough. Eli still expects me to steal the ledger, and I’ll have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Silence stretches between us, and his gaze drifts over my face, my lips, his chest rising and falling the longer he focuses on me.

“I’ll leave you to get some sleep.”

As he starts to go, a sudden thought hits. “What about my job at the diner? And oh my God, the ranch. They’re going to hate me.”

“Don’t worry about any of it.”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

A slow, faint smirk forms. “I know your boss.”

“Really?” My head jerks. “You know Mark?”

His low laugh rumbles out. “Yes. I am his boss, which makes me your boss, solnishko.”

What the…

All I can do is stare.

“Wait, what?” My brain trips over itself. “Y-you own the diner?”

He nods once.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He shrugs. “You never asked.”

My head spins as pieces rearrange themselves.

Why didn’t Mark tell me? Did Kirill ask him not to?

God…

His gaze holds mine. “And I will let the Whitlocks know you won’t be working at the ranch either. They won’t be too surprised.”

“And why is that?”

“Because they know I didn’t want you there to begin with.”

Right. The tension between Jace and him. How could I forget?

“Thank you,” I say again, because it’s the only thing I have left. “For all of this. For saving me from one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. For offering me this job and a place to sleep. I don’t…I don’t know why you’re doing all of this for me, but I appreciate it.”

He goes still.

“I told you already. I care about you. I care about what happens to you. Ti moya problema,” he murmurs, and I feel the power of his words in every molecule.

“What does that mean?”

His mouth tips in that almost smile again. “It means you are my problem, Sloane. Mine.”

The words slide under my skin, both warm and dangerous.

“Now get some sleep.” He leans in and kisses my forehead, and I swear I sense the vibration of a groan in his chest.

I don’t want him to leave. I want him beside me, in this bed, arms around me like he can keep every nightmare away if I just hold on tight enough.

Before he can step back, my hand moves on instinct, my fingers circling his wrist and catching him there. The uneven beat of his pulse jumps beneath my palm as his gaze drops to where I’m touching him, then lifts to mine, something unguarded slipping through before he can hide it.

“Kirill—”

He shifts closer instead of pulling away. His free hand lifts and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip in a slow, careful stroke that makes my chest tighten.

“Ne smotri na menya tak.” The husky way he says it sends my heart racing.

He lowers his forehead to mine, the barest contact, like he needs it to steady himself. The room narrows to just this—his warmth, the faint scent of him, the way his eyes keep falling to my mouth like he’s fighting a battle I can’t see.

Then he inclines his head and drops a kiss to the center of my forehead, his hand cupping my jaw. I close my eyes against the ache blooming in my chest, wanting him to be mine so badly, knowing I’d destroy any chance of that if he ever finds out why I’m really here.

“Spokoynoy nochi, malyshka,” he rasps softly against my skin. “Good night.”

When he finally straightens, his gaze remains on me one last time before he turns and walks away. The door clicks softly behind him, leaving me alone in a room that still feels like him.

I sink back onto the bed, clutching his T-shirt to my chest, with his scent wrapped around me and the echo of his words still vibrating deep beneath my ribs.

He just handed me a way out. A job. Safety. A bed that isn’t the backseat of my car. A future where I might actually get my son back.

And after all of that, I’m still the one who’s going to hurt him.

CHAPTER THIRTY

SLOANE

I wake to his scent still clinging to the shirt. I don’t remember where I am at first, only registering the softness of the mattress beneath me and the weight of the heavy comforter over my legs, sunlight cutting a pale line across the far wall.

Then last night crashes back in.

Eli. The auction. The gun. Kirill’s hands on me, pulling me off that stage like I was never meant to belong to anyone but him.

Panic stirs in my chest as I wonder if Eli will reach out today, but I force it down and push myself upright, the shirt sliding off one bare shoulder as I head toward the bathroom. A note waits on the chaise beside folded clothes and a pair of brand-new sneakers. I lift the thick paper and read his handwritten words.

I picked these up early for you just so you have something for breakfast. Come down when you wake up.

I trace the letters with my fingertip like an idiot. He went out before I even woke up just to make sure I had something to wear.

My God…how am I supposed to not fall in love with him? How is this fair?

I take the towel and robe and head into the bathroom for a quick shower, using his shampoo and soap and hoping he won’t mind. The hot water feels good, and I close my eyes, letting it run over me like it might wash away the ugliness still sticking to my skin.

When I’m done, I dry my hair, dress in the leggings and tank top he left for me, and step back into the bedroom.

My stomach growls as I move into the hallway. At the landing overlooking the foyer, I spot the same guard from last time posted near the stairs. This time, I know where the kitchen is, so after greeting him, I head that way, catching Lev’s laughter drifting closer.

When I make it to the kitchen, I find Lev sitting at the table with a plate in front of him, the long table covered in more food than two people could ever finish.

Kirill stands near the stove, coffee mug in his grip, broad shoulders relaxed in a way that makes him feel lighter somehow.

He looks over the second he sees me, and the smile that spreads across his face is immediate.

“Dobroye utro,” he says, voice low and gruff. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Shyness creeps over me, my face warming as I move closer.

Lev’s eyes round, and the moment he sees me, he rushes off the chair. He barrels into me, arms wrapping around my waist, his cheek pressing into my stomach hard enough to knock the air right out of me.

“Hey, buddy.” I bend to hug him properly. “I missed you too.”

When he finally pulls back, he flashes me one of those rare, full smiles that make even the worst day better. I now realize he only gives them to certain people, and maybe I’m one of the lucky ones.

He takes my hand and pulls me over, then shoves the chair beside his out. “Sit.”

I bite back a laugh at his cute authoritarian, sweet command. Like father, like son.

Kirill chuckles as he moves back to the table. “Yes, please sit and eat. My cook made more than enough.”

“Yeah…” I glance around the table again. “I can definitely see that.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.” I nod. “Milk and sugar, please.”

He picks up the carafe and an empty mug, pours me a cup, then sets it in front of me before grabbing a plate from the center of the table and loading it with food, most of it unfamiliar.

“If you’re going to be staying with us…” His eyes flick up to mine. “You might as well get used to eating a lot.”

“I think I’ll manage.” My lips pinch into a grin. “What’s that?” I point to the round, thick, pancake-looking things he adds to my plate.

“Those are syrniki.” He keeps working as he talks. “Cottage cheese pancakes. And these…” He picks up another one, larger and thinner. “It’s a crepe, but we call it blini. You can eat it with anything, but we like it with caviar.” He glances at me. “Have you ever had it?”

He adds a small spoonful of black caviar to the corner of my plate.

“Uh…definitely not.”

“Well, now you can.” He wraps the blini for me and slides the plate closer. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”

I swear, this feels like a vacation I’ve never been on. As I pick up the crepe, Kirill watches me intently like he cares what I think, and I don’t want to disappoint him.

When the first bite hits, I groan. My God, it’s so good. Mild and rich, the caviar cutting through the warmth of the blini in a way that makes my mouth water for another bite.

“This is so amazing,” I practically moan.

A grin spreads across his face, and the tension in him eases like he’s been holding it until this exact moment. Then he finally takes his own crepe.

“I’m glad you like it. There’s a lot more. Have as much as you want.”

We keep eating in a comfortable kind of silence, and I’m relaxing more with every minute that passes. Then Kirill sets his mug down and looks at his son.

“Lev, do you remember when we talked about needing a new nanny while Papa is working?”

Lev nods while lining up his strawberries on top of his pancakes.

Kirill tips his chin toward me. “Sloane will be your nanny. Do you like that idea?”

Lev looks up at me, studying my face like he’s running some private checklist. Then he gives a firm little nod and goes right back to lining up his strawberries.

My heart flips.

“That,” Kirill says, sounding faintly amused, “was his way of saying he’s happy.” He adds eggs to his plate. “After breakfast, we’ll go shopping. We’ll take Lev with us.”

“Oh. Okay.” I hesitate. “But I just need the basics. Please don’t go crazy.”

He laughs. “I don’t even know what that means.”

As soon as we step into the large boutique, I already know everything here is going to be expensive. I probably couldn’t even afford a single sock, let alone two.

I also don’t miss the Closed for Private Event sign hanging on the door behind us.

A chandelier glitters overhead, the white marble floors shining so brightly they look untouched. A woman approaches in a striking red suit, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“Mr. Marinov. Welcome back.”

Of course he’s been here before.

He nods, one hand resting on Lev’s shoulder, the other settling at the small of my back as he guides me farther inside.

“This is Sloane. She’s my…” His gaze catches mine and my stomach flips. “She’s a good friend, and as I already told you, she’ll be needing a full wardrobe.” His hand presses a little firmer at my back. “And I mean everything.”

The manager claps her hands once. “Of course. We’re delighted to have you. There are pastries and coffee set up in the lounge, and we’ve already selected some pieces based on the sizes you sent ahead.”

She glances at me, taking in my leggings and tank top, and I suddenly want to hide from embarrassment. I probably look like I don’t even belong here—which, duh, I don’t.

Kirill squeezes my hip, and I swear he senses exactly where my mind just went.

“Come with me to the back.” She gestures toward a hallway. “The girls and I will help you try things on.”

Lev climbs onto a sofa nearby, already pulling on his headphones and opening a book about planets.

I hesitate, but Kirill leans closer, his lips near my ear. “You belong here, solnishko. Just like anyone else.”

I want to believe him, but I’ve never fit anywhere, and a place like this is a lifetime away from who I am.

“Go have fun. And I want to see everything you try on.”

“Everything?” I tease, getting brave.

The second the word leaves me, his gaze flicks to my lips and stays there just a little too long.

“Ty menya s uma svedesh,” he growls, biting my earlobe like he can’t help himself.

The reaction is immediate: my pulse stumbling, a throb pulsing between my thighs.

God, this is wrong…but I don’t want to pull away.

“I need you to go to the back now.” He steps away, a fist tightening at his side.

My face burns, suddenly aware of the way his attention clings to me even from a distance.

“And take your time,” he adds as he lowers himself into one of the velvet chairs.

His long legs stretch out as he unbuttons his cuffs and pushes his navy dress shirt up his veiny forearms, and I can’t stop picturing those arms pinning me to the mattress as he takes me roughly.

“Try everything,” he adds. “We’re not leaving until you have what you need.”

What I need is for my heart to stop racing every time he looks at me like that, but I don’t think they stock that here.

The next hour blurs. I’m ushered in and out of a dressing room easily three times the size of my old bedroom, slipping into soft blouses and perfectly cut jeans, cozy sweaters and dresses that fall just right. They put me in things I never would have taken off a hanger, and every time I step out, Kirill’s gaze moves over me, quietly assessing.

“We’ll take that,” he says when I turn uncertainly in a pale blue floral dress.

“Are you sure?” I smooth the skirt over my thighs, feeling like I’m playing dress-up. “I don’t really have anywhere to wear something like this.”

“You will,” he says simply.

A pale green wrap dress earns the same verdict. So do the lounge sets, the coats, the denim that hugs all my curves.

When I protest—because the growing pile of “yes” pieces is getting ridiculous—he just looks at the saleswoman and says, “All of it.”

“All of it?”

Are you insane, sir?

He cuts me a look that says stop arguing and swivels back to the staff. “She will also need gowns. Formal. Different styles. Events, dinners, charity events. Nothing overly revealing.”

One of the women nods and leads me back into the dressing room. A moment later, she returns with a rack of shimmering fabrics, rich colors, and delicate beading. My stomach flips. The idea of standing beside him in places where people actually belong in clothes like this makes me feel painfully out of place.

After I show him a few, he selects five without hesitation.

Then the saleswoman brings out lingerie and nightgowns, and my eyes widen.

“Ugh. I don’t think I’ll be needing those.”

She chuckles. “Mr. Marinov insisted you have all kinds of undergarments, so we want to make sure you have the essentials.”

“And these are essentials?”

Her mouth tips up. “When you’re with a man like him, yes.”

“But we’re not together.”

She shakes her head and gives me another laugh. “Have you told him that? Because that man is crazy about you, and considering he’s never brought another woman here, I would say you matter more than you think.”

She disappears, leaving me alone to wonder what to do with what she just said.

I push away the thought, get dressed, and step back out front. By the time I’m done, I have an entire wardrobe. Day clothes, night clothes, shoes stacked in boxes higher than my hips, and a small velvet tray of jewelry that Kirill approved with a nod and a quiet, “She will need those.”

I lose track of the numbers as the manager lists them off, but I catch the total when she says it to him, and my brain just stalls.

$765,427.85.

Almost a million dollars. On me.

Kirill doesn’t even blink. He simply hands her a card.

This is insane.

When we’re done, he loads the car with our purchases, and once we’re all settled, he gets back on the road.

“Did you have fun?” His palm lands on my knee, massaging it gently.

“Yes, thank you.” A blush creeps up my neck. “I felt like a princess.”

“Good.” He glances at me, his hand still on my knee. “But you’re no princess.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly too tight.

“You’re a queen.”

A slow burn climbs my spine. His words mean more than he realizes.

Minutes tick by, and I expect us to be heading home…but instead, he pulls into a car dealership. A winged B logo and the word Bentley sit on the front of a wide one-story building.

“Are you…buying a new car?” I ask as we step out, Lev rushing up to hold both our hands.

“Yes,” he says simply, leading us into the showroom.

Rows of vehicles gleam under bright lights, each one more intimidating than the last. We walk past them, and I can’t help staring, admiring each one.

“If you could choose any car here for yourself, which would it be?”

The question catches me off guard. I can’t even imagine owning something like this.

A huff of a laugh leaves me. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m more of a ‘whatever doesn’t die on the highway’ kind of girl.”

A hint of amusement crosses his face. “Humor me. Look around.”

“Okay.”

What’s the harm in that, right? I let go of Lev’s hand and wander down the row, passing over the sleek sports cars, stopping at the glossy SUVs. One in particular catches my eye: a medium-sized navy SUV.

“This one.” I run my hand over the shiny paint.

Kirill comes up beside me, following my gaze. “Why that?”

“It’s a good size.” My cheeks burn like I’m on a job interview. “Practical. Higher off the ground. I’d feel safer in something like this. And…I don’t know. It looks like it could handle snow and potholes without falling apart.”

“Hmm. What about the color?”

I shrug, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my tank. “I actually like this one.”

His eyes stay on me, something passing through them too quickly to name. Then he turns to the salesman who’s been hovering at a respectful distance, clearly waiting for his moment.

“We’ll take the blue Bentayga,” Kirill says, voice switching into that crisp, business tone that makes people snap to attention. “Top package. Everything.”

The salesman practically glows. “Of course, Mr. Marinov. We can have it detailed and delivered to your residence this afternoon. We’ll include the extended maintenance plan, the upgraded sound system, rear entertainment screens, custom interior detailing, ceramic coating…everything you had on the last one.”

My God, how many cars does he have? I’ve seen at least three in the driveway alone.

“And I want bulletproof windows,” Kirill adds, like he’s ordering extra sauce on a pizza. “As always.”

“Of course, sir.” The salesman nods. “We’ll make sure it has the full security package, per your usual specifications.”

He finishes the deal in a handful of signatures and a firm shake of hands.

Lev has wandered over to stare at another SUV, humming to himself, fingers smoothing over the seam where two panels meet.

When we finally step back out into the daylight, my brain’s still somewhere inside counting zeros, wondering how it can be so easy to spend that much money in one day. Kirill strolls beside me, one hand on Lev’s shoulder, the other brushing lightly against my back every few steps, as if he’s making sure I stay within arm’s reach.

“I really hope you liked that car,” he says after a moment, eyes trained ahead.

I let out a shaky laugh. “Why does that matter? It’s your car.”

He stops walking and faces me fully, his attention pinning me in place.

“It matters…” He clasps my hand, thumb stroking over my skin. “Because I bought it for you, solnishko.”

“Wh-what?” I blink back in shock. “Kirill, no. That’s…that’s too much. The clothes were already…this is…” The words scrape out of my throat.

“It’s not too much. You’ll be taking care of my son, remember? You’ll be driving him. I want you both protected at all times.”

Right. This is about Lev. Nothing more.

“I understand. Thank you.”

He takes a half step closer, and my lungs forget how to work properly. Lev stands next to him, headphones clasped over his ears, absorbed in examining the rims of another vehicle, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing right next to him.

“I take care of what is mine,” he says, gruff and somehow gentle at the same time. “And you are mine, Sloane.”

His? How…

His knuckles brush down my cheek, a barely there touch that still manages to send a shiver all the way through me. My body leans into it before I can stop myself, traitorous and hungry for every bit of warmth he offers.

I close my eyes for one stolen second, letting myself feel it: the safety, the belonging, the way his claim wraps around this part inside me that has been starving for far too long.

Then I open them again and remember.

Remember Eli’s threats. Remember Milo. Remember the ledger I’m supposed to find in this man’s house.

Kirill’s thumb pauses at the corner of my mouth, those dark and probing eyes searching mine as if he’s trying to read all the things I’m not saying.

“I don’t deserve any of this.” My voice cracks.

“Maybe not in your mind.” He holds my face in both hands. “But in mine, you do.”

Tears sting my eyes.

He doesn’t know how wrong he actually is.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

KIRILL

Sloane is quiet on the way home—staring out the window, fingers clasped—and I wonder if she’s thinking about the money. She kept saying it was too much today. About the clothes. The shoes. The car. Every single thing I put in front of her.

I say it isn’t enough. I hate that she’s been trained to think a good life is something she has to apologize for, but the longer she’s under my roof, the more she’ll get used to it. And if I have it my way, she won’t be leaving at all.

At the next red light, I reach across the console and take her hand from where it rests on her thigh. Her fingers go stiff in mine, then soften, letting me lace our hands together. I lift her knuckles to my mouth and press a slow kiss there, knowing I shouldn’t be doing any of it.

When I glance over, her eyes are bright, mouth parted like she’s caught between pulling away and climbing onto my lap. She doesn’t snatch her hand back; instead, her fingers curl around mine and she lets me hold it, our fingers threaded as I drive one-handed the rest of the way.

“You’re not used to people doing things for you,” I say, more statement than question.

She laughs under her breath. “That obvious?”

“Da.” I squeeze her hand. “Get used to it. I don’t plan to stop.”

She doesn’t answer, but the way her throat works around a swallowed sound tells me enough.

I’ll spend every fucking day proving her worth to her, even if it takes me a lifetime. Because she deserves all of it. The clothes. The car. A home. More than any of us do.

By the time we roll through the gates and up the driveway, I already know what I’m doing as soon as I head to my office to get some work done. I’m calling my people in New York. I need an update on Barrett and Eli so detailed that I know what they ate for breakfast.

If they’ve been asking questions about her, about anyone she knows—if they’ve even thought about her—I’ll make sure Konstantin’s Calabrian black pigs devour every single inch of their flesh until there’s nothing to identify.

When we pull up into the driveway, I circle to open her door, then get Lev out of his seat before we head inside.

After we slip off our shoes and coats, Lev takes off for the living room and we follow him. Once he spots his puzzle box on the rug, he drops cross-legged on the floor, already pulling it toward him.

“I have some work to catch up on,” I tell her. “I’ll be in my office. Let me know if you need me.”

Sloane looks back at me over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll keep ourselves entertained.”

A quick smile, and then she’s on the rug beside Lev. The pull to stay hits hard, but I’m already behind on the finances for Marinov Holdings, the corporation that keeps our legitimate and illegitimate businesses afloat.

In my study, the door clicks shut behind me as I wake the laptop, then head for the safe hidden behind the Cézanne painting I bought at a private sale for two hundred and fifty million. I only bought it because one of my uncles wanted it and I hate the svolich.

Reaching into the safe, I pull out the contract I need for work, and that’s when something else catches my eye: the file I keep on Sloane.

If she ever finds out the truth, I don’t think she’ll look at me the same. Not about any of it.

I take what I came for, lock the safe, slide the painting back into place, and sit down at my desk.

An hour drags by as I finish what needs to be done. Then I pick up my phone and open the encrypted app I use for my guy in New York.

Kirill

Need a deep pull on Barrett and Eli. Last sixty days. Travel, calls, anyone they’ve leaned on. Anything that might interest me.

Timur

Done.

I drop the phone onto the desk and pull up the living room security feed. Lev and Sloane are on the rug with puzzle pieces scattered like bright confetti.

She sits across from him with her knees pulled in, hair loose around her face as she studies the shapes. When he slides a piece toward her, she makes a dramatic gasp and praises him like he just solved something impossible. Lev’s shoulders lift, his mouth quirks, and he focuses harder.

He doesn’t do puzzles with just anyone, and the more time he spends with her, the more he welcomes her into his world. That’s going to be a problem when she leaves.

Unless I find a way to keep her with us for good.

You can marry her…

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mutter a curse. There’s no way she’d ever agree to that now that she knows who I am.

Who says she has to agree?

Blyat. Net.

I can’t do that to her. Not after everything she’s been through. If it ever comes to that, it has to be her choice. She has to say yes on her own.

I continue to watch them, unable to look away. This is what Lev should’ve had with his mother. Someone who loves him, who wants to be there.

My blood turns hot when I think about that woman. He doesn’t need her. He has me. He has Sloane. And that has to be enough.

They place the last piece, and she throws her hands in the air, grinning when he copies her. Then he crawls right onto her lap. Her arms slide around him and pull him close as he tucks his face against her chest, hands hooked behind her back.

For a long time, I was the only one who could give him that. But not anymore, and I’m okay with it.

She drops her chin to the top of his head and shuts her eyes, like she’s found somewhere she can be safe too.

I drag a hand down my face. Staying away from her is already tearing at me, and seeing her like this with my son only makes it harder.

Every instinct in me wants to walk out there, sit on that rug, pull her back against me, and let Lev fall asleep between us like we belong to each other. Like it’s always been us.

Instead, I remain here, even though it kills me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SLOANE

Over breakfast the next day, I try to act like I’m fine, even though my nerves are shot. Eli is probably going to text me at some point to ask what happened at the auction. I keep wondering why he didn’t message yesterday.

Then a sudden thought hits: what if he’s dead? That would definitely solve most of my problems.

Ignoring my dark thoughts, I force myself to smile at Lev, who’s sitting beside me finishing his food with his small hand wrapped around mine like he needs to make sure I don’t disappear. I don’t know why that breaks my heart a little, but it does.

Kirill watches us over the rim of his coffee mug, the corner of his mouth lifting as he lowers the cup.

“Before I forget…” He reaches into his pocket, sets a black card on the counter, and slides it toward me. “This is for you.”

My body goes still.

“It’s connected to my account, so it doesn’t have a limit. Use it for whatever you’d like.”

I just stare at it, not sure what to do.

“Kirill, please. This is too much. Between the car, clothes, the salary…I can’t take this. It makes me feel like I’m using you.”

“Malyshka…” He laughs deep in his chest. “You’re not using me. I promise. It makes me happy to see you happy. So please take it.” He nudges the card closer.

“Is this how you treat all your friends?” A nervous laugh bubbles out.

Something tightens in his face, a muscle in his jaw ticcing once. He doesn’t answer, simply goes back to eating like he didn’t hear me at all, and suddenly I can’t swallow another bite.

Because I don’t want to be his friend. Somewhere along the way, he became more than that, and no matter how many reasons I stack up for why he isn’t right for me, I keep falling anyway, deeper with every passing day.

Kirill’s gaze flicks up again, holding mine like he knows exactly where my mind just went, then he shifts his attention to Lev.

“Sloane will drop you off at school today, Lev.” His voice is gentler now.

Lev looks up, and when his gaze lands on me, something bright sparks in him.

It sparks in me too.

My mind goes straight to Milo. To the first time the boys meet. Will they get along? Will Lev trust him the way he trusts me? Will they grow into the kind of brothers who always have each other’s backs, the way siblings are supposed to?

God, what am I doing?

My life is a wreck, and I keep building a make-believe future. I need to stop. My focus needs to be on getting Milo out of my sister’s grasp, and out from under Eli too.

“Papa has to go to work now.” Kirill rises and kisses the top of Lev’s head. “I will see you after school.”

Lev stays intent on his plate, carefully cutting his pancake into neat triangles while Kirill straightens and reaches for his keys.

He hesitates as he looks at me, like he’s on the verge of doing something he wants more than he should. Instead, he only stands there towering over me, his cologne curling around me in a slow wave that warms my skin. My fingers tighten in my lap, a low ache throbbing through my body as his gaze drops and settles on my mouth, heat spreading through me under the weight of it.

Then, almost like he catches himself, he leans in and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I will see you later, solnishko.”

Emotion burns behind my eyes. I don’t understand how a man who’s supposed to be dangerous can make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

After breakfast, I get Lev buckled into the back of my new SUV and drive him to school. Half an hour later, we pull into the lot, and I park wherever I can find a spot. I help him out, then take his hand in mine as we walk toward the entrance.

Kids and parents move around us in little clusters while teachers stand near the doors, greeting students as they come in.

When we reach the front steps, I squeeze his hand and bend to his level. “Have a good day, okay? I’ll see you after school.”

He gives me a hug, and my arms go around him, holding on for a few more seconds.

“Come on, Lev,” the teacher says as he pulls away, glancing back over his shoulder.

Giving him one more wave, I watch him go inside before I return to my car just as a text comes in, and my heart instantly sinks.

Eli

Are you in?

I want to lie. Tell him his plan failed. But that won’t help. Eli won’t let this go, and he’ll find out if I lie. And if he thinks I’m playing him, he’ll get angrier.

Sloane

Yes.

Eli

Did he ask you to move in?

My fingers hover, wishing he was truly dead. Maybe that makes me evil, but I don’t care.

Sloane

Yes.

Eli

I told you this would work. I want this done quickly. Three days. Get what I need.

Is he out of his mind?

Sloane

Three days is impossible. There are guards and cameras everywhere. The house is huge. I would need three days just to look through the whole place. That is, assuming he doesn’t catch me and kill me. I guess you forgot to mention he’s Russian Mob.

Eli

Whoops. Must’ve slipped my mind. Fine. Seven days. That’s it.

His words don’t offer any relief. Seven days is just a longer walk to the same cliff.

Eli

I swear, if you play me, I’ll kill you and that kid—and believe me, your new boyfriend will never find your body, no matter how good he may be.

My hands go numb around the phone. I want to throw up. To scream. I want to rip Milo out of school and run until my lungs bleed.

But I can’t. I won’t be safe, no matter where I go.

Sloane

Okay. I’ll do it. Just stay away from my son.

Eli

Glad you smartened up. Get it done, Ghosthands.

I nearly smash my phone into the windshield, rage buzzing under my skin.

In a perfect world, I’d tell Kirill everything and let him handle it. But I can’t. I can’t let him find out who I am. And I’m not about to drag him into this either, not when he’s all Lev has.

I sit there with both hands locked on the steering wheel, forcing myself to think.

Seven days. I can do this. I can steal from the one man I’m falling for.

Easy-peasy…

A bitter laugh scratches at my throat, but I fight it. Instead, I start the car and pull out of the lot, trying to figure out how I’m going to start looking through the property. It has to seem casual so none of the guards catch on.

By the time I reach the house, I fix my face into something neutral before I step out. The guards nod as I enter, and once I’m settled, I move through the rooms as though I’m getting acquainted with my new surroundings.

My eyes flick to corners, to ceiling lines, to the places cameras would hide. But I’m sure there are places he doesn’t have cameras just to avoid being caught saying or doing something illegal. I notice the guards everywhere, posted at the main areas and doors where they can see me. Getting around them will be the hardest part.

I trail my fingers along the back of a chair like I’m admiring it, but my brain is already noting which halls and rooms are really guarded and which ones aren’t.

If I had to guess, he either keeps the ledger in the safe, or maybe the basement. That’s where most of the rich people we hit used to hide theirs: behind expensive paintings, tucked into custom walls, sometimes even a vault under a carpet or in a wine cellar.

Kirill could be smarter than all of them. Or maybe he’s like most who think they’re untouchable.

But wherever it is, I have to give Eli something, or my son dies. And I’m not losing him. Not for anything.

Even if it costs me my life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SLOANE

After school, I’m back at pickup, waiting by the curb while Lev’s teacher walks him out. The second he spots me, his eyes expand and a tiny smile forms.

“Hey, buddy.” I take his hand, thanking his teacher before we head for the car. “How was your day?”

He doesn’t answer, just squeezes my fingers a little tighter, and I let that be enough.

At the SUV, I guide him into the backseat and start buckling him in, making sure the strap sits right and doesn’t irritate him.

“If anyone ever bothers you at school…” I meet his eyes. “You tell me. Okay?”

I don’t ever want him to feel alone in that place, and I know sometimes it’s easier to tell someone else before telling your parents, so I’m trying to be that safe place for him.

He grips his headphones, then lets out a sigh. I squeeze his hand once, shut the door, and circle to the driver’s seat.

The address for his two therapy sessions is already programmed into the GPS, and when I check the map, I realize it isn’t far from my place—well, the place I used to call home. Maybe I can sneak over there while he’s in therapy and see Milo, even if I have to hide in the car.

All I need is a few minutes. I just want to see my son.

The drive is short, and once we arrive, I give Lev a hug and hand him off to a kind-looking blonde he already seems comfortable with.

He peers back at me as they head in, and as soon as they do, I text Kirill to let him know all is good so he doesn’t worry.

It takes me fifteen minutes to get to my sister’s, and I sit half a block away, waiting for Milo’s bus to come, right on the corner of our street.

I don’t see my sister waiting for Milo. Instead, there’s a man, maybe in his thirties, who I don’t recognize.

Is he there for another child? But who the hell is picking up my son?

When the bus rolls to a slow stop, I don’t see him yet…until it pulls away, and that’s when I see my baby.

I’m already rushing out of the car to him, about to cross the street, but then he grabs the man’s hand and I can’t seem to breathe.

Who the hell is that?

They stroll toward the house together just as my sister pulls up, waving to them.

Is he her boyfriend?

She says something to him before heading into the house, while Milo climbs into the man’s white SUV.

I’ll have to find out who that is on my own. My sister sure as hell won’t tell me.

When they pull onto the road, I follow, taking the same turns a few cars back until they reach a park less than a mile from the house. I stop two rows over, slip on my sunglasses, and trail after them at a safe distance.

A quick glance at the time tells me I can do this and still get back to Lev. He’ll be in therapy for an hour.

I find a bench with a clear view and sink onto it, forcing myself to stay still. Milo is already kicking a ball toward him, his laughter carrying across the grass, so close it feels like I could reach out and grab it. My hands clench in my pockets so I don’t run over there, scoop him up, and forget every consequence.

When Milo kicks the ball too hard and it rolls toward the trees, he takes off after it, disappearing behind the line of trunks.

This is my only chance. The man is distracted, phone to his ear, so I move quickly, cutting across the grass and slipping toward the trees.

“Milo,” I whisper.

His head snaps toward me, and his eyes go wide.

“Mommy?” he almost shouts, the word climbing out of him like he can’t hold it in.

“Shh.” I drop into a crouch, pressing a finger to my lips. “Hi, baby. I just wanted to say hi.” The back of my throat aches. “I missed you so, so much.”

He crashes into me, arms wrapping around my neck so tight it hurts. But I’d welcome all the pain in the world if I could have him back.

“Mommy, please.” His voice wobbles against my cheek. “Can I come with you? I don’t want to stay with Aunt Camille anymore.” Tears gather as he weaves back. “I miss you, Mommy.”

My hands shake as I hold him, my grip turning desperate. “I miss you too, baby. I miss you every day, and I wish we could be together.”

“Did you find a house yet? For me to live with you?” The hope in his tone is almost too much.

“Not yet.” I swallow hard. “But I’m close. You’ll be with me soon.”

I pray I didn’t just make a promise I can’t keep.

His eyes glaze over even more, and he grips me again, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear the second he lets go. My gaze flicks past him to the guy in the distance.

“Who’s that man with you, bud?” I smooth a hand down the back of his hair.

“That’s Tim. He’s my babysitter when Aunt Camille can’t watch me.”

What does she even know about him?

“Is he nice?”

Milo shrugs. “Yeah. He plays with me.”

“Okay.” I force myself to nod. “Good.”

“Milo? Where are you?” Tim calls like we summoned him.

Crap.

“You should go back,” I whisper, trying to guide Milo away, but his chin trembles.

“I don’t wanna.”

My own tears rush up just as Tim appears.

He takes one look at the two of us, and his expression hardens. “Who the hell are you? Get away from him before I call the cops.”

Milo’s fingers clamp down around mine. “You can’t call the police on my mommy!”

Tim freezes, then his brow lifts. “Mommy?”

My heart pounds so hard it’s like it might shove its way out of my chest. If he tells my sister, I’ll never see Milo again.

“Yes.” My throat tightens. “I’m his mom.”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Your sister said you were dead.”

The world tilts.

That bitch.

I can’t even find anger. The shock takes up all the space. Of course I’d be dead in Camille’s world.

“My mommy is not dead.” Milo’s chin juts out with fierce little conviction.

Tim’s gaze flicks to Milo, then back to me, and something changes on his face. A crack in his certainty, like he notices the resemblance now.

“Yeah, I can see that…” He scratches the top of his head.

“My sister and I don’t get along,” I say, choosing my words carefully in case any of this gets back to her. “It’s a long story, but she took him from me, and I intend to get him back. I’m not…I’m not on drugs or anything. It’s not like that. We had a falling-out and she’s doing this to punish me.”

Tim’s eyes go flat. “Look, I don’t care about your drama. She pays me, so I’m going to have to report this.”

“Please.” I hate that I’m begging a stranger for access to my own child, but for Milo, I would crawl if it meant keeping him close for one more minute. “I can pay you too. Whatever you want. If you could just…let me see him here. At the park. For a little while. Maybe every other day. I’ll pay you whatever you want. My sister would never know.”

Tim studies me, and I swear he’ll say no.

Then he shrugs. “Fine. But I want five hundred. Every time.”

My mind goes blank. “What?”

“That’s what I want.” His mouth twitches. “Can you do it or not?”

Five hundred dollars might as well be five thousand…but Milo’s grip tenses around my hand, and I already know the answer.

“Okay. Five hundred.”

I hate the thought of using the card Kirill gave me, but this isn’t for me.

“You can send it now. For today.” Tim crosses his arms.

“Yeah. Okay.” I fumble in my bag for the card, fingers clumsy. “I just need to add the payment method to the app.”

He watches the whole time, impatience written all over his face. When I’m finally set up, he gives me his number and I send the money, nausea creeping up my throat as the confirmation goes through.

What will Kirill think? Will he even notice five hundred when he spends millions like it’s nothing?

Tim checks his phone, and his expression eases for the first time. Then it hardens again.

“We don’t have a lot of time before I have to bring him back.”

“Okay.”

Neither do I. If I’m late for Lev, Kirill will fire me, and I can’t lose this job.

Glancing over at the food truck, I ask Milo if he’s hungry.

“Ice cream.” He grins, and of course I can’t say no.

When we wander over, hand in hand, he orders a giant chocolate cone.

“Can you actually eat that?” I grin.

He takes a huge lick, then snorts when it smears across his nose.

I reach out and wipe it with my thumb. “I think the ice cream is eating you.”

“I don’t care.” He laughs, already consumed by it.

“Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s sit over by the bench.”

“Okay, Mommy.” His whole face brightens like I just handed him the world, and I have to blink fast to keep myself together.

We settle on a bench, and Tim drops onto the one across from us, phone in hand, glancing at us from the corner of his eye and trying to look serious. But the longer Milo talks, the more his expression softens, like it’s hard to stay cold in front of a kid this sweet and funny. Chocolate smears at the corner of Milo’s mouth, and I shake my head with a giggle.

“Hold still.” I use a napkin to wipe it clean.

God I miss this. The little things. Like helping him tie his shoelaces, cleaning up after him, reading him bedtime stories. I just miss him so much.

“Mooom,” he mumbles, the cone dripping down his fingers and onto his wrist.

It almost hurts to look at him because I know what’s coming. I know I’m going to have to say goodbye, and it’ll kill me.

But for now, this has to be enough. Sitting here with Milo, laughing with him, feeling his shoulder press into me, it gives me something I haven’t had in a long time.

Hope.

One day, baby. One day I’m going to take you back.

And nobody is going to keep you from me again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

KIRILL

The hours at work drag, and I already can’t wait to get home and see my son.

As soon as I think that, she appears in my mind. I can’t wait to see her either. Every time I think of her on that stage, selling herself like that…blyat, I can’t think straight.

Curling my fingers around the edge of my desk, I tap through a few emails, barely registering a word before my office phone rings.

“Meeting. My office. Now.” Konstantin’s tone is tight.

My mind immediately goes to the Whitlocks and the problem we still have with them.

A few minutes later, I’m in the corridor, headed for his door. As soon as I step inside, Aleksei appears behind me, looking like he’s been dragged through hell and decided he liked the scenery. His shirt is clean, his suit still immaculate, but his face has seen better days.

Settling into one of the armchairs, I let my gaze sweep over him. “What happened to you? Had to keep your eyes open all night so your wife doesn’t stab you to death?”

He scoffs as he drops into the chair beside mine, that smug smirk already in place. “If Fiona wanted to stab me, she wouldn’t need me asleep.”

“Good to know your marriage is thriving,” I chuckle.

“Speaking of marriages…” His eyes cut to me. “Have you asked your homeless girl yet? I’m sure she’d prefer your bed over the car she sleeps in.”

My nostrils flare, and I have never wanted to kill him more. “Watch your mouth.”

Aleksei shrugs. “I am just worried about her. It’s not every day the woman you care about joins one of our auctions. Did you invite her to spend the night at least?”

“I told you to watch your mouth.” My teeth grit.

His smile widens like he’s pleased with himself, like this is his favorite sport.

“Enough,” Konstantin cuts in. “We have real business to discuss.”

“What’s so urgent?” I shift my focus to him, grateful he saved Aleksei from getting his face rearranged.

The last thing I need is blood on my shirt. It cost too much.

Konstantin leans back in his chair. “I found a contact. For the weapons.”

Aleksei’s eyes narrow. “Who?”

“The Albanians.”

We’ve worked with them before. Just not for this.

Aleksei tilts his head, considering it. “How fast can they move what we need?”

“It will take time,” Konstantin says. “They need a secure route, but they want assurances. They want to know we are all aligned before they move product.”

Anton’s gaze stays on Konstantin. He doesn’t react, but he hears everything. He always does.

I nod once. “We’re fine with it if you are.”

Konstantin flicks his face to me. “Good. I will let him know we are set. We will have this sorted soon. But for now, I have a plan for the Whitlocks.”

That gets all of us curious. Even Anton moves, taking the empty chair at the conference table.

Konstantin looks directly at him. “I need you to be the one to do it.”

“Do what?”

Konstantin reaches for an orange envelope on the table, pulls out a photo, and slides it across toward Anton. I catch the woman’s face just as he does.

He picks it up and studies her like she’s not a person, but a problem he needs to assess. “Who is that?”

“Thora Whitlock.” Konstantin folds his arms over his chest. “Youngest child of Harlan Whitlock. And your target.”

Anton’s eyes lift from the photo for a brief glance, then drop right back to her. There’s no emotion in them—just that cold, unnerving curiosity.

“You want me to kill her?” He looks almost interested.

Excited is not the word to describe him. Anton doesn’t get excited. He gets…engaged. Like his mind clicks into place and the rest of the world fades into background noise.

“Not yet,” Konstantin says. “I want you to follow her. I want you to know her routine inside and out. I want to know when she wakes up, when she goes to sleep, where she goes, who she speaks to, what her habits are when she thinks no one is watching. I want everything. And when the time comes—if it comes—I want you to be the one to kill her.”

Silence stretches as Anton stares at the photo again. His thumb slides along the edge, then his finger drifts across the image, slow and almost careful, tracing the line of her face like he’s memorizing it or studying a blueprint. He’s like a wolf deciding when to bite.

Anton lifts his gaze and shrugs. “Consider it done.”

The words land like a match. And I know what it means.

This war has already started. We just haven’t fired the first shot.

The engine is already running, the navigation set for one of our restaurants where I have a meeting with an investor, when my cellphone rings.

When I glance down, I find Oleg’s name, one of the men I put on Sloane without her knowing it. There is no way I will allow her out in the world without protection. Lev, of course, has his own guard, who is instructed to go wherever Lev goes, but this is her guard alone.

“Da, Oleg?”

A pause hits, then his voice comes through like he is choosing his words with too much care.

“Boss, I have been watching her all day as you asked, but…” He trails off.

Something is wrong.

Fingers snap around the steering wheel. “What is it? Say it.”

“She is with a man.”

Everything goes quiet in my skull, and I wonder if I heard right.

“What man?”

“Ya neznayu.” I don’t know. “I am not close enough to hear their conversation.” He pauses again, and I can just see him sweating. “There is a little boy with them too. They are at the park. She got the boy ice cream, and they are all laughing together.”

Laughing? She’s laughing with another man?

Heat crawls up my spine while that animal part of me that does not negotiate or share roars to the surface. She did not tell me about any men in her life. No mention of a boyfriend.

Svolich. Who is he? And why do I want to kill him already?

The steering wheel creaks under my grip. “Send me a photo.”

Oleg clears his throat.

“Now.”

“Da, da khorosho.”

I end the call and wait for the damn photo to come through like my life depends on it. The phone buzzes a few seconds later, and I quickly open it, my heart almost giving out when I see her with him.

Sloane’s face is turned toward the camera, her eyes on the bastard across from her, hair pulled back, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her smile is wide, real, and it’s not for me.

When I look at the boy, I immediately recognize him. It’s her nephew.

Maybe it’s her sister’s boyfriend or a cousin. Maybe she just missed her nephew. But something doesn’t sit right.

I should just follow her myself. The meeting can go to hell.

But I know Konstantin would not be forgiving. I need to make this meeting.

My fist lands hard against the middle console of my car.

The phone buzzes again.

Oleg

Do you want us to approach?

My thumb hovers.

Approach and make a scene? Walk into that park and let Sloane see exactly what she has triggered in me?

No, I can’t do that. Not yet. I will let this play out. Let’s see if she lies about it when I ask what she did today.

Kirill

No. Stay back and watch. Tell me if he touches her.

Oleg

Okay, boss.

I remain in the car, eyes locked on her face, like staring hard enough will change what I’m seeing.

It doesn’t. Sloane’s still smiling at him.

“Fuck.” My fist cracks on the wheel, the sound too loud in the quiet car.

I drop the phone onto the seat and start the engine, needing to get the hell out of here.

I keep telling myself I’m overreacting. It’s nothing. But in the back of my mind, I’m already wondering what else she’s been hiding from me…and whether she understands what happens when a man like me decides he wants answers.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SLOANE

I’m back at Kirill’s after picking up Lev from therapy, and all I can think about is my son—how much I want him with me, how wrong it feels that he isn’t.

How long can I go on like this? This pain, the constant state of missing him, is like a permanent fixture of my existence.

Lev settles on the sofa in the den with his book on constellations, headphones over his ears, humming softly under his breath as he turns a page. I take the couch across from him just as my phone buzzes in my hand. Mandy’s name flashes on the screen, and my stomach dips before I even read it. She’s probably already found out I’m not coming back to the diner, and I haven’t had a chance to tell her about my new job.

Mandy

Um, do you hate me or something?

Sloane

What? No, of course not.

Mandy

Then why in the hell did I just find out from MARK that you’re not working at the diner anymore? I mean, I thought as your BFF, I would at least receive this news from, you know, you? But what do I know…

Sloane

Don’t be dramatic. I still love you. It just happened so suddenly and I haven’t had time to tell you.

Mandy

What happened?

Sloane

I got another job.

Mandy

Okay, and that is?

If you tell me you have decided that climbing Kirill is your new permanent position, I MAY be able to forgive you. I will wait to see what you say before I decide.

Sloane

How generous of you. The job is with Kirill.

Mandy

Now we’re talking.

Sloane

I ran into Kirill and he was telling me how he needed a nanny for Lev and, well, I got the job.

Lying isn’t my proudest moment, but it’s not like I can tell her the truth.

Mandy

Holy. Shit. Wait, are you living with Mr. Russian Hottie? Or should I call him DILF? Nah, I think I prefer Russian Hottie. Has a better ring to it.

Sloane

Yeah, I’m living with Mr. Russian Hottie…

Mandy

OMG. Can I be you? Please?

Sloane

Sure, but nothing is going on between us, so get those dirty thoughts out of your head.

Mandy

The more you tell me to get them out of my head, the more they come barreling in…and damn, they’re filthy.

Sloane

You’re insane.

Mandy

I’m a hopeless romantic. Sue me.

Sloane

Kirill and I are just friends. And now I’m his son’s nanny, so there is negative five hundred chance anything is going to happen.

Mandy

Ha! I’ll take that bet. Loser tells winner, “You’re the smartest person I know, and I will never argue with you again.”

(I will be screenshotting this.)

Sloane

I’m rolling my eyes so hard it hurts, but fine. I’ll take your ridiculous bet. Nothing’s happening. So when you lose, I want a handwritten apology. I’ll make sure to get it laminated too.

Just as I hit send, the front door creaks open. I don’t even need to look up to know it’s him. His footsteps move through the house, and every inch of me tightens before he even steps into the room.

When he appears in the doorway, something low and warm unfurls in my stomach, spreading between my thighs. I swear, this is all Mandy’s fault. He’s in a black dress shirt with two buttons undone and dark gray trousers that mold to his muscular legs, and I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to keep my thoughts from becoming dirty when he looks like that.

“Privet,” he says to Lev as he steps into the room, glancing at me with a small smirk.

I can’t help but smile, my stomach doing that flip it makes when Kirill looks at me.

Lev slides his headphones off and hurries over, arms going around his father’s waist, and Kirill catches him easily, holding him there before easing back.

“Did you have a good day?”

Lev nods, hugging him again.

“And you?” His gaze pins me, and my foot bounces, afraid that he can somehow look in my eyes and know where I was today.

“I’ve had a nice day too, thanks.” Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I force a smile that I hope he can’t read through.

He stares intently, and every cell in my body turns icy.

He knows. He definitely knows…I think.

“That’s good.” He nods, moving toward the sofa and settling across from me with Lev on his lap. “You didn’t get to do anything fun all day? I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in the house. You can come and go as you please.”

I shrug. “Nah, I had nothing to do.”

Liar.

The word pulses in my brain as soon as it leaves my mouth, because of course he’s going to find out, and I have no idea what he’ll do when he does.

His eyes don’t leave me. That same long, thoughtful look stretches out, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck lift in response.

Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I’m just freaking out for no reason.

My heart starts racing so fast I can barely hear over it, and I swear he’s about to tell me he knows I lied.

But instead, he kisses Lev on the top of his head and says, “I’m going to change for dinner.”

“Okay…” I tell him as he starts for the stairs.

I sit there, staring at my jeans and tank top, suddenly unsure if I’m supposed to change too. Do people like him change into something nice for dinner, even at home? Or does he mean he’s changing into something casual? I don’t know how any of this works, and I hate that I even care because I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not anything. I’m just the help.

Except I do have a closet full of expensive clothes with nowhere to wear them. Maybe I should start.

“I’ll go change too,” I tell Lev, who’s returned to reading, completely ignoring me.

Heading upstairs, I slow when I pass his door. He’s right there. Close enough that I could knock. That I could confess everything. Why I’m here in New Jersey, that I’m a monster, a criminal who lost her son because she once had a drinking problem and nothing she has done since has been good enough. Tell him that I’m breaking. That I just need one person to hold me up and tell me it’s okay. That I’m okay. That I’m not alone.

Tears fill my eyes, but I blink past them, rushing to my side of the house instead and locking the door behind me.

Closing my eyes, I plant myself against the door, willing myself to calm down. I just need to get Eli what he wants, and then I’m gone. I’ll have my boy, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Kirill doesn’t matter. None of this matters.

Straightening my spine, I reach the closet, flipping through dresses and shirts, trying to find something that looks pretty and appropriate. When I land on a baby-blue floral pencil dress, I run my fingertips over the soft material, remembering when I put it on that day Kirill took me shopping and how much it seemed to please him to see me in it…

I slip the dress on in a hurry, leaving my clothes in the hamper in the corner of the room.

Running my fingers through my hair, I examine myself in the full-length mirror, admiring the way the dress hugs my curves.

But in the last moment, I regret it. What if this was stupid? Maybe I’m too dressed up? Maybe I should just change back.

Instead, I stay at the mirror, still looking at myself, knowing that after I leave Kirill’s, I’m never going to have nice clothes or a warm, glamorous house to call home. So maybe I can play dress-up for as long as it lasts without feeling guilty about it.

As I start out of my bedroom, his door opens at the same time, and when his eyes land on me, my heart nearly gives out. He holds my attention, his gaze intense, chest rising and falling as he lets his heated perusal drift down my body like he’s admiring every inch.

“Uh, hi…” My voice gives out. “I just…I thought I would change too. If you think it’s too much, I can change back.”

A nervous laugh slips free, and he clenches his jaw.

“Keep it on. That dress looks…” He can’t seem to get the rest of the words out, his footfalls moving toward me while I remain stuck here like cement, my pulse bouncing in my skull the closer he gets.

I can’t help returning his stare, taking in the way the black T-shirt and tailored trousers make him seem effortless and put together at the same time.

“So you like it?” I back into the door just as he steps in close, his body nearly touching mine, warmth rolling off him in waves that sink straight into my skin.

His fingers trace a slow path up the center of my dress, gliding from my stomach to the curve between my breasts, and my breathing turns more uneven the higher he goes.

“Shto mne s toboy delat, hmm?” He glances at my lips, his other hand sliding into my hair as he tilts my head back, exposing my throat before his mouth finds the pulse there. “You drive me to madness, Sloane. Do you know that?”

“I do?” A sharp current shoots straight through me and my cheeks flush as the fire inside me flares, spreading fast and impossible to ignore.

“You do. Every single day, every moment.” He presses soft, hungry kisses along my neck, and I let out a moan as my fingers glide into his hair, holding him there, wanting more, wanting everything with him.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, heat rushes straight to my face.

I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Oh God, how could I have said that to him?

A low, guttural growl pulls from his chest as his hand clenches in my hair, winding it around his wrist before he tips my head back, his eyes capturing mine. “Ti vsegda budish moya.”

His body presses into mine, and I register his hardness pushing into me. I want nothing more than to please him, to have him fill my mouth with it, to watch him enjoy what I do to him, but I’m too shy to ask for that.

“We’re supposed to be friends,” he says, like he’s tortured. “I’m not supposed to feel this way for you.”

“I know.”

I’m not supposed to feel this way either.

I cup his cheek, and he leans into my touch like he’s surrendering to me even when he shouldn’t.

“You feel too good,” he tells me.

A sting lands in the back of my throat. I want this to be easy, but how the hell would we even work?

With every breath, with those eyes raw and heated, his mouth lowers until we’re barely apart and all I want is this—to feel his mouth on mine, the hunger, the want. I want to forget everything except the two of us.

“Sloane,” he groans, his lips finally brushing mine, and⁠—

“Papa?”

Lev’s voice cuts through the moment, and Kirill pulls back instantly as I smooth down my dress, my skin burning with a mix of want and shame.

“Shto, senok?”

“Hungry. Eat?”

“Da, da. Paydom.” He clears his throat and glances back at me, giving me a small smirk. “Let’s go eat. He’s hungry.”

“Right. Of course.”

Lev slides his hand into Kirill’s, then takes mine with his other, and when Kirill glances at me, his mouth twitches like he senses it too. This inescapable pull, this quiet sense of something forming.

It almost feels real. Like we truly are a family.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

KIRILL

You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted.

Those words will probably end up carved on my tombstone one day. Or at the very least burned into my memory for the rest of my life. Because I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way she looked at me when she said it, like she meant every damn syllable.

Hours later, and I still can’t sleep.

Instead, I find myself in the basement gym, sweat dripping down my bare back as the punching bag swings violently in front of me. My fists keep driving into it over and over, but it does nothing to quiet the noise in my head.

Because the problem is, I believed her. I still do. That’s the fucked-up part.

That dress she wore tonight, the way it hugged her body, the way every inch of her seemed to beg to be touched, teased, taken until she couldn’t remember a life before me… I wanted to shove her up against the nearest wall, bury myself inside her, and hear my name fall from her lips until every dark thought left her head and I was the only thing she knew.

If Lev hadn’t walked in…

Blyat. I drag a hand down my face.

How the hell am I supposed to live in the same house with her and deny myself the one thing I want most?

And it’s not even just the sex. That would be easier. It’s everything else that drives me insane. The way she laughs when something catches her off guard. The softness in her voice when she talks to Lev. The way she blushes and gets shy around me, like she doesn’t realize the effect she has.

I want her to be more than just the nanny. Even if that’s the one thing I shouldn’t allow myself to have.

“Fuck!” My fist slams into the punching bag, the chain rattling above it as the impact sends it swinging.

I hit it again. And again. The burn spreads down my arms as sweat runs down my spine, but the tension inside me refuses to ease.

Because no matter how much I want her, she kept something from me.

Every swing of my fist is an attempt to bleed off the frustration twisting in my chest, the anger that’s been eating at me since she looked me straight in the eye and lied.

Why didn’t she mention him? Does he mean something to her?

My fist cracks against the bag again, sending it swinging hard.

Who the hell is he?

Another hit. The leather thuds beneath my gloves as the bag rolls back toward me.

I imagine his hands on her. Touching her. Taking something that doesn’t belong to him.

I’ve done nothing but try to earn her trust. And this is how she repays me?

A savage growl tears out of my chest as my breathing goes rough and uneven.

It’s a sick kind of obsession, the way I still want her. But maybe there was a reason she didn’t tell me about him. Maybe he’s tied to her past.

Or maybe I’m telling myself whatever I need to hear just so I can keep her.

My fist crashes into the bag, the jolt traveling straight up my arms.

Because I already know the truth.

The second I close my eyes tonight…she’ll be there again. Pulling me in the way she always does.

SLOANE

With a frustrated huff, I shove the comforter off my body and swing my feet onto the floor. The red numbers on the clock beside my bed glow in the dark, telling me it’s well past midnight, and I haven’t slept a minute.

Every time I close my eyes, he’s there. The way he looked at me earlier. The way his hands felt on my body. The heat between us when we almost kissed. The memory wraps around my thoughts and refuses to let go, pulling me right back into that moment no matter how hard I try to shake it off.

Ti vsegda budish moya.

What was he saying?

I head toward the door, knowing there’s no point trying to sleep again until I’ve worn myself out. If I crawl back into bed now, I’ll just lie there staring at the ceiling until morning.

Maybe I’ll grab something to eat and watch a little TV. Or maybe I’ll wander the house and see if I can spot any cameras I missed earlier while everything is quiet.

The guard barely glances at me as I walk past and head straight for the kitchen, suddenly realizing how thirsty I am. I fill a glass with water and lean against the counter while I drink, the silence of the house settling around me before I rinse the cup, dry it, and return it to the cabinet.

Instead of heading back upstairs, my feet carry me down a different corridor, one I haven’t explored yet. The hallway stretches, lined with closed doors hiding whatever is inside them, until I spot a staircase heading down.

My intuition tells me to go back upstairs, but I take the steps anyway, the air getting cooler as I descend.

Halfway down, I hear it.

A heavy thud. Then another. The sound reverberates faintly through the space, like someone hitting something with force or maybe working out.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow the sound down as it grows clearer, the steady rhythm of impact broken now by the low groan of a man.

When I reach an open doorway, I freeze.

Kirill stands a few feet away with his back to me, shirtless, his fists slamming into a hanging punching bag with a force that makes the chain above it rattle.

The muscles in his shoulders and arms move with every hit, hard and defined. Sweat runs down his back and disappears beneath the waistband of the gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, leaving me feeling tight and hot all over.

He hits the bag again. And again.

Each strike sends the bag swinging, his breathing heavy but in control. I should probably step away before he notices me, but I don’t. My eyes stay on him, drawn to the way his body moves, to the strength in every motion.

Then he shifts, the light catching his back, and I see them. The scars.

I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering who did that to him. The marks stretch across his back in harsh, uneven lines that cut through the bronzed skin of his shoulders and down toward the middle and sides—some long and jagged, others thinner but no less brutal, crossing over each other.

Did someone whip him?

Oh God…

My gasp hitches.

Kirill stops so abruptly, it’s like someone pulled a cord. His fists lower while the punching bag keeps swinging in front of him.

He doesn’t turn right away. He just stands there with his back to me, like he’s deciding what version of himself I’m about to see.

Then he pivots. His eyes find mine immediately, like he already knew it would be me.

“Sloane,” he says, his voice gritty. “What are you doing down here?”

“I…couldn’t sleep,” I manage, even as desire builds low in my stomach. I squeeze my legs, hoping it’ll ease.

When he starts toward me, peeling off his gloves and tossing them carelessly onto the floor, something in the way he looks at me sends my pulse spiking. There’s a hunger in his gaze that makes it feel like he might actually devour me.

I take a step back. Then another. But there’s no wall behind me to stop against, nothing to anchor myself to as he closes the distance.

“You wandering down here…” His knuckles brush lightly along the outline of my jaw. “That was a mistake.”

My breath leaves me unevenly as his gaze drops to my mouth, his thumb sliding slowly across my bottom lip.

“Maybe I should go,” I whisper.

A low, humorless laugh escapes him. “It’s too late now.”

My eyes widen as his free hand slides into my hair and pulls my head back, forcing my body tight against his. One arm locks around my back, holding me there, and through the thin fabric of his sweats, I can feel how hard he is, pressing straight into me.

“Oh God,” I cry out and a growl tears out of him.

“God could never save you from a man like me, malyshka.”

Pure, unfiltered lust rushes through me. There’s something masculine and dangerous in his gaze that only makes me want him more.

“Please,” I groan, the word slipping out before I can think, desire twisting through me so strongly it’s impossible to hold back.

“Please what?” His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my mouth to his as his lips brush against mine, slow and teasing until my knees turn weak beneath me.

When a soft whimper breaks free, he groans and suddenly shoves me back against the nearest wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs.

His hand slides up my thigh, teasing a slow path up until he pauses, his expression tight. “You walked around the house like this?”

He leans back just enough to take in the ivory silk nightgown, his dark gaze dragging over my body like he’s starving.

“You let my men see you like this…with these perfect tits practically on display?”

His fingers close around one nipple, tightening just enough to make my head fall back as a sharp rush of pleasure shoots through me.

I don’t know if this is a dream. But if it is, someone better not wake me up.

He hooks a finger under a single strap and yanks it down until one of my breasts slips free. I should be embarrassed, exposed, but the only thing I sense is the ache building inside me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though the small tug at the corner of my mouth betrays me.

“You will be.”

He shuts his eyes, his fist clenching at his side like he’s trying to hold himself back. When he opens them again, the heat in them is almost unbearable.

“You have three seconds to walk out of here, Sloane. Because if you don’t…” His hand comes up around my throat. “I won’t deny myself anymore.”

A quiet chuckle slips from him when I gasp. He tips my chin up until our eyes meet, holding me there so I can’t look away.

“I will fuck you until you can barely walk out of here on your own two feet.” His fingers cinch tighter. “Am I clear, malyshka?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

SLOANE

He couldn’t be any clearer than that.

I nod quickly, desperate for exactly what he just promised. My hips grind against the wall without thinking, the need for him taking over, and when he notices, another rough groan leaves his throat.

“Ya ne dolzhen tebya khotet.”

“What does that mean?” I reach for him, needing to feel him again, but he steps back just enough that my hands hover uselessly in the air.

My attention drifts over his chest instead, the hard muscle there, the skull and snake tattoos stretched across his skin, every line of him tense with restraint.

“It means…” He closes the distance again. “It means I shouldn’t want you.” His eyes drop to my exposed breast. “I shouldn’t be looking at you this way. I shouldn’t be dreaming about you. Picturing you in my bed every night.”

He grabs the other strap and tears it down so my other breast spills free, two fingers closing around my nipple until a cry escapes me.

“But I can’t stop.” His hand slowly drags down the center of my chest, catching the fabric of the nightgown and pulling it lower. “You’re all I want.”

“I want you too, Kirill,” I breathe. “So badly.”

“Is that right?” He tugs the gown farther down my stomach.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“Hmm.” He says it like he doesn’t quite believe me as his hands slide the gown past my hips until I’m completely bare in front of him.

That’s when the shyness finally creeps in, a sudden awareness of how exposed I am beneath the weight of his gaze. He must notice, because his fingers tilt my chin up before I can look away.

“Don’t.” His eyes move slowly over me, dark and intense. “Don’t ever hide from me. I want all of you. Every single inch of you is mine.”

“Yours.” The confession feels real, even though I know better.

How can I be his when he doesn’t really know me?

“Is that the truth?” His gaze narrows and my nerves ignite.

I reach for his forearm, my fingers wrapping around the warm strength of it. “Hey…what’s going on? Do you need to ask me something?”

Did you find out that I’m a con?

“There’s a lot I want to ask you.” He tosses me around, pressing me forward until my cheek meets the wall, the rest of the gown slipping from my body as he tears it away. “But right now, all I want is to hear you beg me to fill your pretty cunt.”

His palm comes down hard across my ass, and I jerk from the sting, a sharp cry leaving my lungs.

He fists my hair, his mouth dipping to my ear. “You can take it.”

He yanks my head back, just enough for his eyes to fix on mine. Then two fingers slam inside me until I scream.

“Kirill!”

“That’s it, detka. Krichi.”

He pumps into me, stretching me, his gaze drinking in every second of my pleasure. Like part of him wants to hurt me and ruin me all at once. When he slides in another finger, my walls tighten around him.

“Oh God!”

His thumb strokes my clit in a rough rhythm, the tension inside me building, the pressure tightening low in my body until it’s impossible to hold back, the need taking over until I’m hanging on by the thinnest thread.

Just as I’m about to come, he spins me, grabbing my hips, and lifts me off the ground. My legs wind around him as he walks us to the lifting bench. He lies across it, throwing me over his face until my pussy is flat against his mouth.

I barely have time to process before he sucks my clit, his tongue rolling over it while his hands grip my ass with possessive hunger. My eyes roll back, and I grab the barbell, holding on for dear life.

“Yes, yes, just like that.” I work my hips over him, wanting him deeper.

A low, gritty laugh rumbles from his chest, the sound rolling through me while he sucks harder, his teeth lightly nibbling on my center. And when his tongue flicks over me this time, I cry out, unable to handle any more, my release crashing through me until it ebbs and flows in pulsing waves.

But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he only takes more until I’m languid and weak, practically collapsing against the barbell, my body trembling with the aftershocks still rolling through me. He presses a kiss to the inside of each thigh, a low grunt leaving him as his teeth graze along the sensitive skin.

“You always taste so good, solnishko.”

Then he slides me down until I’m straddling him, seated over the hard length pressing against his sweats. My hips start to move on their own, grinding against him, and the moment the friction builds, he mutters a sharp curse in Russian.

“What are you doing?” He grabs my hips, holding me still.

“I want to make you feel good too.” My hand drops to his hard-on, fingers tightening around the crown.

“Sloane.” That one word rumbles through his chest, his nostrils flaring as his fingers tighten around my hips.

“I’ve never…you know…done that for a man before. But I want to with you.”

A lazy smirk appears. “You want to suck my cock?”

My stomach knots from the vulgarity, and I nod.

“Then I need you to say it. Tell me what you want.”

It’s as though something’s suddenly caught in my throat. I’m not the kind of girl who talks like that…but maybe I want to be.

“Come on.” His smirk sends warmth rushing through me. “Be my good girl and tell me what you want to do to me.”

“I…” My throat tightens.

God, can I actually say that out loud?

His fingers move over my thighs, warm, patient, undoing me little by little. “You what, detka? Skaji mne.”

“I…” My breath catches. “I want to…feel your…your cock in my mouth.”

The words come out soft, almost swallowed by the air between us, but the effect on him is instant. A low growl rips out of his chest as his hand slides to the back of my head and he drags me into a brutal kiss, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that steals every remaining trace of shyness from me. His teeth catch my bottom lip before his tongue pushes past, deep and demanding, and he kisses me like he means to take everything I have to give.

“Kirill,” I moan when he finally pulls back, my chest rising and falling as I stare at him—at this beautiful, dangerous man who wants me when he can have anyone he wants.

His eyes darken, drifting from my mouth down the rest of me, taking it all in before he drags me back into another kiss, just as desperate and perfect. A little braver now, I let my lips drift from his mouth to the sharp line of his jaw, brushing kisses along his skin before moving down the length of his neck.

My mouth continues lower, tracing across his chest until I reach the snake tattoo coiled there, my lips brushing over its open mouth as though it might come alive beneath my touch, ready to strike. His hand slips into my hair as I trail kisses down his stomach, my tongue gliding over the firm planes of his abs while his eyes stay locked on mine, watching every move I make.

I work his sweats down, pushing them off until his hard-on juts out, thick and rock hard.

“Touch me, Sloane,” he groans. “I need you to touch me.”

I don’t hesitate, my hand closing around him and moving slowly until a rough grunt leaves him. Dropping to my knees, I work him faster, savoring the look on his face, the way he enjoys what I’m doing to him. When his eyes shut, I lower my mouth to him and let the tip of my tongue lick up his entire length.

“Blyat, don’t stop.” He bows his hips, clutching the back of my head and pushing my mouth into him until my lips close around the crown.

I suck him deeper, wrapping my lips tighter, trying my best to get all of him down my throat until my gag reflex kicks in. I push through it, practically choking.

“You're doing good, detka.” His fingers twist tighter in my hair. “Keep going. Take all of me.”

I do my best, but my eyes start to water and I gag again, the sheer size of him making it harder than I expected. The change in my breathing must give it away because his expression shifts immediately, concern tightening his features as his hand closes gently in my hair and he pulls me back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, rising onto his elbows to look at me. “If you can’t, it’s okay.”

The softness in his voice catches me off guard. That tenderness only makes him more irresistible.

God, I want everything with him.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “I like making you feel good. Please…”

My hand tightens around his erection, and the moment I stroke him, he lets out a low groan and drops back against the bench.

“If you’re sure…” he mutters, giving in to me.

I can’t help the small thrill that runs through me, realizing I have this kind of effect on a man like him.

“I’m very sure.” My head dips back down, tongue circling the crown of his cock.

When he grunts, I do it again, swallowing him into my mouth and taking more until I start to choke again. But I refuse to stop, desire building between my thighs while I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, my hand tightening around the base.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but I can tell he likes it, and right now, that’s enough. He pumps his hips faster, holding the back of my head until I’m swallowing every inch. His length somehow thickens against my tongue as he growls out my name.

“Sloane…” Hot spurts shoot down my throat, and I welcome the taste, enjoying this more than I thought I would.

When he finishes, the tension begins to drain from his body. His grip in my hair loosens until his fingers finally slip free. Then he pulls me up, his palms settling on my hips as he draws me closer until I’m looking straight down at him. A satisfied smirk spreads across his mouth.

“You are so perfect, do you know that?”

Warmth rushes to my face. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.” His knuckles skim my cheek, and I lean into his touch.

“I like it when you’re sweet like this.”

“Is that right?”

Before I can answer, he turns us in one smooth motion, flipping me beneath him until the full weight of his body presses against mine.

“I like being sweet to you, solnishko.”

He rolls his hips into me, and somehow he’s already getting hard again, his semi-erection working against my clit until my need rises again.

“How are you already…” I drag my teeth over my bottom lip.

He lets out a chuckle. “Hard?” His thumb drifts across my lips, his gaze following the movement. “You’re naked and touching me. That’s how.”

“Oh, God,” I gasp when he deepens his strokes, the sensation stealing the air from my lungs.

His mouth comes down on mine, kissing me with an unhurried intensity, drawing it out as though he plans to savor every second of it. His tongue slides against mine as I kiss him back, doing my best to keep up, hoping he can’t tell how little experience I actually have. I try to act like I know what I’m doing, like I’m not some hopeless twentysomething who should probably be better at this by now.

But he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the opposite happens. The kiss deepens, his mouth moving over mine with more hunger before his lips drift lower, brushing along my neck as his tongue grazes the sensitive pulse beneath my skin.

His eyes land back on mine as he rises to full height and drags my hips closer until my ass is hanging off the bench. Throwing both legs over his shoulders, he starts to ease inside me inch by inch, stretching me, fitting just right. When he edges in another inch, my eyes roll back, and that’s when it hits me.

He isn’t wearing a condom.

What the hell have I just done? I mean, I’ve been on the pill for years, but still…

“Wait.”

His brows draw instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a condom?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “There are a lot of things I should be doing.” He presses in another inch. “But when it comes to you, I tend to make all the wrong decisions.” He thrust even deeper. “If you’re worried, I haven’t been with another woman in over a year. And the idea of you being pregnant…” His mouth curves faintly. “That doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it probably should.”

Before I can even process what he just said, he drives into me hard enough to freeze the air in my lungs.

“Oh God,” I whimper, my eyes falling shut as the force of it sweeps through me, so overwhelming and so right that I can barely hold on to a single thought.

Even the idea of having his baby doesn’t seem frightening in this moment, only dangerously tempting. I can’t tell whether it’s the lust talking or some irrational part of me that already feels tied to him in ways I don’t fully understand.

“Umnichka.” He pounds into me without mercy. “Take it all.”

My mouth falls open, a cry catching in my throat as he takes me with a relentless rhythm, driving his hips forward while my body tightens helplessly around him. His hand slips between us as he rubs my clit, sending another rush of sensation through me while he whispers dirty words against my ear.

“That’s my good girl. Come on my dick. Make a mess.”

The pressure builds until it consumes me completely, until it’s almost too much to bear. His other hand curls around my throat, tightening as he drives into me with a punishing intensity, his body hungry for mine, heat burning in every look he gives me.

He moves like he understands my body instinctively, like he knows exactly what I need before I do. And the harder he thrusts, the louder my cries become, spilling out of me without restraint.

“Kirill…”

My toes curl as the pressure builds higher, and when he rolls my clit just right, the orgasm crashes through me all at once. My eyes snap shut, my body clinging to him as the rush rolls through me, leaving me shuddering and breathless.

Instead of stopping, his rhythm grows stronger, fingers still rubbing me until the sensation becomes almost overwhelming again.

“Give me one more. I want to watch you squirt again.”

“What? I-I did that?”

He chuckles. “And you’ll do it again. Now show me what else I can make you do.”

The feeling of him, all thick and hard, makes my head spin, the heat between us pulling me deeper the longer his gaze holds mine. Every second draws me further in—into this moment, into him, into the dangerous thought that I could want everything with this man.

It’s more than I ever imagined it would be. And right now, I’d confess every one of my sins if it meant I could keep him.

He lifts my foot and presses a kiss to it, drawing my toes into his mouth while he keeps working me until the need builds all over again.

The deeper he slams inside me, the harder it becomes not to lose myself completely. His body lowers over mine as his movements grow rougher, more insistent, his mouth crashing into mine in a fevered kiss that sends heat racing through every part of me.

Another release crashes over me and I cry out, desperate for it all. He follows right after with a grunt, his body tightening as he comes inside me. And the warmth of his release, the way our bodies give in at the same time, feels like more than just sex. It’s something addictive, something I already know I won’t want to walk away from.

As the rush slowly fades, he lowers my legs and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose, then my forehead, my cheek, and finally my lips.

“I want you in my bed from now on.” He braces one arm against the barbell above us. “I don’t want to wake up without you.”

The words send a rush of emotion through me, and I nod, my hands moving over his back as I remember the scars etched across his skin. The thought settles heavily in my mind, making me wonder who could have done that to him…and how badly I’d like to hurt them for it.

His muscles go still beneath my touch, and he rests his cheek against my chest before pressing a slow kiss at the center of it.

“That was a long time ago. Don’t worry about me.”

“Who did that to you?”

A laugh leaves him, but it’s not amused. It’s rough and hollow, and I hate that he’s hurting.

“If I told you, you might not believe me.”

“I’d believe anything you told me.” I cradle his face in my palm when he looks down at me.

He sucks in a sharp inhale, holding it before letting it go.

“My father,” he says at last. “He was…a sick man.”

I try not to let my reaction show, but the words still land hard. A piece of my heart breaks for him anyway. I know what it means to be shaped by cruel parents, and I hate that he knows that kind of pain too.

“He used to make my brothers and me play these games,” he explains. “Games that involved torture. And if we failed…” His gaze goes distant, like part of him is back there again. “He’d beat us, starve us, lock us in dark rooms with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs too casually for what he just described. “He’s rotting now, exactly where he belongs.”

“What did he do to you?” My fingertips trace the raised lines on his back, one after another, as if I can reach back through time and take that pain from him.

“He favored a whip. These scars…they’re all from different times.” His mouth twists faintly. “There was one night he made me fight Konstantin. I lost.” A short, humorless snicker slips out of him. “Back then, I usually did. These days…it’s a different story.”

But I’m not laughing. I sit up and wrap my arms around him as he settles in front of me.

“That’s all right. At least it taught me what kind of father I’ll never become.”

I picture a younger version of him—small, desperate for even a scrap of his father’s love and getting nothing but a monster in return.

His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes down my cheek. “Don’t cry for me, malyshka.” His voice softens. “I’m okay. I promise.” Then his eyes narrow slightly. “The question is…are you?”

A jolt runs through me. Why would he ask me that?

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “I’m—I’m good.”

The lie sounds smooth enough that it almost convinces me too.

“Are you sure?”

My stomach drops.

God, I’m awful. I don’t deserve him.

“Yeah.” I manage a small smile and slide my hand around the back of his thick neck. “I’m okay. I’m happy here. With you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies my face so carefully it sends nerves skittering down my spine.

Finally he nods. “That’s good.” He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “Now, how about we take a shower and then go to bed so we can actually sleep tonight?”

His crooked grin pulls a laugh out of me. “That sounds nice.”

The shower is only a few steps away. He carries me there, setting me down beneath the spray as the hot water runs over our bodies. A moment later, he squeezes shampoo into his palm and turns me around, his fingers working slowly into my hair while his body presses warm and solid against my back. Every inch of him surrounds me, and I let myself sink into it. Into him. Into the way he makes everything inside my head finally go quiet.

For the first time in a long time, my thoughts stop racing. And when he leans down and kisses me again—slow this time, deeper, gentler—one quiet thought slips through the silence.

How long before he finds out everything I’m hiding…

And hates me for it?

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

KIRILL

I wake up before she does, my arm trapped beneath her while her head rests against my bicep. Her lips are parted, face at ease, and I just watch her. I almost don’t want to wake her.

Carefully, I try to slide out from under her, but she lets out a small groan and burrows closer instead, pressing into my chest.

A smile appears on my face, followed by the type of peace I have never known except right here in her arms.

Blyat. There’s no saving me now.

I kiss the top of her head and pull her tighter, my arm settling around her waist again as I let myself accept the truth of it: this is exactly where she belongs. I’ll have her things moved into my bedroom today.

My gaze drifts over her face again and I try to push the other thoughts away, the ones that have been clawing at the back of my mind since yesterday. The lies she’s still telling. The man she met behind my back.

I force myself to focus on what I do know. She cares for me. She cares for Lev. That much I’m certain of, and that should matter more than anything else.

But the jealousy still coils in my chest, sharp and possessive, demanding answers.

Whoever that bastard is…I will find out.

No matter what it takes.

SLOANE

When I get up, he's already gone, the warmth he left behind replaced by a cold shadow. I reach over to my phone, checking for any missed calls, but only see one message from Mandy, asking if Kirill and I have banged yet. With a laugh, I quickly reply.

Sloane

In fact, we have. Last night. And it was everything.

Mandy

YES!!!!! My girl got the D! Finally.

Sloane

Shut up.

Mandy

I can’t help it. It’s like I’ve been waiting forever for this moment. You can’t see me, but I’m totally tearing up with pride right now.

Sloane

OMG you’re such an idiot LOL.

Mandy

LOL. In all seriousness, you deserve to be happy, and I hope he gives you that.

Sloane

Me too…

I stare at the screen, wanting to tell her everything.

Well…not everything.

But at least the truth about my sister. About Milo. About why my life has always been so much messier than I let people believe.

Would she be angry that I kept all of that from her? Maybe. I don’t know. But right now, the need to tell someone is bigger than the fear of how she’ll take it.

Sloane

Can I tell you something? But promise not to get upset with me. Please…

Mandy

What could you possibly say that would make me upset? I mean, I would kill you if you fucked Jace, but other than that, we’re good. LOL.

Sloane

Well…there’s stuff about me and my past that I never told you. I haven’t told anyone, but I just, I don’t know…need to get it out.

Mandy

You can always tell me anything. Hell, I’d bail you out if you offed someone.

Even so, I’m definitely not telling her about Mom, especially over text. I’m not that stupid.

Sloane

I’ve been homeless for a few weeks now. My sister kicked me out after we had a fight.

The three dots pop up, disappear, then come back again, dragging my nerves tighter with every second.

Mandy

I know…

My whole body goes still.

What?

My heart kicks harder as a hundred questions hit me all at once.

Sloane

What do you mean? How?

Mandy

Well, I didn’t know the details, but I saw you sleeping in your car once. I didn’t want to say anything and make you feel worse. That’s why I kept inviting you over. I just didn’t want you out there alone. I was scared for you, Sloane, but I didn’t want to push too hard and make you shut me out.

Tears slip down my cheeks, and I wipe at them quickly, my vision clouding.

Mandy

But what would make her kick you out? She has no right to do that!

Sloane

I had a drinking problem when I was a teenager, and during one blackout, I did something bad. Something I don’t want to talk about. She’s held it over my head ever since, and when she thought I was drinking again, even though I wasn’t, she threw me out.

Mandy

That bitch!

Sloane

That’s not all…

I pause before typing anything else, knowing that once I say it, she’ll see a part of me no one here knows. I just hope she doesn’t start looking at me differently after this—or worse, think I never trusted her at all.

Sloane

When I was seventeen, I had a baby. His name is Milo and she has him. She says I can’t get him back until I have my own place, and clearly, I don’t.

A response doesn’t come, and I think that’s it, she hates me.

Until my phone dings again.

Mandy

She took him from you? Oh, hell no. We’re going to get him back.

I blink back the tears, a smile etching. I never should’ve doubted her.

Sloane

Trust me, I’ve tried. She hates me.

Mandy

Why don’t you ask Kirill for help? I bet he would.

Sloane

I really don't want to get him involved unless I have to. Just promise me you won't say anything.

Mandy

Of course not, but you shouldn't have to do all of this alone, babe. You have people who care about you. Let us help.

I grip the phone against my chest, grateful that I have her.

Sloane

I love you, Mandy. I don’t say that enough, but I do.

Mandy

Shh, stop making me cry ova here. I love you too. You’re like a sister to me.

Sloane

Now I’m the one who’s crying. Sheesh. Okay, let me go down for breakfast before Kirill thinks I’m slipping on my nanny duties.

Mandy

Okay, but look, I would call that bitch and tell her you have a good job and a place to live now, and that you want your son back. Any court would side with you. She has no evidence of you drinking, right?

Sloane

No. She smelled it on me that night we had that work party and she thinks I was the one drinking.

Mandy

Oh my God, I remember that. Well, I’ll be your witness if you ever need me.

Sloane

Thank you. I’ll call you later.

Mandy

All right, tell my brother-in-law I said hi.

It takes me a moment to realize she meant Kirill.

Sloane

We’re not getting married!

Mandy

Not yet, you’re not. winking face

Shaking my head, I slide out of bed, every muscle in my body aching after what Kirill and I did last night. Slipping into a loose T-shirt and lounge pants, I start toward the door when a thought stops me.

Maybe Mandy is right. If I tell my sister that I have a place and a job, I don’t see why she wouldn’t let me take Milo. He’d have his own room. Stability. A backyard. Lev and Kirill. He’d be happy here.

Hope creeps in before I can shut it down.

I grab my phone and call her.

She answers quickly. “What?”

Hello to you too…

“Hey…I wanted to talk to you about Milo.”

She snickers. “Oh, yeah? What about him?”

“So, I…uh…I started a new job as a nanny and I have a place now.” I pace across the bedroom, my heart hammering. “It’s a big house with plenty of space and⁠—”

“Wait, you’re living with some rando? Who is it?”

Shit. “Well, he’s a businessman who works a lot, and he’s a single dad, so he needs help with his⁠—”

She laughs briskly. “I’m not letting you bring my nephew to some stranger’s house. Someone you’re probably screwing for money and lying about it.”

My chest squeezes. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please.” She lets out a sharp breath. “I know you. I know what kind of person you are. I know the kind of scum you used to hang out with.”

I’m so sick of her shit.

“That was years ago. How many times do I need to tell you I’m not that person anymore?”

“You’re a killer, Sloane. You can dress it up however you want, but it doesn’t change what you did.”

My fingers curl tighter around the phone. “Stop it.”

“Milo would be better off without you,” she cuts in coldly. “And deep down, you know that.”

The words slice clean through me.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not that person?” My words crack, despite everything I do to control it. “I’ve changed. I’m trying. He’s my son, God damn it!”

“That’s wonderful for you, but it doesn’t erase what you’re capable of,” she says flatly. “You can’t just decide you’re different now.”

“I would never hurt my baby.”

“You already hurt enough people.”

Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

“This isn’t up to you. He’s my kid.”

“So go to court, then,” she huffs. “I’m not letting him go live in some stranger’s house.”

“You don’t know him.”

Desperation clings to me, the need for her to see me for once in my goddamn life.

“I know you,” she fires back. “And that’s enough.”

My throat burns.

“Please,” I try, hating how small I sound. “Just let me take him for a few days. Let me prove to you⁠—”

“No.” The finality in that one word makes the room spin. “And stop calling me about this. I’m done having this conversation.”

“Just—”

The line goes dead before I can finish. I stare at the phone in my hand, my reflection warped in the dark screen, her words splintering in my head.

You’re a killer. Milo would be better off without you.

My knees go weak as I lower the phone, and I have to press a hand to the wall just to stay upright.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself she’s wrong…

A part of me still hears the water and knows she’s right.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

SLOANE

The next day, while I’m playing hide-and-seek with Lev after school, I can’t get my sister’s words out of my head. They follow me from room to room, circling every thought no matter how hard I try to stay present with him.

And the more I turn them over, the more I start wondering if Mandy was right. Maybe I should tell Kirill everything. Maybe he really could help me get my son back.

But what if Eli finds out? What if he thinks I’m trying to pull something on him?

My stomach knots at the thought because if that happens, he won’t just come after me. He’ll go after my sister too. And as much as I hate her, as much as I still haven’t forgiven her for any of it, I don’t want her dead.

Eli would kill her without hesitation. A man who can threaten a child is capable of anything.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” I tiptoe across the backyard, scanning the trees and flower beds until I catch the sound of a giggle somewhere near the hedges. “Now, where could Lev be? Could he be over here?”

I dart behind a chair and gasp dramatically.

“No…not there. Maybe he’s hiding here.”

Hurrying toward a tree, I peek around the trunk before shaking my head.

“Still nothing. Wow. Where is that little guy?”

Another giggle slips out, louder this time, and I follow the sound straight to the bush he’s crouched behind. The second I spot him, I lunge.

“I got you,” I tell him, laughing as he squirms in my arms.

I tickle him until he laughs harder, and when we both tumble onto the grass, the sound of it all feels so easy and bright that everything else falls away. It’s good to laugh like this. Freeing in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

Then my phone vibrates in my pocket. The second it does, my whole body goes tight.

“Give me one second, bud.” I try to keep my words light as I reach into my pocket and pull it out.

The moment I find Eli’s number on the screen, nausea climbs straight up my throat.

Lev is still staring at me, his head tilted slightly like he can already tell something’s wrong.

“It’s just my friend.” I feign a smile. “Give me a minute, okay?”

He pushes himself up from the grass and heads toward the swing set, and only once he’s a few steps away do I look back down at the phone and brace myself to see what Eli wants.

Eli

Have you found the safe yet?

Sloane

I looked at one area of the house today. Will look at more tomorrow. I have to wait until he goes to work.

That is the truth, not that he would know.

Eli

So you’ve done nothing. Do you not understand that if you don’t find the fucking ledger, your kid is dead? I would hurry the hell up if I were you, instead of playing house.

Sloane

I’m doing my best.

Eli

Do better. Or I will ruin you.

My pulse pounds so hard it’s lodged in my skull. I press my fingers to my temple, trying to ease the pain, but nothing helps.

I need Eli to disappear. I need him to take his threats and all of it with him, because he’s never going to leave me alone.

Even if I do this, even if I get him what he wants, I know it won’t end there. There will always be one more thing, one more demand, one more way to keep me trapped. He’s a vulture. Nothing is ever enough.

“Are you okay?”

Kirill’s voice from behind startles me so badly, I almost jump out of my skin. I whip around, my phone jerking, already halfway back into my pocket.

“What are you doing here?” I ask too quickly.

The second the words leave me, I see his gaze drop to the pocket where I shoved my phone. It remains there a beat too long.

“I thought you were going to be at work for a few more hours.”

“I was supposed to be.” He keeps walking toward me, sunlight catching on the gold, diamond-encrusted watch at his wrist. “But the meeting got canceled, so I came home.”

He watches too closely, like he’s trying to figure something out, and it terrifies me. Then he stops in front of me, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Are you not happy to see me, detka?”

My eyes skim over the dark gray dress pants and the white shirt stretched over the hard lines of his body.

“Of course I am.” I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

Before he can say anything else, Lev jumps off the swing and runs straight toward him.

“Privet, synok.” Kirill bends and kisses the top of his head. “I hope you had a good day.”

Lev doesn’t answer. He just clings to his father, smiling so hard it softens Kirill’s features.

“How about we go inside and get a snack?” he asks.

Lev nods and reaches for both of our hands, tugging us toward the house. As we go, the phone burns in my pocket.

And I can’t stop wondering how much longer I can keep this up before it all comes crashing down on me.

KIRILL

I didn’t miss how she startled when she heard my voice, or how quickly she shoved her phone into her pocket like she was hiding something. I don’t like being made a fool of. And if it’s that man from the photographs calling her, I’ll end him.

Lev and Sloane are on the rug now, lining up puzzle pieces with quiet concentration, their heads bent close together. The sight almost pulls my attention away, until my phone vibrates in my hand.

I step toward the windows overlooking the yard before glancing down at the screen.

Jace Whitlock. What does he want?

“Yes?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, followed by a rough exhale that already sounds irritated with itself.

“So…” He clears his throat.

“What the hell do you need?”

Another breath, heavier this time.

“I’m calling because—” He stops, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse. “Jesus. This is ridiculous.”

Dark amusement curls across my mouth. This should be good.

“Get to the point, Whitlock.”

There’s a scuffle on the other end of the line, followed by another voice I wasn’t expecting.

“Dad, give it to me!” Rue huffs, and then… “Hi! It’s Rue!”

“Hi, Rue.”

Lev’s head lifts instantly at the sound of her name. His whole body goes still, like she has all of his attention, and Sloane notices too, her lips pinching into a grin.

“Can me and Lev have a playdate today?” Rue asks in a rush. “Or maybe tomorrow if you’re busy, of course. It would just be really fun. Please?”

There’s something so openly hopeful about the way she asks, and for a moment, I forget who her father is.

My gaze drifts to Lev again. This is what I always wanted for him. Someone who wanted to spend time with him, someone who cared enough to ask. I just never imagined it would come from…that family.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say, still watching my son.

Lev crosses the room in a few quick steps and grabs my sleeve, tugging once, then again, his eyes fixed on my face.

I cover the phone with my hand and lower myself a little so we’re closer to eye level. “You want to play with Rue?”

He nods immediately.

Oh, fuck. Of course he does.

I straighten and bring the phone back to my ear.

“I think…” I choose my words carefully. “We can arrange something. Let me talk to your father.”

“Oh God, Daddy, he said yes! Here!”

A sharp little gasp of victory bursts through the phone before Jace comes back on the line.

Across the room, Sloane laughs, having clearly heard Rue’s celebration.

“This is insane,” Jace says.

“Yet here we are.”

Silence settles between us, heavy with conflict that still remains between our families. Neither of us is stupid enough to think a couple of kids wanting to play together erases any of that.

“You can come to the ranch,” he finally says. “Plenty of open space. Your boy seemed to like the horse last time. Maybe he’d want to see him again.”

I glance down at Lev, who’s still clutching my sleeve. “I don’t know if I trust you enough for that. We should meet somewhere neutral.”

Jace scoffs. “I wouldn’t hurt a kid. Even if that kid is yours.”

A dry chuckle slips out of me. “Same.”

“Glad we have that in common. So, are we doing this or what?”

“I guess…”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts in. “Late morning. Eleven. Does that work? We leave for Texas in two days.”

I let the silence stretch another second before answering. “I’ll make it work.”

“Alright, then.”

When the call ends, Lev is staring at me like he’s trying to read the answer before I give it.

“We’re going to the ranch tomorrow,” I tell him. “You’re going to see Rue.”

The change in him is instant. His whole face lights up.

Sloane moves in beside me. “You did the right thing.”

“I hope so.”

“This is good for him.” Her arm slips around my back. “Rue is good for him.”

My gaze drops to where her fingers rest against me before lifting back to my son. “Maybe.”

But I’m not so sure.

CHAPTER FORTY

KIRILL

By the time we get to bed, she’s quiet. I notice it the moment she steps into the room. A pale pink slip drapes over her, barely hiding the gorgeous curves beneath it, and I forget what I was thinking about entirely.

She gives me a shy smile before pulling back the covers and sliding in beside me almost cautiously, leaving a small space between us.

I roll onto my side and reach for her, guiding her face toward mine. “Are you okay? Are you nervous to be here with me?”

Her eyes flicker, and she gives a small nod. “A little bit.”

I tug her closer, my arm draping around her waist and drawing her against my chest.

“Don’t be.” I drop a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t expect anything.”

She lets out a soft little groan as she burrows into me, making my cock stir at the sound. As much as I want her, I don’t want her thinking this is why I moved her to my bedroom.

When I switch off the bedside lamp, she shifts, and her thigh rubs against my erection. I stifle a growl. This is going to be a very long night.

Minutes later, I’m lying awake staring into the dark while her body relaxes against mine. Her hand rests lightly over my chest, her breathing slowly evening out as she settles deeper into my arms.

This woman already feels like mine, even when I know I don’t deserve her. Having her here almost feels like an escape from the darkness. But I know better.

When I finally close my eyes, I sense it coming again. That familiar pull, like something dragging me down where I don’t want to go. It doesn’t matter that she’s here, warm in my arms. The darkness still finds me.

One second, I’m in the bed with her. The next, I’m back there. Trapped in that endless black space with no walls, no ceiling, no door to claw my way through.

The darkness is everywhere, my bare footsteps pounding as I try to find a way to escape it.

At first, I hear nothing but myself…

Until the sound comes like always, closing in around my throat. A baby cries somewhere in the distance, the panicked sound growing closer with every passing second. My body reacts before my mind can form a single thought.

I run, knowing I need to get to him before…before it’s too late.

But it’s always too late.

My hands claw through empty air, blind in the dark, searching for a wall, a door, any edge to this place. But there’s nothing. Only the baby’s desperate cries growing sharper while time slips away from him.

“I’m here,” I call, but my words vanish, swallowed by the darkness the second they leave my mouth.

The crying spikes, as if he heard me, begging me to hurry. Terror floods through me. I can hear him so clearly now and still I can’t find him, can’t touch him, can’t even tell which direction to run.

I run harder. The air is freezing and thick at the same time while my lungs burn, sweat coating my brow. Then, out of nowhere, the dark splits and I stumble forward, the night air so cold it bites, my feet hitting grass instead of emptiness.

The crying only grows closer. So close it hurts.

When I glance around, I realize I’ve been here. I know this yard. I know that faint porch light on the right, recognize the swing set off to the side that creaks like it remembers me too.

And I recognize his laugh before I can even make him out.

My father stands there waiting for me, a pistol hanging loose in his hand. In his other arm, he holds a baby bundled tight, tiny and red-faced, fists opening and closing as the child screams.

Something vicious twists through my chest. In an instant, I’m no longer a man, but a boy again. Thirteen.

I stand there looking at myself, at the baby, at the gun in my father’s hand, knowing that if I can just take it from him, I can stop this. I can kill him before he does what I already know he’s about to do.

I step forward. The boy does too. I jerk back, and he jerks back with me, mirroring every move like we’re tied together—which, of course, we are.

We’re the same person. I know that. But some stupid part of me still hopes that maybe this time will be different. That this time I can change something.

“Please,” I—we—say. “Papa, please. Don’t hurt him.”

The words rip out of me, but my father’s mouth curves like he’s entertained.

“What did I tell you about loving something?” He tsks with disapproval. “It makes you weak, synok. Have I taught you nothing?”

The baby cries louder, and I manage to thread closer, needing to do something.

“Give him away.” My hands shake. “Leave him anywhere. I don’t care. Just don’t…”

My father peers down at the child as if he’s considering it, then glares back at me with something like satisfaction. Because he has what he wants: proof that I care.

“Everything can be destroyed, or it will destroy you.” He sighs like he’s growing bored. “But I will not be the one to kill it.” He steps forward and presses the gun into my hand, forcing my fingers around it. “You will.”

The cold metal bites into my palm, and the younger me flinches. I can sense his fear, feel the metal in my own hand.

“No…” I shake my head, pushing it away. “I can’t.”

“Of course you will. You are a Marinov, or have you forgotten?”

My body locks up around the gun like it’s welded there, like the fear has spun my muscles to iron.

“Please, no, Papa,” I whisper, shaking my head and shoving the gun back to him. “I will do anything else. Just not this.”

“You will.”

“I won’t,” I force out, rougher now. “I will not hurt him. You can’t do this. This is evil, even for you.”

The punishment comes instantly. The back of the gun slams into my skull so hard my knees buckle, pain exploding behind my eyes.

“You will never speak to me like that!” my father says. “You do it again, and I will kill you.”

He lowers the baby to the grass in front of me, placing him down with terrifying care. He wriggles helplessly in the blanket, crying without pause, face turned toward me like he knows I’m supposed to be the one to save him.

My throat burns. “I won’t do it.”

I put myself between them, but my father is already lifting the weapon and pointing it at the baby. The sniveling grows frantic, the baby’s tiny chest hitching like it’s running out of air.

“You are a true disappointment,” my father says.

“No, no! Please.” My hands outstretch, but my father only pushes me out of the way.

The gunshot splits the night, so loud it cracks through me.

And the worst part isn’t the sound. It’s what follows: the sudden brutal silence where the crying used to be.

SLOANE

I wake to the sound of him groaning beside me, his body jerking hard like he’s trapped in a nightmare he can’t fight his way out of.

Carefully, I ease myself from his arms and push onto one elbow. Then I sit all the way up and reach for him, shaking him lightly at first, hoping I can pull him out of whatever he’s seeing before it drags him any deeper.

He mutters something in Russian, the words tangled and broken, and I can’t understand any of it. All I can sense is the hard flex of his bicep beneath my hand and the tension running through his body.

I flip on the bedside lamp, praying the low glow will be enough to pull him back.

“Net…ostav…” he mumbles, and the sight of him like this shatters me.

“Kirill, wake up.”

I shake him again, firmer this time, my fingers pressing into his shoulder as his body goes taut beneath my hand. His breathing turns ragged, almost frantic, his features twisting.

“Kirill,” I whisper, leaning closer as my hand slides up to cup his cheek. “You’re safe. Wake up.”

He jolts so violently, it knocks the air right out of me. One second, he’s still deep in it, and the next, he’s surging upright, his arm flying up so fast it nearly hits me. His chest heaves and his eyes dart wildly around the room, unfocused, still somewhere far darker than this bed.

Then he sees me. Recognition hits him all at once. He goes still so fast, it’s almost jarring.

“Sloane—” His voice comes out rough and ragged, panic threaded through it.

His hand hovers in the space between us where it nearly struck me, and I witness the realization spread across his face, the understanding of how close he came to hurting me, even by accident.

“Are you okay?” Reaching for me, his hands curl around my arms like he needs to be sure I’m not hurt. “Blyat. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine, I swear.” I move toward him so he realizes I’m not afraid. “I was more worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and drags a hand down his face before dropping back onto the mattress, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’s trying to shut out whatever is still waiting for him behind them. The lamp casts a soft glow across his torso, and even in the low light, I find the tension still locked into him—the way his jaw is clenched, the way his breathing hasn’t fully evened out.

I hesitate before sliding over to him. My fingers move to his chest, resting lightly over his heart, catching the rapid thud beneath my palm as I begin tracing slow, gentle circles against his skin.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

I expect him to shut me out completely. Instead, his free hand comes up and covers mine against his chest, holding it there. Then he lifts it and presses his mouth to my palm. A soft, almost reverent kiss that is more vulnerable than anything he could have said.

When he finally turns toward me, his gaze is hard, though there’s a hint of something broken in it. “I don’t think it’s anything you’re going to want to hear.”

I prop myself up on my elbow and brush my thumb along the line of his jaw.

“Try me,” I whisper. “I know I don’t have much to offer, but I can give you this: someone who listens. Someone who cares.” My throat tightens, but I push past it. “Because I do care, Kirill.”

A muscle jumps in his neck. “You have a lot to offer.”

His fingers slide into my hair, drawing me in until our foreheads touch. A moment later, his mouth finds mine, the kiss deep and unhurried, filled with something that is dangerously close to love.

His body rests against mine, and there’s something beautiful about how naturally we fit, the warmth of him surrounding me like it was always meant to. For one reckless second, I let myself believe nothing can tear us apart.

That this—right here—is how it will always be.

He exhales against my lips and leans back just enough to look at me. “When I was thirteen, my father found out a woman who worked for him was stealing.”

My fingers curl against his back.

“She was helping launder money for the family and decided to take some for herself, so he killed her and her husband.”

Goose bumps rise along my arms.

“They had a baby,” he continues, glancing down before our eyes meet. “Four months old.”

I don’t know if I like where this is going.

“He brought the baby home and handed him to me…” Bitterness creeps into his tone. “Told me it was my responsibility now. My job.”

My arm tightens around him without thinking, like some part of me needs to hold him closer through this.

“I didn’t know anything about babies. But my father told me to do it, so I did. I fed him. Changed him. Carried him around the house. For months.” His gaze turns distant. “Even my brothers liked him.”

My heart aches, because I can already sense where this is going, and I don’t want it to.

“I grew to care about him. But that was the point. That’s what my father wanted. He needed something to destroy.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“For my father, nothing was worse than weak sons.” His expression hardens. “And if we loved something, anything—even each other—he would kill it.”

“Oh, no…” Grief rips through me, right alongside that thirteen-year-old boy who had to hear those words. I can’t even begin to imagine it.

He nods once. “He told me to kill him.”

My hand flies to my mouth.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

He shakes his head. “No. Of course not. I couldn’t.”

Relief crashes through me so fast, it almost leaves me dizzy.

Then he says, “So my father killed the child right in front of me.”

The relief vanishes just as quickly as it came. Nausea rolls through me instead, hard and sudden, and the room seems to shrink around us. I press my palm harder over my mouth, trying not to be sick.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears spill faster now. “Your father was a monster.”

A humorless sound leaves him. “That’s actually a kind way to describe him.”

For a second, I think that must be the end of it. But I’m wrong.

“After he killed the baby, he punished me for not being able to do it myself. Locked me in a pitch-black cellar for a week. Barely any food or water.” He says it so casually that it doesn’t even sound real. “No one could get me out. He would’ve killed my brothers if they tried.”

The air in my lungs grows too thin.

“He beat me every time he came down there. That’s where some of those scars came from.”

My fingers spread across his back, holding him more tightly now, each raised line beneath my hand feeling unbearable in a different way.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” I press my palm to his cheek, forcing him to look at me. “You are nothing like him. I want you to know that. Look at how you are with your son. Look at the way you love him. The way you protect him. You are a good man, Kirill.”

And as I say it, as I trace the line of a single scar, I realize that somewhere between his darkness and mine, I’ve fallen in love with the parts of him that survived it.

“Say that again.”

Before I can react, he flips me beneath him in one swift motion, his mouth brushing over my lips, staying just close enough to make my pulse stutter.

“Tell me I’m a good man, detka.”

His body arches into me, his hardness pressing into my core, and I cry out, unable to stop.

“You’re a good man, Kirill Marinov.”

The sound that leaves him is low and rough, almost a growl, before his mouth crashes down on mine. One hand grips my hip while the other slides under me, yanking me closer until there isn’t even the smallest space left between us.

He tilts my head back the way he wants it, guiding the kiss without asking. His grip tightens as he deepens it, holding me there while it grows hotter, more demanding, like there’s something inside him he can’t put into words any other way.

My fingers slide into his hair, and he responds instantly, a deep rumble vibrating through him as I meet his kiss with the same fierce hunger.

He pulls back, breathing hard against my lips, his forehead resting against mine. But the pause lasts only a second before he drags me back into the kiss, harder this time.

There’s something different about it now. Something deeper than the ones we shared before. Like everything he just told me, every dark piece of his past, has fused us together in a way neither of us can undo.

He reaches down and pushes his boxers off, lifting my nightgown over my hips before leaning back and staring at me with something almost conflicted in his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he says.

Before I can ask what he means, he drives into me hard enough that it stings, his hand tightening in my hair as his fierce gaze fixes on me.

“I need you.”

The beastly hunger on his face makes me want to give him everything he’s been denied for so long.

“I’m yours.”

“That’s right, you are.”

He tosses my leg over his shoulder, circling his hips, giving it to me so deep, I’m already close. He rises to his knees, gripping my hips and lifting me with him until my back arches off the mattress. The rhythm turns relentless, powerful, like he needs this—needs me—to outrun whatever ghosts still cling to him.

“Oh God,” I gasp.

But he doesn’t slow. If anything, he pushes harder, each thrust knocking the breath from my chest until words are impossible and all that escapes me is broken cries, my body clenching around him as the need builds faster than I can hold it back.

“Moya. Svegda, moya,” he grunts, staring right into my eyes.

When he hits that spot inside me, the tension snaps. The orgasm tears through me in a wild rush, sending me tumbling over the edge like there’s no end to the fall.

“Yes…don’t stop!”

His hands clamp around my hips as he moves with fierce intensity before a brutal growl rips from him and he comes inside me, spilling into me, giving me what I want.

When it’s over, he presses a kiss to my shoulder before dropping back beside me with a quiet chuckle. “I meant to take that slow.”

“Liar.”

He groans and pulls me across his chest. “Thank you.”

I’m not even sure what he’s thanking me for, but it doesn’t really matter.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

He reaches over and switches off the light. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

KIRILL

As we pull up to the ranch the next morning, I glance over at Sloane, remembering last night. How much I told her, how good it felt to finally say it out loud, and how hard I took her after.

Selfish, maybe. I should probably regret it. But I don’t. Because I know she liked it just as much.

Lev rocks excitedly in the backseat, pressing his face to the window as he scans the property like he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of his new best friend.

I circle the SUV and open his door. When he hops down beside me, his hand slips into mine automatically. My other hand reaches for Sloane’s, her fingers threading through mine as we start toward the petting zoo together.

“Are you feeling okay? After…”

Her mouth pinches into a tight smile. “Yes, sir. I’m feeling quite refreshed this morning. Not a single ache in my…um…legs.”

I chuckle, bringing her knuckles to my lips before leaning closer. “I’ll kiss it and make it better later.”

Her eyes widen. “Kirill…” Then she spots the Whitlocks heading toward the petting zoo and her cheeks immediately turn pink. “Not a word.”

“We’ll see.”

She bites the corner of her mouth just as Rue spots Lev and takes off running, crashing into him with a hug so enthusiastic, it nearly knocks him backward.

She’s barely half his size, while Lev definitely takes after my brothers and me in the height department, towering over her like a lanky giant. He only stands there at first, almost like he doesn’t know what to do. Then his arms come up, hesitant at first, and he hugs her back.

My chest cracks open at the sight. This is still so new to me, seeing him like this with another kid.

“Come on,” Rue says brightly, already grabbing his hand. “We can feed the goats together. They’ll love you.”

Lev lets her pull him along without even looking back at me.

I stand there watching them head toward the pen, Rue talking the entire way while he listens in that quiet, intent way of his. When she shows him how to hold the feed flat in his palm, he actually does it. The goat noses his hand, and he startles, then laughs.

He isn’t even wearing his headphones, trying something new without fear, and somehow she got him there faster than anyone else ever has.

Harlan steps beside me. “You’ve got a sweet kid.”

“Yeah… He doesn’t take after me.”

“I beg to differ,” Sloane cuts in.

I smirk faintly. God, I’m really starting to fall for this woman.

Greer snickers. “Well, now I can see why you quit.”

Color rises in Sloane’s cheeks immediately and she grimaces. “I’m so embarrassed about that.” She laughs as she rubs the back of her neck. “I’m really sorry. It’s just…Kirill needed a nanny and⁠—”

Greer waves a hand. “It’s all right. I get it. I’m just glad Rue has a friend. She really doesn’t have very many here, and when she comes to Jersey, she’s always bored.”

Jace gives her a dry look. “I keep my kid entertained.”

“Oh, yeah?” Greer turns toward him with a grin. “When? While you’re busy fighting off all the women who want you to put a ring on it, or while you’re back home hiding from Savannah?”

She waggles her brows at him, and even I have to fight the urge to laugh at the look that crosses his face.

Sloane looks between them. “Who exactly is Savannah?”

“Oh, that’s a story.” Greer gives her brother the kind of expression that makes it clear she plans to tell it whether he likes it or not, then flips back to Sloane. “Savannah’s family owns the ranch beside ours in Texas. Now, when I say beside, I don’t mean next door. Ours is about five hundred acres and theirs is closer to fifty thousand, so it’s not like we were borrowing sugar, but we all grew up around each other. We played together when we were kids, then we got older and Savannah decided she was too good for our family.” She shrugs. “But she always had a thing for Jace, and he had one for her too, even if he’d rather choke on a boot than admit it.”

She peers over at him, and Jace looks so uncomfortable, it pulls a quiet chuckle out of me.

“My brother has one of those heart-of-stone situations,” she goes on. “Very hard to break through.”

Jace shakes his head. “I’m just not interested in getting married, that’s all. If my father could accept that, life would be a lot easier.” He hits Harlan with a glare.

“What does that mean?” Sloane asks.

“Well…” Greer chimes before he can. “If my big bro doesn’t settle down, he can’t take over the business.”

“Oh…”

Harlan laughs. “What can I say? I want my kids to have the kind of love I’ve got with their mother, and if I don’t light a fire under their asses, they’ll all die old and alone.”

Greer rolls her eyes. “I don’t need a man, Daddy.”

“No, you don’t, honey,” Harlan says warmly. “But one of them would sure be lucky to have you.”

Sloane smiles. “That’s really sweet. You guys are fortunate to have parents who care, because believe me, many people don’t.”

I tighten my hand around hers, knowing she isn’t talking about just herself.

“Listen to the girl,” Harlan says, jerking a thumb toward her. “Wise words right there.”

My gaze drifts back to Lev by the fence, where Rue is still talking his ear off while he focuses on her, and I hate that a war could threaten their friendship.

But if Anton kills Thora, the war that follows will be long and bloody, and these two kids will never see each other again.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

SLOANE

The next day, after Kirill leaves for work, Lev and I stay out in the yard for a while, tossing a ball back and forth, enjoying our Sunday morning.

The pressure to find the safe hasn’t let up. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. I barely managed to sleep beside Kirill last night, lying tense in his arms and wondering if he could feel it: the strain running through me, the way my whole body seemed wound too tight after we had sex.

That’s why, before I even tried to close my eyes, I deleted every message from Eli and Mandy, emptied the trash, and then checked everything twice like some paranoid criminal trying to erase her tracks. I can’t risk him finding something and seeing anything other than the woman he thinks I am.

Lev throws the ball with surprising force, and it bounces past me.

“Whoa!” I laugh, jogging after it. “You’re good.”

He smiles at that, then wanders over to me with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Hide…seek,” he says carefully.

“You want to play hide-and-seek?”

He nods, already turning toward the house.

“Okay.” I rush after him. “We can play inside. You hide first.”

He giggles and disappears down the hallway the second we step in past the guard, and I turn toward the wall, covering my eyes as I start counting loud enough for him to hear me. This might actually be a perfect opportunity for me to look for a safe without making it obvious.

By the time I reach twenty, my pulse has already started to climb, especially with the guards posted through the house and that awful awareness of being watched no matter where I go.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

I start with the living room, calling his name as I move from one end of it to the other, opening doors and dragging it out so it sounds convincing.

“Hmm. Maybe he ran outside.”

A soft giggle floats down the hall.

My eyes land on Kirill’s study, the door cracked open.

“Lev?” I step inside, moving quietly past the desk.

Another stifled laugh answers me. He’s under there. I can hear the small scrape of a shoe.

I circle the room instead, letting my gaze move over the walls, the shelves, the ceiling corners. If there are cameras in here, they’re hidden well.

“Where can he be?” I pretend to check behind the armchair.

That’s when I notice the painting by the far wall of two men playing cards, one with a cigar in his mouth.

“I wonder if he’s even in here,” I say while my fingers brush the frame, and I feel it immediately: a large enough gap between canvas and wall that I hadn’t noticed at first.

Carefully, I slide my hand behind the painting, keeping my tone casual.

“Maybe he’s in the closet?”

Lev giggles again while I continue to examine the painting, unable to focus.

But I have to do this.

Gripping the frame with both hands, I lift it carefully from the hook, praying I don’t fumble it and send something worth more than my life crashing to the floor. The painting is heavier than I expected, but not so heavy I can’t manage it, and after a tense second, I lower it gently against the wall without letting it crash.

That’s when I see it.

A safe.

I take in the reinforced steel, knowing right away that this is a high-end mechanical safe. This will not be easy to break into, but I’ve done it before, and with the right tools, I can do it again.

“Lev?” I call again. “I’m gonna find you.”

I lift the painting back into place and adjust it carefully until it hangs straight, then run my fingertips along the frame to make sure I haven’t left a smudge behind.

Standing there, I listen for footsteps or any sign that I’ve triggered a secret alarm.

But there’s nothing. Maybe I actually pulled it off.

By the time I get Lev home from school the following afternoon, I’m even more on edge than I already was.

Kirill was quiet at breakfast. Not cold exactly, but quieter than usual. His answers were short, his expression unreadable, and the whole time, I had this awful feeling that he knew. Like somehow, he could see it on me: the fact that I’d been in his study, that I’d stood in front of his safe and thought about breaking into it.

But if he knows, why hasn’t he said anything?

I can’t let myself spiral. I need to stay focused.

Last night, I texted Eli and told him exactly what supplies I’d need if he wants his goddamn ledger, but he never answered.

Across the kitchen, Lev sits at the island, lining apple slices into a neat row before dipping one carefully into peanut butter.

I try to act normal, to keep my nerves from spinning out, but my leg won’t stop bouncing beneath the stool.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I jerk at the sound, startling Lev.

“Sorry,” I mutter with a tight smile, slipping my hand into my pocket to check the screen.

My stomach drops the second I see Eli’s name.

Eli

Meet me at the park. The one by your sister’s. I have what you need.

I type back quickly.

Sloane

I can’t right now. I have the kid. I’m with him until his dad gets home.

Eli

Figure it out. I’m not waiting around all day.

My hand tightens around the phone.

Crap, what do I do? If I miss this chance, I don’t know when Eli will offer it again. If I go, I have to leave Lev. And if Kirill comes home and I’m not here…

Screw it. This is for Milo. I have to go.

“Katya?” I call for the housekeeper just as she walks in.

“Yes?”

“I just need to run to the store for a few minutes. Would you mind keeping an eye on Lev?”

The words are barely out of my mouth when Lev’s head snaps up.

“No.” It’s sharp. Immediate. His eyes are filled with panic.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I grab his hand. “I’ll be back in a little bit. I just need to buy a few things.”

“No, no, NO!”

His breathing changes fast, chest rising too quickly, his hand squeezing mine so tight it hurts. Then he lunges forward and grabs me, his entire body shaking.

“No. Stay. Home. Stay home. Stay home.”

My heart cracks. “Lev, baby⁠—”

He shakes his head hard, tears already spilling over as he wraps his arms around my waist like I’m about to disappear. “No. No. Stay home.”

Katya sighs, her face crumbling as I glance over. “When he gets like this, we usually call Mr. Marinov. He does not calm down for anyone else.”

I drop to my knees in front of Lev, staring right at him. “Everything is okay. I’m right here.”

His fingers clutch the fabric of my shirt as he drops his face into my shoulder and cries, and I know in this moment there’s no way I can leave him.

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to. I’ll stay, I swear.”

I pull my phone out with one hand and type, my arm still wrapped around him.

Sloane

Can’t make it right now.

Eli

I’ll leave it behind the big boulder near the trees where you sat with him. If it’s gone when you get there, that’s on you.

Asshole. He knew exactly when and where I met with Milo. The thought makes me sick, but I try to focus on Lev now.

Sloane

Fine.

My hand runs up and down Lev’s back, his breathing hitching against my shoulder. I sit on the kitchen floor with him in my lap, rocking as I smooth my hand over his back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper into his hair. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

He buries himself closer, and I hold him tighter, blinking back tears. I don’t know how many more times I can choose between the child in my arms and the one I have to keep safe.

But right now, there is no choice. Right now, Lev needs me.

And I’m not letting go.

KIRILL

The meeting with my brothers is still running when the door opens.

The secretary steps inside with her hands clasped in front of her, and the second I see her, I know something is wrong. She would never interrupt a meeting like this unless it mattered.

Konstantin looks up from the head of the table. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry.” Her vision bounces between all of us. “But there’s a call for Mr. Kirill. It’s urgent.”

“Take a message.” I fling a hand. “I’ll call them back.”

But then she says the next four words, and everything inside me goes cold.

“It’s about your son.”

I’m on my feet before the sentence fully lands, shoving my chair back hard enough for it to jolt against the floor. Every man at the table stares at me, but I barely register any of it over the rush of panic tearing through me.

“What about my son?”

She hurries after me as I head out the door. “Katya wouldn’t say. Only that it was urgent.”

That’s enough. Down the hallway, I pick up my pace, and by the time I reach the front desk, the receptionist already has the phone in hand, holding it out to me.

I take it from her. “What’s wrong?”

“Sir?” Katya’s voice trembles on the other end. “I think Lev needs you to come home.”

My grip tightens around the receiver. “What happened?”

“He got very upset. He won’t stop shaking and crying. Miss Sloane told him she was going to the store, and he just…” She falters. “He had a meltdown. She’s trying to calm him, but he’s still very upset. He keeps saying ‘don’t go.’”

My eyes close as relief crashes through me. He isn’t hurt. He’s okay.

“I’m on my way.”

I hand the phone back, tell the receptionist to cancel the rest of my meetings for the day, and head straight for the garage the second the elevator doors open.

Once I’m on the road, I push through traffic, needing to get to him. If he’s as upset as Katya says, then something triggered it. Lev doesn’t have meltdowns like that without a reason.

Katya’s words replay in my head over and over. He won’t stop shaking. He keeps saying don’t go. Miss Sloane told him she was going to the store and he just⁠—

The store.

My hands cinch around the steering wheel as the realization hits. Those are the same words she said before she walked out of his life for good.

My palm slams against the wheel, my anger spiking. I hate that woman. I hate her with a passion I haven’t even felt for my worst enemy.

I thought Lev was too young to remember. I told myself he was too young.

But he remembers. That has to be it. Even if he can’t explain it, even if he never speaks about it, he remembers what that bitch did.

The need to kill her overwhelms me, but I push it down. This isn’t about her. It’s about my son, and he needs me to be calm right now.

By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m already throwing the car into park and rushing up the steps.

Katya meets me at the door, lifting a hand before I can say anything. “He is okay now. Miss Sloane calmed him down. I have never seen anyone do that except you.”

The tension in my chest loosens a fraction. “Where are they?”

“In the den.” She smiles as I slip off my shoes. “He really adores her. She is very good with him.”

I move past her as I head toward them, stopping at the doorway and enjoying the view.

Lev is curled on Sloane’s lap on the sofa, his body tucked against hers, his head resting on her shoulder while she reads to him. One hand holds the book open while the other drifts gently up and down his arm.

She’s such a good mother.

I pinch the bridge of my nose when that thought hits, but I can see it so clearly now: the way it could be.

She peers up when she senses me, and when her eyes meet mine, she grins, a wide and beautiful smile that sets every inch of me on fire. Lev follows her gaze and turns his head.

“Papa!” He pushes himself up and scrambles off her lap.

I’m on my knees before he reaches me, pulling him into my arms and holding him tight.

“Are you enjoying the story?” I kiss his forehead, clasping both hands against his cheeks.

He nods.

“Good.” I brush a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you go read it on the couch? I want to talk to Sloane for a minute.”

He hesitates before returning to the couch, settling down with the book.

Sloane rises, smoothing her hands down the front of her leggings as she saunters toward me, and the more I watch her, the more the image of us as a family starts to feel real.

My heart beats harder as the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her for what she did, for being exactly what my son needed when I wasn’t here, overwhelms me. And maybe, if I’m being honest…simply for being herself.

I take her hand and guide her with me toward the far corner of the den, away from the sofa and out of Lev’s hearing.

“You’re good with him,” I tell her, my thumb brushing slow circles over the back of her hand.

“He makes it easy.” She gives a small shrug.

I shake my head. “No. He doesn’t. Not with most people.”

Her expression softens, her eyes drifting past me toward the couch where Lev is still sitting before they return to mine.

“I adore him. You know that.” Her gaze drops, and she lets out a heavy breath. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told him I was leaving. I just needed to run to the store for a few things, but I should’ve waited until you came home.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, and I mean every word. “I think I know why he reacted like that.”

Concern crosses her face immediately. “Do you want to talk about it? Is it something I could’ve handled differently?”

Dropping her hand, I drag my fingers through my hair, turning away before I face her again.

“His mother left when he was around three.” My attention dips briefly to the floor before lifting again. “After his diagnosis, she decided she didn’t want this life. One day, she told him she was going to the store…” I pause. “And she never came back.”

Her mouth parts. “You’re serious?”

I nod once.

“Oh my God.” Her hand flies to her mouth, then falls again. “I can’t believe someone would do that to their child.”

Me neither.

Her fingers curl gently around my forearm, and even though the touch is light, my muscles tighten anyway. “Then she didn’t deserve either one of you.”

My hand lifts almost on its own, the back of it brushing along her cheek. Her skin is warm, and she stills beneath the touch.

“You’re a very special woman. Do you know that?”

A faint, uncertain smile touches her mouth. “I don’t know if you’d agree if you actually knew me…but thank you.”

My brows pull. “What does that mean?”

A breath of laughter escapes her. “Nothing. I’m just saying I’m not perfect.”

“No one is. We do the best we can with what we have.”

“You’re right.” She exhales defeatedly.

Neither of us moves, her warmth pulling me in, and I realize I don’t want to leave her.

“If you still need to go to the store, you can go. I’m here now.”

“Are you sure?” she asks quickly. “I don’t have to.”

“I’m sure.” I bring her knuckles to my mouth and kiss them. “Go.”

She hesitates, studying me like she’s trying to decide whether I mean it. “Okay. I won’t be long.”

As she leaves, I tell Lev she’ll be back soon. And even as I reassure him that she’s only stepping out for a bit, a quiet part of me knows I don’t actually believe that’s where she’s going.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

SLOANE

The hot water runs down my body the next morning, but it does nothing to quiet the nerves twisting through my muscles.

After I left to pick up the tools Eli had stashed for me, I almost didn’t come back. The whole drive home, I kept picturing Kirill stopping me at the door, asking what was in my bag, telling me to open it. But when I returned, he was in his study, so I slipped upstairs, shoved the tools into a shoebox, and hid them in the closet, praying no one would ever think to look there.

I told myself today had to be the day. Kirill is at work, Lev is at school, and once the guards rotate around noon, I’m going into that study whether I’m ready or not.

Still, every time I picture breaking into that safe, something goes wrong. The tools fail. A guard walks in. An alarm goes off. I end up bleeding out on Kirill’s polished floor. No matter how the scene plays out in my head, it always ends badly.

But I have to do this. I’m good at it. I’ve always been good at it.

All I need is ten minutes. In and out. Open it, take what I came for, close it, and make it look like I was never there at all.

By the time I step out of the shower, steam still clings to my skin, but noon is almost here and I have to be ready. I dry off fast, throw on something simple, twist my hair back, and tell myself to calm the hell down. If I let myself think too much, I’ll lose my nerve.

Back in my room, I kneel in front of the closet and drag the shoebox out from where I hid it before grabbing a tote bag and stuffing everything inside.

Then I wait.

When noon finally comes, no one stops me as I head downstairs. No one even glances my way even as my pulse pounds hard enough to make my ribs ache.

This is it.

The second I step into the hallway, I spot the guard walking off. The moment he disappears around the corner, I make for Kirill’s office and slip inside, easing the door shut behind me.

For one beat, I just stand there with my head tilted, listening for footsteps, but nothing comes. And that’s when I get to work.

My mouth goes dry as I kneel and unzip the bag, pulling the tools out, hoping my hands don’t shake and I don’t drop anything and make noise. A slim drill. Thin latex gloves. A stethoscope to help me work out the lock and identify the combination. A borescope, its tiny camera attached to a narrow wire I’ll feed through a hole small enough not to be noticed unless someone knows exactly where to look.

I slide on the gloves and drill a thin hole near the top, the whine of the bit deafening in the quiet room, even though I know it isn’t nearly loud enough to carry. Then I pick up the borescope and feed it in carefully, inch by inch, until the view on my phone finally sharpens and the internal mechanism comes into view.

My pulse kicks harder, but I force myself to slow down, to think, to trust what I know.

I study the wheels, then reach for the dial and begin turning it with measured movements, watching for the subtle shifts inside the lock.

Every pass is slow. Every correction slower.

When I think I have the first number, I test it, then keep going, working through the sequence one position at a time.

The further I get, the tighter every muscle in my body draws. One number. Then the next.

By the time I reach the last one, my whole body is rigid with tension.

I try that one too, another click sounding off. Like the metal gives a little.

I go completely still. There’s no way it was that easy.

I carefully set the stethoscope down and slide the camera back out, packing everything away into the tote as quietly as I can. When my hand closes around the handle, I pause again, straining to hear anything out in the hall. Still nothing.

I turn the handle slowly. At first, it resists, and my stomach drops. But I know I was careful. I know I had the right combination. For one terrible second, I’m sure I’ve screwed it up anyway, that I’ve done all this for nothing.

I stiffen my grip, force myself to breathe, and try again.

This time…something gives, and the handle moves.

My eyes close, and I silently thank whoever watches over criminals, because I really needed that to work.

When I ease the door open, I find a deep safe lined with neatly stacked folders. A lot of them. There are a few sealed envelopes tucked off to one side, a couple of flash drives, but no ledger. Not that I can see.

If I did all of this for nothing, I’m going to lose my mind.

If he has another safe, I don’t know where it could be, nor will I have the guts to try this again. Once is enough.

The ledger has to be here. If it’s that valuable, maybe it’s hidden inside one of these folders.

I grab the first one and flip it open, skimming page after page of contracts with company names I couldn’t care less about. I slide it back exactly where I found it and pull out the next manila folder. More paperwork. More documents stamped across the top in elegant script that reads Marinov Holdings.

My hands shake while my mind races against an invisible clock. The longer I stay in here, the greater the chance I get caught.

I move through another stack, and that’s when I see it, shoved deep into the back corner.

A dark leather book. Worn at the edges.

My heart stops. It looks almost exactly like the one Eli described.

I open it just enough to check, and there they are: names, numbers, payments, account information, and coded notations marked with letters and symbols I don’t understand.

This is it. This has to be what he wants.

My grip tightens around the leather cover. If I take it, everything changes.

Kirill will know it’s gone. Sooner or later, he’ll figure out it was me. And the second that happens, whatever this is between us—whatever we might have had—will be over.

The family I’ve been quietly building in my head, the one I let myself imagine like some foolish girl who still believes in happily-ever-afters, will be gone the moment I walk out of here with this in my hands.

But Milo is my son. And when it comes to your child, you do whatever you have to.

Just as I’m about to close the safe, something else catches my attention. A large yellow envelope sits tucked beneath the folders, the letter E scrawled across the corner in thick black Sharpie.

I don’t know why I reach for it. But my gut insists I look inside.

I set the ledger at my feet and pull the envelope free. It’s sealed with a simple metal clasp. My fingers fumble as I undo it, unease already creeping over my skin before I even pull out the first page.

At first, it looks like a deed. And for some reason, the second I see it, cold shoots through me so fast, it’s like ice water has been poured straight down my back.

My eyes move to the listed owner—Kirill Marinov—which isn’t shocking on its own.

Then…I see the address.

“Oh my God…”

I gape at it, reading it once, then again, my brain refusing to make sense of what is right in front of me.

It’s our house. The one my sister and I have been living in.

My vision goes in and out of focus. I flip to the next page, then the next, my breathing turning uneven as I scan signatures, transfer records, dates. Dates that line up far too neatly with the worst stretch of my life.

None of it makes sense. Why would he own my house? Why would he keep that from me? Why wouldn’t he say anything?

What the hell is going on?

My hands shake so badly, the deed slips from my fingers. It flutters to the floor, but I don’t even stop to pick it up.

Instead, I reach deeper into the envelope and pull out a stack of photographs. Of me.

“Oh my God.” The words scrape out of my throat as panic hits so hard it makes the room tilt.

These pictures are old. Years old. One is of me walking out of my old house in New York. Another catches me leaving a meeting with social services.

Another…another is of me with Eli.

Holy shit. What the hell is happening here?

My lungs tighten so hard, it’s like there isn’t enough air left in the room.

Who the hell is Kirill? And what the hell did I just do?

A hundred thoughts crash into me at once, each one worse than the last.

Is he working with Eli? Has this all been some twisted setup from the beginning? Some test? Have they been playing me together this whole time while I stood here like an idiot thinking I knew anything at all?

Tears burn behind my eyes as I start grabbing everything, shoving the photos back into the envelope. I need to get out of here. I need to get Milo and run before whatever this is swallows me whole.

I snatch up the ledger and shove it back into the safe, my hands scrambling through the folders as I try to put everything back the way it was, trying to remember what sat where, what angle the papers were at, what was on top of what.

But nothing looks right anymore. He’s going to know. If he doesn’t already.

My heartbeat grows wild, pounding so hard it makes me sick, nausea rising fast just as the door creaks open behind me.

Fuck.

Every muscle in my body locks. I can’t make myself turn around. It could be a guard. It could be⁠—

Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Coming closer.

All I can think about is Milo. How I’ll never get to hold him again. How I might not even get the chance to say goodbye.

Terror scorches the back of my throat as the room closes in around me, the air turning too thin, too tight.

And then something cold and metallic presses to the back of my neck. Firm. Unmistakable.

A gun.

The blood drains from my body so fast, I nearly crumple.

“My, my,” a voice says from behind me, harsh with amusement. “Malenkaya vorovka.”

The words slide over me like a noose tightening.

“I’m disappointed.”

A broken whimper escapes, my whole body quaking as the barrel presses harder into my skin.

“You have five seconds to convince me not to kill you, Eden. And I would start now.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

SLOANE

You have five seconds to convince me not to kill you, Eden. And I would start now.

The words repeat over and over while the gun remains planted at my neck, ready to fire at any second.

He knows my real name. He knows everything about me.

And now this dangerous man knows that I tried to steal from him, so there’s no way I’m getting out of here alive.

Another broken sound slips out of me, and before I can catch my balance, he pushes me up against the wall with a growl that sounds almost inhuman. The barrel digs deeper into my skin as he leans in, pressing his nose to my hair and inhaling like he’s deciding exactly how he wants to destroy me.

“You’d better start talking, and you’d better make me believe you, because I’m very close to putting a bullet in your skull.”

“Kirill, please…” I choke out. “I⁠—”

“You what?” The gun shifts, the muzzle pressing harder now. “Was this your plan from the beginning? You and that man working together to steal from me? Are you fucking him? Have you been making a fool of me this whole time?”

He growls the words against my ear, his body crowding mine so completely I can barely breathe.

“Do you really not understand who I am, solnishko?” Each syllable is more threatening than the last. “Do I need to remind you?” Then he steps back, the gun dragging down the length of my spine, and I wince. “I could kill you right now.”

“Then do it!” I whip around to face him, sick of all of it—the fear, the lies, the constant games, this feeling that no matter what I do, I only make everything worse.

His expression softens, but it only lasts a second.

My hands close around the gun, and I drag it toward my own head. My gaze fastens on his, fury burning so hot inside me, it feels brighter than the terror.

“Do it!” I scream, tears blinding me. “I’d deserve it.” My thumb presses against his on the trigger. “I’ve spent too many nights thinking people would be better off without me. Thinking about all the ways I ruin everything I touch, all the ways I make every bad thing worse just by existing.”

A sob tears out of me.

“But if you ever cared about me at all, then promise me one thing.” I manage the next words through the ache in my throat. “Watch out for Milo. Watch out for my boy.” The back of my hand scrubs beneath my eyes. “Take him as your own, because he has no one else. My sister will ruin him—or worse, leave him in the system—and he deserves so much more than anything I ever had.”

Another sob shakes through me, violent enough to make my whole body tremble.

“Please,” I whisper, then louder when he still doesn’t answer. “Please say you’ll do it.”

“Milo?” He says the name slowly, like he’s trying to put the puzzle pieces together. “Your…your nephew?”

I shake my head so hard it hurts. “He’s not my nephew. He’s my son. Mine. And I would do anything for him.” My hand slams against my chest. “She took him from me, and there was nothing I could do. She swore to me that I could get him back if I had a place to live and money of my own. I begged her to let me have him when I started working here, and she said no.” My bottom lip shudders. “She always says no.”

“Who was the man at the park?” he asks, his chest rising harder now.

“Some stranger she hired to watch him. I’d never seen him before.” A bitter laugh slips out of me. “I should’ve known you’d have me followed. I was stupid. But ask yourself…”

My hand clasps his cheek and he flings it away, and that one move just about kills me.

“Ask yourself what you would do for Lev. What lengths would you go to if his life was at risk and you were the only one who could stop it.”

“I don’t like riddles, Eden…” He says my real name with such coldness, it’s like a wall slamming down between us.

I haven’t forgotten the photos. The deed. The fact that he knows more about me than he should. But I’m in no position to ask him anything. Not with the gun still in his hand and that look on his face that says he could kill me if he had to.

“I was looking for a ledger.” I start with the truth. “A man from my past, Eli, came to the diner and told me if I didn’t get it, my son and I were dead. And I believed him, because I know what he’s capable of. What my boss back in New York is capable of.”

A muscle in his neck jumps.

“My old boss, Barrett, ran a small crew of thieves, and I was the one who handled the safes. The last time they saw me, a job went bad and I ran. I started a new life with a new name and a new place to live.”

Your place, I almost say, the words catching in my throat. I don’t know how much he already knows, so I push on.

“When Eli found me, he knew if I got close enough to you, I could take what he wanted. That’s why he forced me into the auction. He was counting on⁠—”

“Ya yevo ubyu.”

I don’t know what he says, but the way his eyes flare tells me everything. Eli’s already dead in his mind.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But I would do it again if it meant saving my boy. I don’t care what happens to me as long as he’s safe.”

My chin trembles, and he lifts it with the barrel of the gun, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Are you going to ask me about the house?” he says, a cold smile pulling at his mouth. “The photos?” His eyes go flat. “Go on. Ask.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” The barrel presses into my throat. “Are you afraid of me?”

My body betrays me, trembling harder.

“You should be.”

My pulse pounds in my temples.

“Ask me, Eden!”

I flinch back from the rise in his tone. “How…how do you know my name?”

He chuckles. “Oh, see, that is a long story, solnishko.”

His pause drags on as his gaze drops to my lips, and I can’t tell if he regrets ever kissing me at all…or if he wants to do it again.

“Years ago, when you were fourteen…you stole from me.”

“What?” My head jerks back. “No. I would remember that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he says calmly. “You didn’t even know I owned the place. You slipped into the restaurant and took cash from a tip jar in the back.”

The memory hits me all at once.

“Oh my God… I remember that. My mom needed money for her insulin. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I figured that out after,” he says. “After I found out where you lived. That dump you called a home. Parents who couldn’t even be bothered to take care of you.”

A chill sinks into me.

“So I let you live.” The gun drifts along my cheek. “Not only did I let you live, but I made sure you were taken care of.”

What is he talking about?

“A job. A place to go when things got bad. People put in your path at the right time.” His head tilts slightly. “You think it was luck that you were able to run off when that job with Barrett fell apart?”

My stomach drops.

Holy shit.

“I knew you were getting in too deep. Knew you would need help when everything blew up in your face.”

Oh my God, I can’t breathe.

“That mechanic who fixed your car? I paid him.” He smirks. “Samuel, the one who helped you disappear? That was me too. It was always me, moya vorovka.”

“Wh-what?” The room tilts. “No…no, that’s not possible.”

“Of course it’s possible.” The gun feathers down my throat. “I’m a very connected man, malyshka.” His stare holds mine. “Maybe you haven’t realized how far my reach goes.”

My chest rises and falls too fast.

“I knew everything there was to know about you.” His gaze drags over me, sharper now. “And yet somehow…” Those steely eyes narrow. “I never saw you pregnant.”

My heart stops.

“How?” he asks, voice low and dangerous now. “How did you hide that from me?”

I swallow hard, my fingers curling into my palms.

“Baggy clothes,” I whisper. “I-I never put on much weight. It wasn’t hard to hide.”

His jaw flexes.

“I’ve been trying to protect you all this time,” he cuts in, his teeth gritting, the calm finally cracking. “And all you’ve done is lie to me.” His stare pins me in place. “Why?”

My chest constricts so hard it hurts. I can’t think past the shock of it, past the question circling in my head.

Why would he do any of that for me? Why would he help me?

He finally lowers the gun to his side with a shallow exhale, and that’s when I see it clearly: the way his composure is slipping through his fingers, the way he’s breaking.

And I break with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He grabs the back of my head and drops his forehead to mine. “I would’ve given you anything, Sloane. Anything. I would’ve ripped out my own goddamn heart if you’d asked me to.”

I let out a cry, everything inside me ripping open. He draws back just enough to look at me, and the pain on his face is almost worse than the gun was.

“I’m sorry.” The words fall out of me in a rush as I take his face in both hands. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I was terrified. Can’t you understand that? Haven’t you ever been that afraid in your life?”

His eyes squeeze shut.

“Please,” I whisper, falling apart now. “Please forgive me. Tell me what you need from me. Tell me what I have to do to earn your forgiveness. I’m not even asking for your trust. I know I broke that.”

When he opens his eyes again, there’s so much in them, I can’t even begin to name it.

“I don’t know how to live without you,” he whispers, his voice drowning with so much agony, it tears straight through me.

I’ve never heard him sound like this. Never.

My hands tighten on his forearms as the tears spill faster. “I don’t want to live without you either.”

The gun slips from his hand and hits the floor with a sharp crack that thunders through the room, and when he gazes down at me, I feel it in every shattered place inside me. How much I want him. How much I need him. How badly I still want to stay.

His gaze moves over my face until it settles on my lips. “Ya by szhyog ves etot mir radi tebya.”

“What does that mean?”

His fist closes in my hair, his face strained with so much emotion, it leaves me burning beneath it. “That I would’ve burned this entire world down for you.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

KIRILL

“Kirill.” She says my name like it hurts, tears spilling down her cheeks, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to feel.

I shouldn’t care. Nothing she says changes what she’s done. To me. To us.

Killing her should be easy. I’ve killed men for less, and this kind of betrayal…it should end her. But I can’t fucking do it.

Maybe my father was right all along. Maybe I am weak. Maybe this is what happens when you let someone get too close, when you start to care in a way you were never meant to.

I had my suspicions after the park, after I saw her with that bastard, but when she went into my office and removed the painting, I didn’t stop her. I wanted to see what she was after. What she was planning.

I still don’t know.

Tapping her phone would’ve been easy. I could’ve had every answer handed to me, but I didn’t want to be that man.

I should’ve been. Trusting someone, it costs something. It always does.

When I watched her break into my safe and take the ledger, I knew that was probably what she’d been after all along. But then she found the file, and the look on her face—the confusion, the shock—it almost thrilled me.

It doesn’t matter that she knows. I have nothing to hide.

She’s the one who lied to me. The one who played me. All I’ve done since the moment she walked into my life is protect her, and she threw it all away like it meant nothing.

Didn’t she realize I would’ve helped her if she’d just told me? That I would’ve torn Eli apart for even looking at her?

How the hell am I supposed to come back from this?

But then she looks at me, really looks at me, with tears clinging to her lashes, and my chest twists. Because what I said was true. It was the truest thing I’ve admitted in a long time. I can’t—I don’t want to—live without her.

But how do I move past it?

Her hand comes up, brushing my cheek again, and a growl drags out of me, because even now, even after everything…every inch of her still feels like mine.

Her voice fractures around my name, thick with tears, and everything in me cracks clean in half. Whatever control I had left is gone.

I take her mouth like I’ve been starving for it. Rough, consuming, the kind of kiss that drags everything ugly and unspoken straight to the surface. My hand fists her hair, holding her exactly where I want her as she kisses me just as hard.

I taste the salt of her tears, feel the heat of her breath against mine, the way her lips move like we’re both trying to erase what just happened. Like we can burn through it if we push hard enough. Her fingers bunch into my shirt, gripping tight, and that small, desperate touch has me forgetting how badly she hurt me.

Blyat.

“I can’t lose you.” The words cut deep.

“You won’t,” she breathes.

I don’t know if it’s a promise or a lie, and right now, I don’t give a damn. I kiss her again, deeper, harsher, until she moans for me. Because she’s mine, damn it. All mine.

My hands move down her sides and back up, gripping her like I need to remind myself she’s here, that she’s real, that she didn’t just walk into my life to tear it apart. Every inch of her fits under my touch like she was made to be there.

Her hands push my jacket off, tugging at my shirt, and I let her. I let her take what she needs. The moment her palms press against my back, a sharp sensation gnaws in me, like my body doesn’t know what to do with the feeling clawing through it.

But I don’t stop. I push her back, our mouths still locked, breaths colliding, until her thighs meet the edge of my desk. My grip slides to her hips, and I lift her without breaking the kiss, setting her on the surface. Everything on the desk goes in one rough sweep of my arm, papers and whatever else crashing to the floor.

None of it matters. Only her. Only this. This…this madness. The way she gets under my skin. The way she makes me forget what she did, forget everything except the way she feels against me.

I step between her knees, crowding her against the desk, and when I pull back to take her in, every muscle in me locks at the sight of her.

Tear-streaked. Breathing hard. Looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping her standing.

“You drive me insane,” I tell her.

Her arms come around my neck, pulling me back to her, and I go without hesitation. My mouth crashes into hers again, harder this time, like I need to leave something behind, something she won’t be able to walk away from.

My grip tightens at her waist, dragging her closer, needing more even when it still doesn’t feel like enough. Our clothes come off in impatient pulls, buttons slipping, fabric dragging against skin, the sound of it turning frantic.

There’s nothing careful about it. Just two people who nearly destroyed each other and chose to burn anyway, while I chase one thing: proof she’s still here. That she didn’t just tear through my life and leave me standing in the wreckage.

I lay her naked against the desk, grabbing her hips until they fall just slightly off the edge. As I push my body over her, my forehead presses to hers, our breathing uneven, colliding between us.

“You’re mine.”

“Kirill…”

I take her mouth again, swallowing the sound, holding her there, keeping her right where I need her. Because if I let go…

I don’t know what the hell happens next.

“You belong to me,” I rasp against her lips before I kiss her again, unable to stand even a second without her.

Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, my back, gripping like I’m the only thing keeping her from coming apart. And I want to be that for her.

The desk presses into her, but neither of us slows down. Nothing exists except this. Except her. Except the way she looks at me like she’s already fallen too far to climb out, and maybe I have too.

My mouth drags from her lips to her jaw, tracing the line of it, taking my time before moving lower and pull a nipple between my lips as her pulse races beneath my touch. A hand moves to her throat and I narrow my grip, eyes on her as I touch her clit before sliding two fingers inside her.

“Your cunt is sucking me in like it’s afraid I’ll let go. And maybe that’s exactly what I should do.” In one fluid motion, I flip her over the desk. “But I can’t seem to do that.”

I slam my cock inside her, her fingers curling against the desk as her pussy contracts around me, aching for more while she cries out.

I grip her hair and draw her in, my lips brushing her ear. “Ti moya. Tolko moya. Ti sozdana dlya menya.” You’re mine. Only mine. You were made for me.

Before I can think, I slam into her, harder this time.

She’s close. I can feel it in the way her body tightens, the way her pussy clings to me like she’s about to fall apart. I slip a hand to her core, rubbing her slow. My grip tightens in her hair, holding her exactly where I want her.

“You’re mine. Do you understand? Only mine.”

“Yes…yours,” she gasps, the words breaking apart as my pace increases, stretching her, filling her until I can’t anymore.

“And you won’t lie to me again.” My tone hardens as I drag my cock out before pounding back inside her.

“Yes—yes, I won’t.” She trembles. “I’m sorry…I won’t.”

“Good girl.” A growl escapes as I slap her ass and my fingers return, pinching and stroking her there until she spasms, unable to fight it anymore.

I don’t let up, keeping her right on the edge until she breaks. Until her body gives in completely, the sound of my name tearing out of her as she comes apart beneath me, squirting all over the floor.

“Oh God, Kirill, yes!”

The way she says my name…it hits me hard. Something brutally possessive takes over, and I know that no matter what she does, I want her anyway. I bury my face against her neck, a low growl leaving me as I lose myself in the moment, holding her there as I release inside her, my grip tightening in her hair.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Left in the aftermath of everything that just happened.

Pressing my mouth to her shoulder, I leave a slow line of kisses there as she lets out a nervous laugh.

“I, uh, definitely didn’t expect this when I imagined what would happen if you ever caught me.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I catch her chin and turn her just enough so she has to look at me over her shoulder.

“If you were anyone else…” My words come out rough. “I would’ve killed you.”

My jaw tightens as the rest of it rises behind those words, harder to say than anything I’ve ever said.

Blyat.

“But I—” The words catch and stall in my throat.

She watches me, waiting. “You what?”

I just stare at her. Because this? This is worse than anything I’ve ever had to say. Worse than pulling a trigger. Worse than ending someone’s life without a second thought.

This matters. Too much.

Turning her fully, I force her to look at me until there’s nowhere for either of us to hide.

My knuckles drag slowly along her cheek. “I love you, Sloane.”

There’s no taking it back once it’s out.

“You…you love me?” Her eyes search mine like she’s waiting for me to take it back. “Are you crazy?”

A dry laugh leaves me. “Probably.” My mouth grazes the corner of hers before I kiss her again. “Can’t seem to help it.” I pull back just enough to look at her. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

She lets out a small, shaky laugh. “No. Not at all.”

Her hands slide up to my shoulders, and mine go straight to her waist, dragging her flush against me.

“Because I love you too, Kirill.”

My eyes shut because I wasn’t expecting her to say it back, and when I open them, my fingers sink into her hips. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you, detka?”

“That wasn’t my intention.” She leans in, brushing a kiss along my jaw, and a low sound slips out of me.

“Yet you’re doing it.”

Her face presses into my chest. “I really am sorry. For everything.”

My hand comes to rest over the back of her head. “We’ll figure it out, detka. All of it.”

She squeezes me, her words spilling out like she can’t hold them in. “I never thought this would ever happen for me. To fall in love, to have someone love me back. And I don’t even know how this will work between us, but I want you. I want us to date and get to know each other and⁠—”

A chuckle slips out of me, cutting her off.

She stills instantly, reading the shift in me as she pulls back, her brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Dating. Getting to know each other. Is that really what she thinks is going to happen?

No. Not after what she just told me.

I step away, reaching for my pants and pulling them on. “We won’t be dating, Sloane.”

“What?” She scrambles for her clothes and slips them on, confusion settling across her face.

“You’re going to marry me. Tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Her mouth falls open, like she can’t make sense of what I’m saying.

I finish getting dressed and look her straight in the eyes. “You heard me. You will be my wife. You will have my name. And every man, including Eli, will know you’re a Marinova now.”

Her hands drag through her hair as she starts pacing. “No. No, I can’t marry you. This is insane. We don’t even know each other.”

I stop her, catching her wrist and pulling her against my chest. “We know enough.” My hand slides to the back of her neck. “And this is happening.”

She shakes her head, still staring at me like she’s waiting for me to come to my senses.

“I’ll arrange it here,” I tell her. “There will be a priest my family has used for years. He’ll come to the house and perform the ceremony. It will be quick.”

She stares at me, waiting for the punchline that never comes. “You’re really serious.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Kirill—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “You don’t understand the situation you’re in. The only protection strong enough to keep men like Eli from touching you is my name.” I cup her cheek, unable to stop myself. “My wife.”

Just saying it has my heart beating harder.

“And my son?” Her eyes fill with worry. “What happens to Milo in all of this?”

Does she really think I would leave him there?

“After school today, we go get him.”

She jerks back. “Oh my God. Really?”

“Of course. If you’d told me sooner, he would already be here.”

Her gaze drops to the floor, and I can see the realization settling in at last: that I would’ve done anything for her. Anything.

“But my sister⁠—”

“What about her?”

That woman means less than nothing to me.

“What if she calls the police?”

“Sloane.” A humorless laugh pulls from me. “We own most of the police in this state. And if she tries anything, it will be the last thing she does.”

Her eyes widen. “Do you mean…”

She can’t even finish the thought, just stares at me like I’m both the hero and the villain in her story.

And that’s exactly what I am.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

SLOANE

Sitting in Kirill’s car on the way to my sister’s house to get Milo, I can’t stop my leg from bouncing.

I’m about to become the wife of a man in the Russian Mafia. That isn’t something you take lightly. And somehow, that isn’t even the scariest part.

I’m about to face my sister with my future husband, who wants to kill her. And those two in the same room together is a recipe for disaster.

My husband. I seriously didn’t see this coming.

What is happening to my life? It’s like everything’s been turned upside down overnight. But I’m going to get Milo back, whatever it takes, and that’s all that matters to me.

Kirill’s hand settles over my jittery knee, his palm pressing down to still the frantic motion.

“Don’t worry. She won’t say no to me.” A faint, dangerous smirk touches his mouth. “Trust me.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

His thumb brushes back and forth. “Everything will be okay.”

I glance at him. His attention is on the road, but his hand doesn’t move off me.

“I won’t let anything happen to you or Milo.” The certainty in his voice gives me some sort of comfort.

“You don’t understand.” I let out a sigh, staring out the windshield. “I’ve wanted him back since the day she kicked me out, and I never thought this moment would come.”

He focuses on me as the light turns red. “You never have to worry about that again. A child should always be with the mother who loves him. What she did to you was cruel and unforgivable.”

My hands twist in my lap. “I was a mess for a long time. With the drinking…with everything. I made mistakes. I got involved with people I never should have been around. But I never drank when I was pregnant with him. Not once.” My throat thickens as I force the words out. “And I’m not that person anymore. I’m not. But she doesn’t see that. She never will.”

The homes outside the window blur as we drive past.

“You don’t need her approval. Some people aren’t satisfied until they drag everyone else down with them.”

There’s something in his tone that makes me glance over again. Something darker. Something personal. And I wonder if he’s thinking about his father.

Neither of us says anything after that. The silence stretches between us as the car turns down a familiar street, and the second my house comes into view, my stomach flips violently. Kirill pulls the SUV to the curb and shuts off the engine.

This is it.

I stare at the front door of the small house, unable to move even though I’ve been waiting for this very moment.

Kirill gets out first and walks around the front of the car. A moment later, my door opens, and he’s standing there waiting for me, one hand resting on the frame as he studies my face.

“Come on.”

But I can’t. My fingers grip the edge of the seat, and my chest is too tight to breathe properly. Kirill lowers himself until he’s kneeling in front of me and gently takes both of my hands in his. That simple touch alone makes me feel cherished.

“I’m here.” His thumbs brush across my knuckles. “You’re safe. I promise.”

And that’s enough. Those words…they’re enough. Because I believe them.

He may be dangerous to half the world. But I know he would never hurt me. He’s already proven that.

With my hand still in his, I finally step out of the car. The walk to the house feels endless, and by the time we reach the porch, my nerves are back in full force.

Kirill knocks, and a few seconds later, the door opens halfway, my sister filling the frame. Her expression hardens the moment she sees me.

“What do you want?” she snaps. Then her eyes shift past me to Kirill. “And who the hell is this?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even slow down. His hand squeezes around mine, and before she can even react, he steps forward, brushing right past her like she’s nothing more than an obstacle.

The door swings shut behind us while I’m still staring at Camille. I can’t help it. The look on her face is pure shock, like she can’t believe someone just marched into her house before she had time to protest.

“Excuse me!” She spins around. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Kirill doesn’t release my hand. “The owner of this house. Not that I’m here to explain myself to you.”

“What?” she scoffs.

“I’m not here to answer your questions. What I need is simple. Go pack Milo’s things and get him.”

Her eyes flick between us, and then her lip curls.

“Really?” She lets out a piercing laugh. “You just shack up with any loser who wants to fuck you? Typical. You spread your legs for whoever you want, but Milo’s not going anywhere.”

The words rip through me before I even process them.

But Kirill does. He releases me and steps forward with a menacing prowl, the change in his posture both immediate and dangerous.

“What did you just say to her?”

Camille lifts her chin. “You heard me.”

The next movement is so quick, I barely register it.

He reaches beneath his jacket and pulls out his gun. The room freezes.

“You’re only alive right now because of the love I have for your sister.” He edges closer until Camille has to tilt her head back to meet his stare. “But I swear to you, one more wrong word and I will put a bullet right here.”

He taps the barrel between her eyes.

“Now go pack Milo’s things. Because he is coming home with us.”

Camille’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Probably smart.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Kirill continues. “Believe me, you don’t want it to be, or you will find yourself not only homeless, but dead.”

It looks like she wants to argue. I can see it in the way her lips open and close. But the gun still in his grip stops her. She pivots and disappears down the hallway instead.

My legs go weak. This is actually happening. I’ll have my baby back.

Kirill’s fingers slice through mine like nothing just happened, while I wait eagerly to see Milo. Minutes later, Camille returns with Milo’s small backpack and a duffel bag, Milo running down the stairs behind her the second he sees me.

“Mommy!”

The sound hits me straight in the chest. I drop to my knees just in time to catch him as he throws himself into my embrace, his arms locking around my neck like he’s afraid I might disappear again.

“I missed you,” he says into my shoulder.

My throat tightens.

“I missed you too, baby,” I whisper, pressing my face into his hair and breathing him in like he’s oxygen.

He winds back to look at me, his small hands cupping my cheeks. “Am I gonna live with you now?”

The question cracks straight through me.

I nod quickly, emotions clinging to my throat. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

His eyes widen. “Forever?”

“Forever. I promise.” I brush his hair back from his forehead. “We’re never going to be apart again, okay? Mommy’s not leaving you ever again.”

He studies my face like he’s making sure I mean it. Then he hugs me again, even tighter this time.

“Good,” he says.

I laugh through the tears threatening to spill and kiss the top of his head.

Kirill watches us, the corner of his mouth twitching as he takes the bag from Camille’s hand.

A few minutes later, we’re back at the car, strapping Milo into the backseat. But before Kirill gets in, he pauses and turns toward Camille one last time, where she’s still standing frozen in the doorway.

“You are not to come anywhere near my wife or our son, you understand me?” His voice drops lower, colder. “I have killed a woman for less.”

Every bit of color drains from her face.

He doesn’t say anything after that, just gets into the car. And as we pull away, with Milo safely in the backseat beside me, I know I have everything I need now.

Everything and more.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

KIRILL

“This house is ginormous!”

Milo presses his face to the window as the car rolls slowly up the long driveway.

“Are you rich?” he asks with complete seriousness.

I laugh under my breath at the bluntness only a kid can get away with. “Some have called it that.”

“Wow…” He leans forward between the seats, looking from the house to Sloane beside him and back again. “Will I really live here with Mommy?”

“That’s right.”

I catch Sloane’s gaze in the rearview, and the pure happiness on her face makes this all worth it. She deserves everything she has never been given. And I will make sure she gets it.

When the car stops, Milo hops out the second I open his door. He looks at the stretch of the house, trying to take in the entire place in one glance.

“This is so cool. I bet playing hide-and-seek here is epic.”

Sloane laughs, peering over with glassy eyes.

As we head toward the front steps, Milo looks up at me again. “Do you live here alone?”

“Not exactly. I have a son,” I tell him as we reach the door. “And lots of people who help keep this place clean.”

His eyes widen immediately. “Is he my age? What’s his name?”

“His name is Lev, and he’s nine.”

“Cool. I’ll have someone to play with!” His excitement becomes contagious, and a smile pulls at my mouth.

“You will.” I open the door and lead them inside. “But Lev sometimes plays a little differently than other kids.”

Milo looks curious, his features bunching up. “How?”

I glance over at Sloane, who nods.

“Do you know what autism is?”

He shakes his head.

“It means Lev’s brain works a bit different. Sometimes he likes to be by himself because too much noise or too many people can be a lot. Other times, he’s happy to play hide-and-seek or build things, but he usually likes quiet activities like reading or puzzles more than rough games.”

Milo squints. “Well…” He shrugs. “He sounds cool.”

I chuckle. “I think so too.”

“Hopefully he likes me.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Inside the house, the staff begins appearing. I texted Katya to let her know we will have Milo here with us from now us. She appears, stepping forward first, with about ten others on the cleaning staff. Milo takes them all in, completely unfazed.

“Hi,” he says brightly. “I’m Milo.”

Katya laughs. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.”

“Come,” I say. “Let me introduce you to Lev.”

“He’s in the den,” Katya tells me.

We move out of the foyer, and I already know what we’ll find before we even reach the doorway. Lev is curled into the corner of the couch with his headphones on and a book open in front of him, completely absorbed in whatever world he’s inside.

When we step into the room, he senses the movement and glances up. His eyes move across the three of us. First me, then Sloane, then Milo. He removes his headphones carefully and sets them down.

“Hi.” Milo steps forward with that same fearless energy he’s had since we picked him up. “I’m Milo.”

“Hi,” Lev whispers.

A brief silence settles as the two boys study each other before Milo suddenly reaches into his backpack.

“Do you want to see my Legos?”

I already know the answer before Lev does. He loves Legos.

The second Lev nods, Milo breaks into a grin. “Okay.”

He strolls over, drops his backpack onto the floor, and pulls out a bag packed with pieces, dumping them across the rug in a bright, colorful pile.

Sloane starts to step forward immediately. “Milo, I don’t know if you should do that.”

I stop her with a hand on her arm. “Let them be.”

She glances at me, then seems to relax when the boys lower to the floor together.

“We can make a spaceship,” Milo suggests as they begin sorting through the pieces and deciding what they want to build.

Lev considers it, then says, “Tower.”

“Let’s make a tower spaceship!”

Lev nods.

Sloane lets out a soft laugh beside me. I slide an arm around her waist and pull her into my side, pressing a kiss to her temple as we stand there watching them.

The boys sit on the rug, surrounded by scattered bricks, their heads bent close together while they build something bigger than either of them understands.

I peer at Sloane. “This thing they’re building, that’s a family. And there’s no one else I’d rather build one with than you.”

She lets her head rest against me with a soft sigh. And as she does, I can’t help thinking of my father—of his rage, of the way he ruled through fear, of everything he tried to beat into us.

But he didn’t win. He lost that power a long time ago.

Because I have something he never did: a family who loves me.

SLOANE

“I know this room doesn’t look like much yet,” Kirill tells him. “But you can make it into anything you want.”

Milo turns toward him so fast his sneakers squeak against the wood, his eyes going wide like he just heard the best news of his life. “Really? Anything?”

Kirill lets out a laugh, glancing back at me, and I know with a deep-rooted certainty that I love this man.

“Well…” He drags the word out a little. “Within reason.”

“I want a space room!” Milo blurts.

Kirill doesn’t even hesitate. “We can arrange that.”

My baby’s whole face lights up in a way I’ve never seen before, and it chokes me up. I’ve spent so long wishing I could give him more, dreaming of a better life for him, and maybe now he can finally have it.

“I already love living here.” Milo circles slowly in the middle of the room. “This is the best house ever.”

Kirill ruffles his hair. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Alright, you two,” I interrupt. “How about we change into our pajamas and go brush our teeth?”

“Me too?” Kirill teases.

“Sure.” My gaze drifts over him—gray sweats, a simple black T-shirt—before he drags me into him. “Though I do like what you’re wearing right now.”

My teeth catch my bottom lip, and he leans in, brushing a kiss against it.

“Ew!” Milo giggles, already darting toward the dresser, where his clothes have been neatly folded and put away.

Kirill goes serious now, the back of his hand brushing along my cheek. “Are you doing okay? I know today has been a lot.”

He’s not kidding. I haven’t had this much excitement in a long time. My sister. Eli still being a problem. Moving here.

And…

My stomach flips.

Oh my God. The wedding. I forgot.

“I’m okay.” I lean up, catching his mouth in a quick kiss. “But are you really sure we need to rush and get married?” I lower my voice so Milo doesn’t overhear as he dresses himself in the corner. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to marry you. Of course I do. I just…it’s so soon.”

His gaze grows heavy-lidded as he cups my cheeks, kissing my forehead.

“I’m sure.” When he stares back at me, there’s no hesitation in him at all. “You will be my wife. And Milo will be my son.”

I can’t deny how much I like the sound of that.

“Besides, I’ve already arranged everything.”

I arch a brow. “Like what?”

“Your gowns will arrive tomorrow morning for you to try on.”

My jaw drops. “Jesus. I didn’t even know you could plan a ceremony in a day.”

He scoffs. “With enough money, you can plan it in an hour.”

“Yeah…I wouldn’t really know anything about that.”

His lips return to mine in a slow, reverent claim. “Well, now you do. Whatever I have is yours, Mrs. Marinova.”

The words send warmth cruising straight through me, lighting up every cell in my body.

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “You know…minus the Mafia part, I could get used to this life.”

“I’m very happy to hear that, solnishko.” His palms settle across my hips.

We stay that way until Milo is ready, teeth brushed, crawling into bed with excitement.

“Tomorrow, we can start planning your space room,” Kirill promises as he tucks the blanket around his shoulders.

“With rockets on the ceiling?” Milo asks hopefully.

“Of course.”

“And planets?”

“Sure.” Kirill chuckles.

Milo grins, and it makes me smile too.

“Goodnight, baby,” I whisper, kissing him all over his face as he giggles.

“Goodnight, Mommy.”

Kirill switches off the lamp as we close the door behind us. We head down the hall toward Lev’s room, who’s already in bed with his book, headphones resting on his nightstand. When he sees us, he sits up slightly.

Kirill moves first, brushing his hair back. “Time to go to sleep, synok.”

Lev drops his book on the nightstand, then his eyes slide to me and he reaches his hand out. My heart squeezes as I step closer and take it. As I do, he tugs me down into a hug, arms wrapping around my shoulders.

“I love you,” I whisper.

His grip immediately tightens, and I know that’s his way of saying it back. “I see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here.”

Lev draws back. “Milo?”

I smile. “Yes, Milo too. He’ll be here every day.”

He seems satisfied with that, sinking all the way down under the blanket, then reaches over and clicks off his lamp, leaving the room wrapped in darkness.

Kirill and I stay there another moment, neither of us in a hurry to leave, before we finally step back and pull the door shut. We make it down the hall in silence, and when his hand slips into mine, it’s like stepping into the forever I’ve always been too afraid to hope for.

But now that it’s here, I can’t stop fearing how easily it could be taken away.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

SLOANE

With the boys already dropped off at school the next day, I pace through the den, waiting for Kirill’s brothers to arrive. The wedding is happening tonight with only his family here, but that isn’t why they’re coming.

Kirill told me he has a plan for Eli, and that he needs his brothers to help carry it out. He’s already told them who I am and what I’ve been running from, but he wanted to go over everything in person.

No matter how hard I try to calm myself, I can’t shake this sense that something is going to go horribly wrong. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s instinct. Either way, the dread sitting in my chest won’t go away.

He comes up behind me, his hands settling on my arms before moving gently up and down. “Everything will be okay.”

“I don’t know.” I turn to him and let out a strained exhale. “You have no idea what Eli is capable of.”

He cups my chin, making me look at him. “And I assure you, what my brothers and I are capable of will make anything he does look like child’s play.”

“I want to believe you, I do, but…”

The doorbell rings before I can finish, and my pulse jumps.

They’re here.

“Don’t worry.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “They’ll love you. And you already met Aleksei that time at the diner. I’m sure you remember.”

Of course I remember. But that doesn’t stop the nerves from skittering through me. It’s not every day you meet the head of the Russian Mob, and I’m almost positive terrifying doesn’t begin to cover it.

When the three of them roll in, I’m not even sure where to look first. The tallest one reaches first, a surprisingly warm grin on his face as he takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth.

“I’m Konstantin.”

Well…he doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as I expected.

“Watch where you put your mouth, bratik,” Kirill teases, though I swear his face tenses.

Konstantin chuckles. “I am just very happy to finally meet the famous Sloane. I have heard so much about you from Aleksei here.”

He gestures toward the dark-haired man I already met, while Aleksei’s cunning brown eyes assess me.

“I didn’t realize you already knew about me,” I tell Konstantin.

“Of course,” Aleksei says this time. “I told him as soon as I met you. It’s not every day Kirill starts chasing a waitress.”

Kirill’s nostril flare. “Ignore him. He talks too much.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“And you’re about to stop speaking altogether if you keep it up.”

Before Aleksei can answer, Kirill motions toward the last brother, the one who’s been standing there in silence, watching everything with an expression that makes me instantly uneasy.

“This is my youngest brother, Anton. He doesn’t talk much. You will learn that about him.”

Good to know…

Anton doesn’t even react to what Kirill said.

“Uh, hi…” I throw on a small smile and hold out my hand anyway.

He glares down at it, gaze narrowing, like I’ve offered him something suspicious instead of a handshake.

Kirill lets out a short laugh. “Take my wife’s hand. It won’t bite.”

Anton smirks, giving him a death stare instead. “How do you marry someone you don’t even know?”

That’s a great question. I’m wondering the very same thing…

Kirill throws an arm around me, drawing me to his side. “I was going to marry her at one point, anyway. Why not just speed up the process?”

Well, I guess that’s romantic, right?

“Ah, love.” Konstantin sighs. “There is nothing like it, my brother.” He slaps Anton on the back. “One day, you’ll find it too. I believe that. I really do.”

The way he says it makes it feel like there’s more behind it.

“You’re funny.” Anton doesn’t so much as crack a smile. “Love isn’t something I will ever go looking for. I’m fine with the way things are.”

Konstantin studies him for a few seconds. “Whatever he did to you, it can be undone.”

Who? Their father? Oh God, I can just imagine…

“Enough.” Anton’s tone sharpens, and Konstantin raises his hands in surrender.

Kirill steps in before it can go any further. “Let’s focus on why I brought you here. I have a plan for Eli. It comes with risks, but⁠—”

Konstantin lets out a short laugh. “Of course we’ll help. There’s no question about that. We’ll protect Sloane and her child like they’re our own. When do you want to move?”

I don’t know why his words bring tears to my eyes, but I can’t help it. Maybe it’s the way they love and support each other. Maybe it’s because it now feels like I have the family I never had before.

I squeeze Kirill’s hand, and he squeezes back before lifting it to his mouth as he starts laying out the plan.

“So, you want me to pretend I stole the ledger and send a picture of it?” I mull it over in my head.

He nods. “You will tell him that you want to meet in the park in three days, but we will ambush him in two. I know where he’s been hiding.” He looks at his brothers then. “He doesn’t have too many men with him. Ten, maybe. It will be easy.”

“And Barrett?” I ask.

“Barrett will also be dealt with. I promise.”

“Are you gonna kill them?”

Well, that was a stupid question. What else is he going to do? Have a heart-to-heart? Do they look like the kind of men who do that?

Anton lets out a dry chuckle like he finds me entertaining, but one sharp look from Kirill shuts him up. Mostly. Minus the small smirk he’s still wearing.

“I don’t want you to worry,” Kirill adds. “All you need to do is send the text. In fact, give me the phone. I’ll do it.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I should send it. If he gets suspicious, I don’t want it to be because the message doesn’t sound like me.” I swallow. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell him you have the ledger and that you can meet in three days. If he fights you on when, just tell him I’m going to be out of town that day, so it will be easier for you to get away.”

“Okay.”

Every muscle in my body winds up, my thoughts spinning, but I still unlock my phone, open the messages, and type.

Sloane

I have it. Can you meet in 3 days? He will be out of town.

Eli

I wanna see it.

I roll my eyes and hold the phone up so Kirill can read it.

“Predictable,” he scoffs, removing the ledger from his jacket pocket.

I take it from him, snap a quick photo, hand it back, and send the picture.

Then we wait. A few seconds pass, then a few more, and the silence stretches long enough to make my nerves crawl. No one else seems rattled by it. I guess they’re used to living with threats hanging over their heads. I’m not.

Kirill’s hand settles on my thigh and gives it a firm squeeze. “You and the boys will go to our safe house tomorrow morning.”

I turn to him. “Wait, why? We won’t be safe here?”

“It’s a precaution. Nothing more.” His thumb moves once against my leg. “My men will go with you and stay there until this is finished. There are already more guards at the property.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Suddenly, this fear that something will happen to him grips me and doesn’t let go.

“If he sees that I’m not at work, he could get suspicious.”

“Crap. You’re right.” My fingers close around his forearm. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. I hate that I’m putting you at risk because of my mistakes.” My gaze shifts to the others. “All of you. I’m so sorry.”

“Net, dorogaya. Do not apologize.” Konstantin shakes his head. “Whatever you have done, it doesn’t matter. We all have done things to survive.”

Aleksei smirks. “We are used to blood. Don’t worry about us. We will be fine. Your friends, on the other hand? Not so much.”

“They’re definitely not my friends.”

“After we take care of them…” Konstantin adds. “We have to have a proper wedding for you both. Emilia and I would be happy to help you plan if you’d like.”

I can barely think about the ceremony tonight, let alone some big celebration after this, but I don’t want to seem rude. “That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Kirill lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles, his eyes searching mine. “Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.”

I want to believe him. I really do. But the dread won’t let go. It stays there, coiled in my chest, whispering that something is going to go terribly wrong, and all we’ll have left is the shattered pieces of the aftermath.

The gowns arrive not long after his brothers leave, some hanging from a portable rack, others spread across my bed waiting for me to try them on. I just stand there, staring at them like they belong in someone else’s life.

Ivory and lace and silk spill across the comforter in soft, expensive folds, each dress somehow more beautiful than the last.

“There are a few styles here in a few different sizes,” Claudette, the woman from the Ralph Lauren store, says. “Is there one you’re leaning toward so we can start there?”

Two other women stand quietly behind her while I move toward the dress that’s held my attention since the moment they unpacked it.

My fingers skim over the lace, taking in the strapless bodice and the way the skirt flares slightly at the bottom. Even though I have no idea how it’ll look on me, something about it makes me want to see.

“This one.”

“That’s a lovely choice.” Claudette lifts it carefully from the bed.

A few minutes later, she’s helping me into it, guiding the fabric over my hips and fastening the corset back while I try not to think too hard about the fact that this is actually happening.

When I step toward the full-length mirror, I can’t help but grin.

The dress fits better than I expected, the lace hugging my waist before falling softly around my legs in a way that feels elegant without being too much. Claudette studies my reflection.

“You know…” she says from behind me. “I think this is the one.”

“Yeah.” I keep staring at myself, my smile growing. “I think this is the one too.”

I don’t even bother trying on the others. The second I decide, the women get to work adjusting the hem, pinning and measuring until everything sits exactly right before helping me slip it off so they can finish altering it properly.

Tonight, I’ll be married. My life will look nothing like I once thought it would.

Part of me wonders if I’ll ever be able to be honest with anyone about who I am now, about the life I’m stepping into. If I can even tell Mandy.

Then again, she’d probably think the whole thing was wild and romantic and shrug it off like it’s nothing.

Then there’s Milo. I haven’t even told him I’m getting married. He’s still young enough that I’m not sure he’d care all that much, but that doesn’t change what this means. It will shape his life too, tying him to a world far more dangerous than the one he came from.

And still, somewhere deep down, I know I’m making the right choice. Even if Kirill didn’t exactly leave me one.

Hours pass before the women finally leave. The dress hangs in the closet while I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping Kirill’s plan for Eli goes smoothly, and that once it’s over we can all finally breathe a little easier.

I roll onto my side and close my eyes, trying to quiet my mind, when my phone suddenly buzzes on the nightstand. The sound makes me jump.

I reach for it, expecting maybe Kirill or Mandy, but the second I see the screen, a groan slips out of me.

Camille.

Just ignore her.

She’s probably calling to tell me what a shit mother I am for being with Kirill, and I have no desire to hear it. But then a small knot of worry forms because even after everything she’s said to me, after the way she’s treated me, some part of me wonders if something’s wrong.

I shouldn’t care. She’s never cared about me. But I’m not her.

“Hello?”

“Sloane.” Her voice comes through rushed and uneven. I’ve never heard my sister like this.

“What’s wrong?” I sit up so fast the bed creaks.

“Eli… H-he was just here.”

My whole body goes cold. “What?”

“He came asking all kinds of questions about you.” She exhales harshly. “Asking if I knew where you’re living. If you’ve taken Milo back. He kept accusing me of lying, and then—” She breaks off, sucking in a shaky cry. “He threw me against the wall. I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Oh my God. Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, no, I-I’m fine. Just scared.” She pauses. “But I didn’t say anything, okay? I wouldn’t.”

A rush of gratitude hits me. “Thanks.”

“He was going to go upstairs to check if Milo was there, but I told him Milo was sick and he shouldn’t scare him.”

My heart rate batters while images flash through my mind and I recall the way Eli’s temper would explode without warning. The things I’ve seen him do when someone gets in his way.

“He’s insane,” she says.

“I know.” My eyes shut, and I try to calm down. “Maybe go to a hotel or something in the meantime in case he comes back.”

“No,” she says immediately. “I’m not leaving my home for that asshole. I’ve been running from them enough.”

Part of me wants to argue with her. Another part knows she won’t listen.

“Sloane, just be careful, okay?” she tells me.

And the strange thing is, it sounds like she actually means it.

“I will. I’ll be heading out of town tomorrow morning for a bit.”

“That’s good. Keep Milo safe, and please don’t get yourself killed.”

A small huff of laughter leaves me. “I thought you wanted me dead.”

“I…” She hesitates. “That was wrong to say. I’m…sorry.”

The apology catches me off guard.

“I appreciate that. I’ll talk to you later, Camille.”

“Okay…bye.”

The line goes dead and I lower the phone, staring at it, still surprised by the whole conversation. Maybe this finally scared some sense into her.

Or maybe by tomorrow, she’ll go right back to hating me.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

KIRILL

A row of white chairs stretches across the grass, flowers lining the aisle while lights twist through the trees and overhead, enough to make the whole yard glow once the sun goes down. At the end of it all, a canopy waits for her.

For Sloane.

My wife.

I never thought I’d marry again. Never wanted to. Then she came into my life and made a liar out of me.

Anton sits alone on one side, while Konstantin and Aleksei are seated together in the front row, their wives between them, whispering with small smiles.

Lev stands beside me as my best man in his matching suit, his fingers wrapped around the ring box.

I crouch down in front of him. “Are you happy that Papa is getting married?”

He considers the question before he says, “Love…Sloane.”

My arm curls around him. “She loves you too.”

For the first time, he’s going to have a mother who loves him exactly as he is, not for who she expected him to be.

Father Pasha stands beneath the canopy, waiting for the ceremony to begin, and just as I start to grow restless, the music starts to play from the in-ground speakers.

That’s when I see her. She steps onto the grass holding a small pink bouquet, the lace of her strapless gown catching the light and making her look almost unreal, like something fragile and beautiful that wandered into my life by accident and somehow stayed.

Milo marches beside her, arm looped through hers, while waving toward my brothers the second he spots them.

“Aww,” Fiona gushes, looking over at me with a grin.

Even Aleksei dips his chin, which from him is practically enthusiasm.

“You look beautiful,” Emilia whisper-shouts just as Sloane passes, gripping Konstantin’s arm.

He kisses the top of her head, and the way he loves her…I hope I can be half the husband he is.

As soon as Sloane stops before me, my chest splits open. I’ve never felt this level of emotion in my goddamn life except when Lev was born. It’s as though the world narrows until it’s just the two of us standing here beneath the sky.

I take her hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You’re beautiful. I don’t deserve you.”

She smiles up at me, her eyes warm. “You deserve more than you realize, Kirill Marinov.”

I don’t have time to argue about how wrong she is, and when her fingers tighten around mine, she moves to stand at my side.

Father Pasha clears his throat just as Milo moves toward Lev.

“We are gathered here today under the eyes of God to witness the union of this man and this woman.”

His Russian accent wraps around every word, but I only catch half of what he says. The rest drifts past me because all I can focus on is her, looking like the future I never let myself imagine.

Her eyes. Her smile. The quiet trust in the way she holds my hand.

All I want to do is kiss her.

Finally, Father Pasha turns to me. “Do you take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do.” The answer leaves me without hesitation.

“And do you take this man to be your husband?”

“I do.”

“Then by the power given to me by God, you may now kiss the bride.”

The words barely leave him before I pull her in, my lips capturing hers.

Right now, everything feels perfect. But even with her in my arms, I know what comes next. Tomorrow, I send her and the boys away, and I’ll hate every blyadsky second of it.

But this is my family now, and I will protect them. No matter what it takes.

SLOANE

I hate goodbyes. Even the ones that are supposed to be short. Because sometimes you don’t know how short they’ll really be.

Mist still hangs over the lawn when we step outside, the grass damp beneath my shoes while the cars idle at the end of the driveway.

Four men are already waiting, two inside the SUV that will follow us and two standing beside the one we’ll be riding in.

Kirill pulls me into his arms, one heavy hand settling at the back of my head as he presses a kiss to my forehead. His mouth lingers there, and I can feel in the way he holds me that this hurts him just as much as it hurts me.

“This will be over soon,” he says. “Then we’ll be together with our boys.”

I lift my face and kiss him, my fingers twisting into the front of his jacket. The kiss deepens almost instantly, desperate and nowhere near long enough, and when he finally pulls back, I already miss him.

Then he crouches in front of the boys, who are standing there hand in hand, waiting for us.

“You two behave.” A small smile touches his mouth as he glances between them. “And listen to Mom. Okay?”

“Okay,” Milo says right away, bouncing on his feet. “But I’m excited for our trip. Right, Lev?”

He bumps Lev gently with his elbow, but Lev doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring at his father with a quiet, watchful expression, like he knows this isn’t just a trip.

Kirill opens his arms, and Lev goes straight to him, wrapping himself around him.

“I’ll be with you very soon,” Kirill tells him. “I promise. Papa loves you.”

Then, gripping both boys’ hands, he helps them climb into the backseat before waiting for me to get in after them. He leans in and gives me one last kiss before I slide into the backseat, the two bodyguards getting in the front a second later.

As the doors shut, Kirill stays where he is, hands in his pockets, expression tight as the driver starts down the long driveway. I can still see him through the window.

Then the trees close in and swallow him from view, and it feels like a part of me is still standing back there with him.

The drive is supposed to take a couple of hours, and I keep hoping the boys will do okay. After about forty-five minutes, Lev still seems fine, staring out the window with his headphones on, while Milo fills the car with a hundred questions at once.

“Where are we going, exactly?” He leans toward me as I sit sandwiched between Lev and him. “Is there a pool there? Or a swing set? Can we get ice cream?”

“We’ll see when we get there. Sit straight, please.”

The trees grow thicker the farther we drive, tall pines closing in on both sides. There are only a couple of cars on this road now.

I have no idea where we are anymore. But I trust Kirill. He said we would be safe there.

“Mom,” Milo whines a few minutes later.

“What?”

“I have to pee.”

“We can’t stop right now, buddy.”

“But I really have to go.”

“You’re going to have to hold it a little longer.”

“I can’t.” He groans dramatically.

I glance over, trying not to let my frustration show. “You can. Just hang on until we get to a rest stop.”

“Ugh, fine.” He sinks back with a pout.

At that exact moment, the driver jerks the car forward. The SUV lurches, the engine roaring louder as he hits the gas.

“What’s going on?” Unease twists through me.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay fixed on the rearview mirror, his jaw working like he’s trying to figure something out fast. I follow his gaze and find a van behind us, while the other SUV carrying Kirill’s men is still ahead.

Our SUV jerks hard as he guns it, whipping us into a sudden U-turn sharp enough to make Milo yelp, and I reach out to hold his hand.

“Everything is fine.”

But I’m not so sure.

The second SUV makes a U-turn too just as Lev lowers his headphones. The tires scream against the pavement while the trees smear into streaks outside the windows.

My heart slams against my ribs as I gaze through the windshield and reach for both boys, squeezing their hands and telling them everything is going to be okay even while I know I’m lying now.

The van does a three-sixty and follows beside us, going the wrong way and veering toward us, trying to cut us off the road, not slowing down for anything. The bodyguard in the passenger seat is already on the phone, speaking fast in Russian.

We swerve to the right, trying to avoid the van, but out of nowhere, a huge truck appears behind the second SUV. The men inside lay on the horn, trying to get clear, while our driver guns it with nowhere left to go.

Then the truck slams into the SUV.

The impact sends it spinning into the air. When it crashes down on its roof, both boys scream. My pulse pounds so hard I can barely breathe as I curl myself around them, trying to shield them from every bit of the terror clawing through me.

When the SUV bursts into flames, they scream again. Milo is crying now as I jerk back, my hand flying to my mouth.

“Oh my God.”

The driver curses and yanks the wheel again, sending us swerving off the road as he tries to keep the van and the truck from boxing us in.

We drop into a grassy ditch running alongside the trees, the SUV bouncing so violently, it’s like my bones are rattling.

Everything blurs after that. Milo is screaming. Lev is shaking so hard his breathing turns sharp and panicked.

“We’re okay,” I tell them, even though nothing about this is okay. “Just hold on.”

Branches whip against the sides of the SUV as we tear over uneven ground, the whole vehicle bouncing so violently, it’s like it could come apart at any second. Behind us, the van is still there, engine screaming louder as it gains on us. The driver jerks the wheel, trying to cut toward another road that opens just past the trees.

The hit comes before I can even brace for it. The truck plows into us head-on with a crash so loud it shatters my skull. The force lifts the SUV off the ground, and suddenly the world tips.

Everything spins. Sky flashes through the windows. Then dirt. Then sky again.

The vehicle rolls once. Then again.

I scream the boys’ names through their wailing, but the sound that comes out of me is high and broken, nothing like my own voice. My head smashes into the side window, and pain bursts across my skull, so hard and hot that it blinds me.

Then everything stops. The world hangs upside down, and I can’t breathe at all.

Gasoline stings the air. Broken glass trickles around us in soft little falls, and the seat belt cuts hard across my chest, holding me suspended in the wreckage.

“Milo…Lev…” I can barely get the words out.

Both boys are crying. That means they’re alive.

I move my arms to them, trying to reassure them, and pain shoots across my torso.

“Mommy,” Milo sobs while Lev shrieks, the kind of scream that tears straight through my soul.

“I’m here, boys. Mama’s here.” I reach for them even as everything blurs, trying to soothe them, trying not to let my own panic swallow me whole.

When I look toward the driver and the bodyguard in the passenger seat, my stomach turns. They’re hanging there in their belts, heads slumped at awful angles, faces smashed and bloodied.

“Oh my God…” I whisper.

I need my bag. Where the fuck is my bag? I just need to call Kirill. I fumble for the seat belt, trying to unclip it, but it won’t move.

No.

No, no, no.

Then the rear door on Lev’s side flies open, and for one brief, desperate second, I think someone is here to help us.

Cold air rushes in. Boots crunch over broken glass. Until a masked man leans inside.

And I know that voice before he even finishes speaking.

“I told you what would happen if you played me.”

My blood turns to ice.

Eli.

“Now you’re gonna learn.”

Hands reach in, cut the seatbelt, and grab Lev first, and he shouts for me. “Mama!”

I lunge for him, but I can’t reach. “Don’t touch him! Eli, please. Leave him alone!”

He ignores me and goes for Milo next, prying the other door open.

I claw at Milo, fighting from where I hang, my boy clinging to me while I cling to him, both of us desperate, both of us losing.

“Mommy! Help me!” he yelps, his face wet with tears.

“No!” I thrash against the seat belt, trying to rip myself free. “Stop! Please stop! I’ll do whatever you want. Please! Please don’t do this!”

I’ve never felt fear like this. It’s raw. Alive. Ripping through me from somewhere so deep I know it will never leave.

“Tell your boyfriend I want twenty million for each kid.” A cold smirk snakes up Eli’s face. “Or they die.”

“No!” The word tears out of me. “Please, take me instead! He’ll pay. Just don’t do this to them!”

Eli only smiles wider. “He has twenty-four hours.”

I shriek after them, calling the boys’ names while they cry for me. I shove against the door, fighting the seat belt with shaky hands, sobbing like that might make any difference at all.

Then a gun appears inches from my face.

Another masked man holding it grabs me by the hair. “You’re fucking annoying.”

The pistol crashes into my head, and pain bursts behind my eyes so hard it wipes out everything else.

The last thing I hear is Milo screaming for me to help him. Then everything goes black.

CHAPTER FIFTY

SLOANE

I jolt awake to the sound of Kirill roaring and something shattering in the distance. I sit up too fast, blinking against the harsh lights, not even knowing where I am at first. Then it all slams into me at once.

The accident. The boys.

Oh my God. The boys.

I rip the IV from my arm and shove myself out of bed, but the second my feet hit the floor, dizziness crashes over me. I grab the edge of the mattress before I can fall, squeezing my eyes shut as the room tilts.

The door flies open and footsteps rush in, more than one set. When I force my eyes open again, everything blurs together.

“What are you doing?” Kirill is there in an instant, grabbing my hips and easing me back onto the bed. “You need to lie down. You’re hurt.”

“No.” I clutch his forearm, breaking apart as tears cloud my vision. “They took the boys. You need to get the boys.”

“My brothers are on it.” His words come fast, strained. “Please, Sloane. I cannot worry about you too right now. Goddamn.” The curse rips out of him in a ragged growl as he gets to his feet and slams a hand into the wall.

He gives me his back, chest heaving, and the sight of him like this only makes the fear inside me swell until I can barely breathe.

Where are our boys? What are they doing to them?

“He wanted twenty million for each,” I choke out. “He said⁠—”

“I know.”

Kirill turns back to me and sits on the edge of the bed again, taking my hand in his. His knuckles are bruised, split in places, like he’s already put them through a wall more than once.

Lifting my left arm sends pain shooting through it, but I bite it back. The last thing I want is to give him something else to worry about.

“He left a video on your phone,” he says.

“Show me.”

My eyes flick frantically around the room, panic climbing when I don’t see my phone anywhere. But then he pulls it from his pocket and unlocks it, his jaw tightening as he opens the message.

The video starts immediately.

“Mommy…” Milo’s voice quivers so badly, it’s as though something sharp is being driven straight into my chest. “Please come get me.”

The sight of him nearly destroys me. He’s sitting on a brown leather sofa somewhere I don’t recognize, Lev pressed close beside him, rocking and mumbling under his breath. Milo’s hands are shaking hard, eyes swollen and red as he keeps glancing over his shoulder like he’s waiting for someone to grab him again.

I cover my mouth, but the sob escapes anyway. Kirill’s grip on the phone tightens until his knuckles go white.

“I did this,” I whisper, everything in me breaking. “Me. If you want to hate anyone, please hate me.”

“Net.” His head jerks once. “This is Eli.” The name comes out like poison. “All of this is Eli.”

He’s on his feet a second later, moving so fast it startles me, his nostrils flaring, every line of him drawn tight.

“He will—” The words cut off in a curse. “Blyat.”

This time, his fist crashes down onto the metal rail at the end of the bed, the sharp clang ringing through the room as he stands there facing me, chest rising and falling like he’s holding himself back by force. When he speaks again, it’s gruffer, more terrifying.

“We will find our boys.” His shoulders stay locked. “And we will bring them home.” A vein pulses at the side of his neck. “And what I do to that svolich after that…” He turns his head just enough for me to catch the edge of his expression, something brutal in it. “No one will ever forget it.”

The door opens a second later, and a nurse steps in with a tablet in her hand, stopping short when she sees me sitting up.

“Hi there. How are you feeling? Any headaches?”

Kirill moves aside at once so she can come closer.

“No,” I lie even though my head throbs, but I don’t need Kirill to worry about me right now.

“That’s good. If you do experience one, let me know.” She starts fixing my IV. “Please stay in bed, and if you need the restroom, ask one of us for help. You have a concussion, and we don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

The nurse glances down at the screen again, nodding to herself.

“Your vitals are stabilizing nicely,” she says, almost under her breath as she looks over the chart. “We’ll still want to monitor you for a little while, though, and someone from OB should be down shortly to check on the baby.”

For a second, I don’t understand what she’s said. Then Kirill and I both go completely still.

“The baby?” I repeat, certain I heard her wrong.

“Yes.” Her attention stays on the chart as she keeps flipping through it.

A small laugh escapes me, because of course she has me confused with someone else. “Um…I’m not pregnant.”

The nurse stops moving. She peers up from the tablet, then back down at it again, her brows drawn as she reads whatever is written there.

“Can you repeat your name and date of birth for me?”

“Sloane Marinova,” I answer automatically, giving her the date.

Her finger taps and drags across the screen again before she inhales. “Okay…”

Something in that one word makes my skin crawl.

“I’m just going to get the doctor so he can⁠—”

Kirill is already on his feet before she can finish.

“No.” The word cracks through the room sharply enough to make her freeze. “You will tell us.” He steps closer, his eyes fixing on hers. “Right now.”

She clears her throat. “Okay…well…the bloodwork taken when you arrived after the accident showed low levels of hCG in your system.” Her gaze flicks between us. “Which indicates an early pregnancy. I will have the doctor speak with you guys. I’m sorry…”

Then she slips out of the room, leaving the words behind like a bomb.

Pregnant.

Oh my God.

Neither of us moves. We just stare at each other like this has to be some kind of mistake, some misunderstanding. Because how can this be real with our boys missing and everything falling apart around us?

My hand drifts to my stomach, my fingers resting there while my mind scrambles to catch up.

“I’m late,” I whisper. “I didn’t even realize…”

With the accident, the wedding, the boys, Eli…everything happened so fast, I wasn’t paying attention.

Kirill is still staring at me like the ground just lifted beneath him. He drags his fingers through his hair before looking back at me, and when he reaches for me again, his grip is firm as he presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“This is good.”

My eyes search his, trying to understand how he can say that when nothing feels good right now.

“I want a life with you, Sloane. And even though this isn’t how I would have wanted us to find out, I’m happy.”

A sob breaks out of me, and he pulls me into him, holding me as his palm moves up and down my back.

“We will get them back,” he says. “And we will tell them together. I promise you, detka. If it’s the last thing I do.”

KIRILL

I hated leaving Sloane at the hospital, but she wanted me to go and bring the boys home, which is exactly what I’m doing.

She isn’t alone, though. Emilia and Fiona came to stay with her, both of them refusing to leave her side while the doctors monitor the concussion and…our baby.

A baby.

My palm goes to the back of my neck, pressing into my skin. I’ve wanted another child for a long time, and now that it’s with her, I can’t wait. But until the kids are safe, we can’t really let ourselves celebrate it.

Standing in the stables at Konstantin’s, I stare at Timur hanging from the steel beam bolted into the ceiling, his blood dripping slowly.

It didn’t take long to figure out he was working for the wrong side. After I asked him for intel on Barrett and Eli, he fed me bad information. Even showed me photos to make it look like they were still in New York while one of my other contacts told me Eli was in New Jersey.

Now he’ll pay the price for it.

His wrists are chained above his head, forcing his body to stretch painfully upward while his feet barely skim the ground. The metal cuffs have already cut deep into his skin from the way he’s been thrashing for the last twenty minutes. His back is torn open from the whip lying on the floor behind me, crimson running in uneven lines down his ribs and pooling at his waist.

He won’t hold out much longer. Not when the pain is about to get bad enough that loyalty stops mattering.

My brothers stand nearby, none of them interfering. They all understand this is mine.

The only sound filling the room right now is this man’s ragged breathing and the slow hiss of the blowtorch sitting in my grip. The small blue flame flickers to life with a sharp click, and Timur’s head jerks upward instantly, his eyes widening with raw panic as he realizes what’s coming next.

“I told you…p-p-please,” he sobs. “I told you I don’t know anything!”

I move in until the heat from the torch reflects faintly in his irises.

“You work for Eli.” I remain composed even though everything in me bleeds for revenge. “You had to be there when they took my sons, or at the very least know where they are.”

His head shakes wildly. “I don’t know where he’s keeping them! I-I swear.”

The flame licks his shoulder, and he screams. The smell of burning flesh twines with the air, his entire body jerking violently against the chains as he tries to wrench away.

I hold it there a moment longer before pulling it back. “Still don’t know?”

His chest heaves as tears mix with sweat on his face.

“P-p-p-please,” he gasps, barely able to form the word.

The torch drifts slowly downward along his ribs, the metal tip hovering just close enough that he can feel it.

“Talk.”

“I swear…I don’t know!”

I burn him again, right on the welts across his back, and he howls. Stepping forward, I shut off the torch before grabbing his hair, jerking his head back until his eyes are forced open again.

“My sons. Where are they?”

His mouth parts, but nothing comes out at first except a strangled whimper. The torch flares again, drifting to his chest this time.

“No, no, please—” The flame devours his skin, and his entire body convulses as another shriek breaks free. “I’ll…I’ll tell you… Please. Stop. I’ll tell you.”

Finally.

“There…there’s a cabin,” he pants, every syllable labored. “Near Briar State Park. It’s his grandmother’s, b-but he uses it for things. That’s where they are.”

I glance at my brothers. “We move now.”

Pulling the pistol from my holster, I aim it at the man’s head.

“No, no, plea⁠—”

The shot cuts him off. One round to the skull, and he’s dead on impact.

“I’ll gather the men.” Konstantin is already barking orders to the others while I lower the gun and head for my car.

“Where are you going?” Aleksei calls after me.

“To the hospital. I’ll be back soon.”

I need to see her before I leave. Sloane needs to know we may have found them. And that very soon, this will all be over.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

SLOANE

I’m grateful I’m not alone right now, because if Emilia and Fiona weren’t here, I’m not sure I’d still be holding myself together.

Emilia sits beside the bed with one hand around mine, while Fiona stays close by like she has no intention of leaving. The two of them barely know me and they don’t owe me this, but they’re here anyway, doing what they can while I sit in this hospital bed trying not to fall apart.

“They’re going to find them,” Emilia attempts to reassure me. “Kirill and the guys will bring them home.”

Fiona nods. “Those men don’t fail when it comes to their family.”

I want so badly to believe that, but all I can think is, what if he’s too late? What if Eli already…

My eyes squeeze shut, panic hitting so hard it’s as though it’s an extension of me now. Without thinking, my hand drifts down to my stomach, trying to protect the other child we now have.

The thought is surreal. My boys are out there somewhere, terrified and alone, and somehow in the middle of all this chaos, there is another tiny life growing inside me, depending on me to stay strong.

Think positive. Focus on something good.

Before I can even try, my phone rings on the small table beside the bed. My eyes fly open and lock on the screen lighting up with a number I don’t recognize. The room spins, my nerves hitting all at once.

Emilia and Fiona both notice the way I tense up before I’ve even reached for the phone.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Fiona asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’ll do it.”

Pushing myself a little straighter against the pillows and ignoring the thumping in my head and throbbing in my arm, I reach for the phone and answer. “Hello?”

There’s nothing on the other end except static, and that tiny stretch of silence makes my whole body go cold.

Then his voice comes through. “Hey, Eden. How are you? I hope you didn’t get hurt too badly.”

The air in the room turns too thin to breathe.

“Where are my boys? What are you doing with them?” I get the words out, but my hands are shaking so hard, the phone nearly slips from my grip.

Fiona goes still beside me, and Emilia’s expression sharpens.

“They’re safe.” The bastard laughs. “For now.”

“Why would you do that to innocent children?” I choke out, fighting to keep the dread from spilling out of me. “They haven’t done anything. Just let them go. You can have me. I told you that.”

“Nah.” He snickers. “This is better. He’ll pay top dollar for those kids, and if he doesn’t…you know I’ve got no problem shooting them both.”

“Don’t touch them, you sick son of a bitch!” Rage explodes out of me. “You’re a fucking monster!”

Fiona grips my shoulder, while Emilia is already typing furiously on her phone, probably sending a message to Konstantin.

Eli makes a clicking sound with his tongue, and it slithers across my skin like something filthy. “I’d be careful what you say to the father of your son, Eden. He might hear you.”

All the blood drains from my face.

“Wha-what?” The words stumble out of me before I can even process them. “What the hell are you even talking about? Milo isn’t yours. Are you insane? Have you let all those drugs rot your brain?”

He chuckles. “You don’t remember anything, do you?”

My thoughts race, scrambling to make sense of what he’s saying while every part of me fights against it.

“I mean, it’s no surprise,” he continues with a mocking sigh. “You were so drunk, you could barely stand on your own two feet. If it hadn’t been for me helping you, you probably would’ve fallen in the pool and drowned.”

Barrett’s party. The memory flickers through my mind like a broken film reel, but I don’t remember much.

“I…I was with a stranger…”

“Sure you were,” he says, almost fondly. “I remember the party. Right down to the denim miniskirt you wore…and that hot-pink thong underneath.”

My hand flies to my mouth.

No. Please, God, no.

“You should’ve seen the way I wanted you back then,” he continues, words dripping with something that makes my skin crawl. “So damn hot. So I took what I wanted in that closet when you were practically begging for it.”

The room tilts. My chest heaves as tears drip down my face.

Milo can’t be his. He can’t be.

“I was sixteen.” I shake so badly I can barely keep the phone against my ear. “You were twenty-three. Old enough to know better. How…how could you do that to me?”

“Look what you got thanks to me. Our boy is special, isn’t he?”

His laughter is like hot coals, burning through my chest like acid. Everything hurts. Everything.

Please, someone, make it stop.

I hold the phone away from my mouth as a sob carves out of me.

It was dark. I didn’t see his face. I barely remember anything except the feeling of being cornered and confused and too drunk to understand what was happening. But I know it happened. I felt it happen.

God. How could I have let that happen?

Suddenly, the phone is gone from my hand.

I peer up through the haze of tears and find Kirill standing beside the bed, his massive frame filling the space like a storm I somehow didn’t even hear coming.

Shame hits so hard, I want to vanish. But instead of anger, his hands come up and cradle my face.

“I’m going to kill him even slower for this, detka,” he says, low and deadly. “Do you understand me?”

I nod weakly, my chin trembling.

He leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “It is not your fault. He violated you, and I will violate him. There will be nothing left of him.” Then his lips find my forehead and remain there before he says, “I love you, Sloane. I will always love you. Until the day I die.”

The words shatter whatever fragile hold I had left, and I break.

Emilia and Fiona slip quietly from the room, leaving us alone while I weep against him, one hand still gripping the phone, the other holding me like he has no intention of letting go.

“Still there, Eden?” Eli’s words crackle through the speaker. “Or did I lose you?”

Kirill lifts the phone to his ear, his face twined with wrath, and when his gaze cuts toward me, it chills me more than the threat itself. “I swear to God, when I find you, I will rip you apart.”

“Careful, Marinov. You forget I have your son.”

“Sons. You have my sons. You will suffer double for that, and far more for what you did to my wife. Your death will last weeks, if I can keep you alive that long—and believe me, I will try. You will know pain beyond anything one person was ever meant to experience.”

Eli laughs. “Forty million, Marinov. I sent the account info. If I don’t have it by tomorrow, I’ll send you those boys in body bags.”

The call ends, and Kirill drags his fingers through his hair as he gets up and starts pacing, only to turn back a second later and grab my hand so tightly it almost hurts.

“We have a location,” he says. “We’re going.”

My head jerks up. “What? When?”

“Now.”

“I’m coming.”

I try to swing my legs off the bed, but he stops me immediately, his fingers pressing gently but firmly around my arm.

“You heard what the doctors said. You and our baby need to rest.”

The way he says our baby sends warmth through all the panic and grief crashing inside me.

My hand covers his. “I love you, Kirill. And I love our baby. But if you think I’m going to lie here while you go get our sons, then you don’t know me at all. If you don’t take me, I’ll ask Emilia to do it.”

A voice cuts in from the hallway right away. “I sure fucking will.”

Kirill pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not helping, sister-in-law.”

“Sorry.” Emilia strides in with Fiona at her side. “But us girls gotta stick together in this fucked-up family, and I’m not about to help you keep a mother from seeing her sons. If she wants to go, she should at least have the option.”

Kirill swivels toward her, frustration flashing across his face. “And if something happens to her? Then what? Hmm? I will not allow it.”

I tug on his wrist, knowing he’s just trying to protect me.

“I know you’re worried,” I tell him when he faces me. “But you’ll be there. Your brothers will be there. Your men will be there. I won’t get in the way, I promise. I’ll stay in the car. But I have to go. Please, Kirill.”

He closes his eyes and releases a long exhale. “Fine. But you stay in the car at all times.”

“Deal.”

Emilia gives me a subtle wink, and for the first time since the accident, a small smile tugs at my mouth.

The boys are coming home. They have to be. Because there is no future without them.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

KIRILL

She’s here against my better judgment, with Eli and his men in that house.

But I knew I couldn’t keep her away. If something happens to her, though—to any of them—I will never forgive myself.

At least she’s remained in the car, two of my men watching over her while the rest of us move through the tree line toward the house as we take our positions. Konstantin crouches beside me behind the thick trunk of an oak, one of our men several feet away with a handheld thermal scanner aimed at the house.

The small screen glows faintly in the dark as he sweeps it across the structure. He studies it, then holds up seven fingers.

One of them better be Eli. I need that ublyudok. Scumbag.

“Where are the boys?” I whisper.

The man points to a cluster of heat signatures near the center of the house. “Living room. Five men around them.”

Good. Less than we expected.

Konstantin taps his finger against the side of his gun, the signal that it’s time.

A few of our men peel off toward the back with Aleksei and Anton while the rest of us spread into position, every second dragging until a bang suddenly tears from outside at the rear of the house, just like we planned.

Metal clatters. Glass shatters. Voices erupt inside.

“Go check that out,” someone barks.

A second later, footsteps pound across the floor before a door swings open. Two men rush out the back with their weapons drawn, heading straight for the noise.

Konstantin glances at me, and we move with our crew through the front door, kicking it open hard enough to splinter the wood inward as we storm the entryway with our guns raised.

The two men inside barely have time to react before we put bullets in each of their foreheads, dropping them where they stand and leaving only Eli alive.

But not for long.

“Papa!” Lev cries from the sofa.

Beside him, Milo’s bottom lip trembles, while Eli stands behind them with a gun pressed to my boy’s head.

“You try anything, and I kill your kid,” he says, but the fear in his voice is already there, bleeding through every word no matter how hard he tries to sound in charge.

“You have nowhere to go.” I hold my position, waiting for the smallest opening. “We have you surrounded.”

He laughs, easing back from the boys just enough as his gun dips, and in that split second, I fire. The bullet rips into his arm, and all I can hope is that I didn’t just nick an artery. The weapon flies from his grip as he howls in pain, clutching the shredded flesh while stumbling backward just as my brothers rush in with their guns drawn.

“Papa!” Lev cries again, and a second later, both boys are crashing into me.

I drop to my knees and drag them against my chest so hard their hearts pound against my ribs.

“You’re okay. I’m here now. You’re okay.” I kiss the top of Lev’s head, then Milo’s. “I’ve got you. Papa’s here.”

Another shot goes off, muffled by a silencer, and both boys flinch. When I look back, Konstantin is standing there with his gun raised, Eli on the floor with blood pouring from his leg.

“He tried to run.” My brother shrugs.

I don’t care. All I want is to get the boys out of this house and home where they belong. They’ve already seen too much.

Konstantin holsters his weapon while one of our men hauls Eli upright and slams him face-first onto the floor. Zip ties cinch tight around his wrists as he thrashes and spits curses, blood streaking across his mouth and chin.

“I’ll kill you for this!” Eli screams. “I’ll destroy her entire life!”

A laugh breaks out of me as I rise, keeping a palm on each of my sons. “There’s nothing you can do to us now.”

He grins, half mad, chuckling through the blood. “Are you sure about that?”

Konstantin hauls him upright and shoves him out the door, dragging the screaming bastard toward the van waiting outside.

I don’t even watch him leave. My arms fasten around the boys as we step outside, and the second we do, Sloane is running toward us, tears pouring down her face as she drops to her knees right in front of us.

“Mommy!” Milo cries, throwing himself at her.

Lev goes too, clutching at her like he can’t get close enough. She wraps both of them up in her arms, like she’s afraid the world might try to take them again.

“I love you both so much.” She presses kisses all over their faces.

Lev fists her shirt in his hands.

“Mama,” he whispers.

The word stops me cold. I’ve never heard him call her anything but Sloane.

“I’m right here,” she tells them, cupping each of their cheeks. “I will never leave you.”

And for once, he has a mother who means it.

SLOANE

“Did they hurt you?” I ask Milo and Lev, both of them sitting on top of my legs in the den.

“No.” Milo shakes his head, his messy hair bouncing as he speaks. “But they were mean.” His mouth twists into a pout. “And they had guns.”

Swallowing the thickness building in my throat, I slide my hands slowly down their backs, trying to soothe them. God knows what sort of damage this will do to them.

“I’m so sorry.” I drag them both against me until their bodies press into my arms. “But we’re going to keep you safe, I promise.”

My eyes drift to Kirill, and I don’t know if I just told them the truth. We couldn’t keep them safe this time. Who says it won’t happen again?

Kirill comes to sit next to us, his arm sliding around my shoulders as he pulls me into his side. I lean into him, resting my head against his chest while the boys stay tucked against me.

For the first time since everything happened, I start to calm. The boys are here. Safe. Kirill’s alive. That should be enough.

But the fear doesn’t fully go away. A life with Kirill will never be safe. There will always be people who want what he has, who want to hurt him. Hurt us. Tonight proved that.

Still, when I gaze up at him and catch the way he’s looking at the boys, something softer in his expression, I know one thing for certain.

He would burn the world down for us.

And somehow…that’s enough.

Eventually, Milo starts to droop against my arm, the adrenaline finally fading, and Lev leans heavier into my shoulder as the exhaustion catches up to both of them.

Kirill’s fingers caress my arm before he leans in, his words quiet against my ear. “I need to go take care of Eli.”

There isn’t a part of me that thinks he deserves anything less than what’s coming to him. Not after what he did to our boys. I want him in agony.

Kirill bends forward and kisses the top of Milo’s head, then leaves one on top of Lev’s. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Milo nods around a yawn while Lev tenses beside me, already hating the idea of him leaving.

Kirill catches it and runs a hand through his hair. “Papa will be back very soon, okay? Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Lev holds on to me as he watches his father leave, and immediately, the space beside me is colder without him.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

KIRILL

My knuckles drip with his blood, his body sliced in so many places a medical examiner would have a field day trying to catalog them all.

But despite looking at what I’ve already done to him, I know this is still generous compared to what I have planned next. Even Konstantin’s pigs eating him alive would be kinder than the death waiting for him in this room.

Eventually.

My basement smells like iron and sweat, most of it his.

Eli hangs in the center of the room where we chained him hours ago, his arms stretched above his head so his weight pulls painfully at his shoulders every time his body spasms. His shirt has long since been cut away, leaving his torso open to every slice of the blade and every burn of the torch.

Blood runs down his sides in thin rivers that dribble onto the concrete floor beneath him, pooling in the places where his legs used to end. Both feet are gone. Sawed off clean hours ago while he screamed until his voice shredded itself raw, the stumps wrapped tightly now with thick cloth and plastic to slow the bleeding.

I even pumped him with antibiotics. The last thing I want is for him to die too soon. Death would be an escape, and I’m nowhere near finished with him yet.

Three hours. And I’m not even tired.

Eli, on the other hand, barely resembles a man anymore. His head hangs forward, hair matted with sweat and crimson, chest heaving in shallow, desperate breaths as he tries to stay conscious, and every time his eyes start to close, I remind him why that isn’t allowed.

He whimpers the second I slap him awake.

“Please…” His words crack apart, barely more than a rasp now. “Just stop…”

My smile grows as I lift the pliers, making sure he can see them through his blurred vision. “This? This is nothing compared to what I’ll do to you.”

He knows what’s coming before the metal even closes around the next fingernail. His whole body starts shaking, panic taking over before I so much as tug.

“No, no, please⁠—”

The nail tears free with a wet snap, and his shriek rips through the basement. I let it ring out while I drop the nail to the floor and calmly move to the next one.

“Stop,” he chokes out, sobbing now, body sagging in the chains like there’s barely anything left holding him up. “Please…just kill me.”

A chuckle slips out. Death would be mercy, and mercy is the one thing he doesn’t get. He took my fucking kids. He hurt my wife. No one survives that.

The next nail comes out slower. I take my time with it, listening to the way he screams, watching his body jerk uselessly against the chains. He’s barely coherent now, shaking, drooling blood and spit down his chin.

When I finish with the last one, I toss the pliers aside and step back, studying the damage like an artist deciding where the next stroke should go. My gun is sitting on the table nearby, and when I pick it up, Eli barely manages to lift his head as I move back toward him.

Then I press the barrel into the deep gash carved across his stomach, pushing it into the open flesh until his body locks and a broken cry escapes.

“Oh God…please…”

I bend closer, close enough that he can see every part of my face and know exactly what’s still waiting for him. “This pain you feel? Multiply it by every second you had my sons.”

His eyes clamp shut and his head tips back. “I didn’t hurt them. I swear I didn’t.”

“But you did.” I drive the barrel deeper, and his screech fills the room.

But all I feel is rage. Rage when I think about what he did to them. The accident. The kidnapping. Sloane bleeding in that car alone until I got to her.

He did that. HIM.

“Stop…please…”

“That’s not happening.”

After that, he starts coming apart completely, each uneven sound dragging through his throat like staying conscious is hurting him.

I stand there watching it happen until, out of nowhere, a weak laugh breaks from him, and it makes me go still.

“Bring…bring her here.”

“What?” His head lifts slightly.

“Eden,” he croaks. “Tell her…I-I know what happened the day her…her mother died.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “What did you just say?”

He swallows thickly. “She’ll want to hear it.”

I slam my fist into his gut. He jerks violently, and a broken grunt leaves him, barely more than a sound.

“You can tell me.”

He lets out a dark snicker. “Fine. Just kill me.”

Fuck.

If this is something that might matter to her, I can’t let this svolich die before he talks.

“You’d better not be saying anything that will hurt her.”

The next punch lands across his jaw, and laughter bubbles weakly through the pain.

I shouldn’t even be entertaining this, but I still remove my phone and call one of the men upstairs. He answers right away.

“Bring Sloane down here.”

“Khorosho.”

I end the call and slide the cell back into my pocket before turning to Eli again.

The tip of the knife drifts down his abdomen. “You’d better pray what you’re about to say is worth keeping you alive for.”

SLOANE

The second Kirill’s bodyguard told me he needed me in the basement, my mind went straight to the worst possibilities.

I know Eli is down there. What I don’t know is why Kirill wants me there too. Does he want me to hear something? See something?

Is Eli dead already? And if he is, do I even want to look at what’s left of him?

By the time one of Kirill’s men leads me down the hall and toward the basement stairs, my stomach is knotted so tight, I grow sick.

The second we start descending, a man screams from below. The sound booms up the concrete stairwell like something torn straight out of a nightmare, filled with pain so deep it makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

My steps falter, but the man ahead of me keeps going. Another scream follows as I take the next step, weaker this time.

Eli. It has to be him.

When we reach the bottom, the man pushes open a heavy door, and the smell hits me before anything else—thick and metallic, blood hanging in the air so heavily it makes me gag.

Then I see him.

My mind won’t make sense of it. The man chained up from the ceiling barely looks human, let alone like Eli. His body is covered in cuts and burns, skin torn open in places, and then my eyes drop lower and…

Oh my God. His feet are gone.

My knees almost give out at the sight, and before I can crumple, strong arms come around me from behind.

“I’m sorry I had to bring you here.” Kirill faces me, lips grazing my forehead, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “But he had something to tell you.”

He draws to my side while I stare at Eli and wonder what else could possibly be left to say. I think he’s said enough.

Eli gradually lifts his head, his face so disfigured, I barely recognize him.

“You made it, Eden.” He coughs up blood as he attempts a laugh.

My hands begin to shake, but Kirill slips his into mine.

“What do you want, Eli?” I demand.

“You…you should know what happened to…” He fights for the words, blood slipping from the corner of his mouth before he forces the rest out. “…to your mother.”

I know what happened. I pushed her into the water, held her face under before Camille stopped me, and then left her there with my drowning mother.

“What about it? Is this another one of your games? Because that’s over now.”

Kirill’s grip tightens around me.

“No…no games.” He swallows hard. “You didn’t…didn’t kill her.”

I scoff. “Then who did?”

His attention locks on me, and I’m instantly terrified. Then he says the one word that shatters everything.

“Me.”

My body shudders. “That’s not possible. You weren’t there. It was just Camille and me.”

A broken laugh drags out of him. “Camille told you that, and you believed her.”

All the blood leaves my face. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I was the one who held her under.” His body shakes with a groan before he forces himself to go on. “She wouldn’t shut up. Kept talking and talking, so I shoved her face into the water. Your sister helped when she fought me. We both held her there until she stopped moving.”

My stomach drops so fast it's as though the room tilts.

All this time, she not only knew what happened, but actually helped kill our mother and blamed me for it?

My body threatens to give out, but Kirill’s arm locks around me before I can fall.

“No.” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you even have been there? You didn’t even know Camille.”

He licks blood from his lip and grins, or at least tries to. “We were fucking behind your back for years.”

I pinch the bridge of my noise, everything spinning.

“Your sister came up with it,” he says. “Making you think you killed your mother. She wanted you blaming yourself for the rest of your life. That’s how much she hates you.”

“No.” Tears burn in my eyes. “You’re lying.”

Kirill says something under his breath in Russian that sounds a lot like a curse.

“How else do you think I ambushed you?”

“Oh my God…”

I wrench away and stumble to the nearest garbage can, dry heaving into it while Kirill gathers my hair back from my face.

“You don’t have to hear any more. I will take care of the rest.”

“No.” I wipe my mouth with the handkerchief he presses into my hand and force myself upright. “I want to know. I have to know. If she had anything to do with what happened to our kids, I want to hear every damn word.”

He studies me, then nods once. Together, we turn back to Eli.

“What else did Camille do?”

He looks almost pleased with himself now, probably happy he gets to ruin another part of my life.

“Are you saying she helped you steal our boys?” Kirill grits out.

Eli nods. “It was her idea. She’s diabolical.”

“Oh my God.” My hand flies to my mouth. “Why? What was she getting out of this?”

“Because she wanted me,” he explains, another weak chuckle grating out. “She wanted you gone so the two of us could run off together without you dragging her down.”

Icy dread creeps through me, freezing everything in its path.

“Your sister always wanted more than she had.” Each word is frailer than the last. “When she sent me a picture of you with Kirill at the diner and I told her who he was, she said we could steal from him so we’d have enough money to start over. She wanted to use you. Thought you were desperate enough to do whatever it took if it meant Milo would be safe.” He pulls in a shallow breath. “She thought I’d marry her. Isn’t that pathetic?”

A wet, gagging cough spits out of him. Beside me, Kirill goes completely still.

“I already knew about the ledger, so we built the plan from there. But when that failed, she called me the day before the accident and said you were going somewhere.”

Oh my God, why was I that stupid?

“She told me if I followed you out of the house, I could grab the boys. That Kirill would pay for them, and then we could disappear.”

Everything spins, every muscle in my body strung tight while disgust lodges in my throat, unable to believe how deeply she truly hated me. Not only did she want to hurt me, but those sweet babies too? What kind of person does that?

My hands curl at my sides, nails biting into my palms, needing the pain. I can’t breathe. All I can see is her face, and I want to claw it open with my bare hands.

She’s no sister. She’s a monster. A bigger one than I thought.

“Why did Barrett always think I was the rat?” I ask the one thing I’ve never understood.

When Eli doesn’t answer, Kirill steps forward and slams the butt of his gun across his face hard enough that fresh blood bursts from his mouth.

“When my wife asks you a question, you answer it.”

Eli spits onto the floor, choking before he finally manages to speak. “Because I told him it was you.”

“You son of a bitch! I knew it.” My face fills with pure hatred.

“He liked you too much,” he whispers. “I thought he’d replace me with you as his second, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

The room spins again.

I thought my life was bad before, but now…I don’t even know what to think or feel.

My sister’s face flashes through my mind. The way she sounded scared, the way she claimed Eli hurt her for information.

It was all an act.

“If I find out you lied to me, I swear I will rip your eyes out,” I tell him.

“I-I’m not. Go ask her. Let her deny it. But deep down, you know…” He coughs up blood. “You know how much she hates you.”

Ignoring him, I angle toward to my husband. “Take me to see her. I need to look her in the eye when I speak to her.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

SLOANE

My hands won’t stop shaking. I sit beside Kirill and stare out the window, my mind running in circles around everything Eli said until it all starts to meld together.

Every memory I have of that night keeps flipping the closer we get to my sister’s house. Old pieces line up in ways they never have before, turning into something uglier every time I look at them.

Kirill doesn’t say much. He just drives, his hand covering mine on the center console, his thumb moving slowly over my knuckles like he knows I’m barely holding myself together. It helps, but not enough. Nothing is going to take this betrayal away.

When the car finally idles outside my sister’s house, I just sit there staring at the front door while my pulse pounds so hard it’s stuck in my throat.

“You don’t have to do this right now,” Kirill says. “Not if you’re not ready.”

I shake my head. “No. I do. This can’t wait.”

We stride up the path together, and Kirill knocks once before the door opens. My sister freezes the second she sees me standing there.

“Uh…hi.” Her eyes bounce between us. “Is Milo okay?”

Something about the question is off. Why would she ask about him like that for no reason?

A cold knot forms in my gut as I step past her without waiting to be invited in. “Why are you asking about Milo?”

She hesitates, closing the door behind us while forcing out a nervous laugh.

“I was just asking because of Eli,” she says quickly. “I wanted to make sure he didn’t try anything.”

“And you know what Eli is capable of, huh?” I take a step toward her.

She starts backing away automatically.

“Because you know him so well…right?”

Her smile falters. “What’s going on, Sloane?”

I keep moving toward her until the backs of her legs hit the sofa and she drops onto it with a startled gasp, while Kirill stays beside me, silent and terrifying.

“What happened to our mother the night she died?”

“Um…you know what happened.”

Kirill reaches down and removes his gun from its holster. “Tell her again.”

The metal catches in the light as he lifts it casually in his hand, and my sister’s eyes go wide, all the color draining out of her face.

“Well…uh, y-you were fighting with Mom about your drinking like always,” she stammers. “Sh-she shoved you and you almost fell in the pool, remember?”

I shake my head. “No.” My voice drops, and real fear flickers across her features. “I don’t. So tell me.”

She clears her throat and keeps going. “You got mad and threw her into the water. Y-you held her face down until she stopped breathing, and by the time I realized she was dead, it was too late.” She tugs on the hem of her shirt, clearing her throat. “I tried to pull her out while you just stood there, and then we told the cops it was an accident. That we didn’t know she fell since we were inside the house. Her blood sugar was high that day. They believed she slipped and drowned.”

Her hands tremble in her lap, and when I catch it, she clasps them. “Why are you asking this?”

“Because…” Kirill steps forward and presses the cold barrel of the gun right between her eyes. “We don’t believe you.”

She inhales a long drag of air.

“So how about you tell that story again?” he continues. “But this time, you tell us the truth.”

“I don’t know what crazy shit you two have heard,” she snaps, trying to recover some of her confidence. “That’s exactly what happened. Since I was the only sober one alive, I’d remember.”

A hot surge flares up in me. “So Eli wasn’t the one who killed our mother with your help?” A humorless laugh slips free. “While you made me believe it was me?”

The reaction is instant. Every drop of color drains from her face. And that’s when I know.

She did it all.

As Camille opens her mouth to speak, Kirill inches the barrel into her throat.

“You will pay for what you did to our boys. To my wife.” His tone grows thick with barely contained wrath.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammers. “I’m calling the cops.”

She tries to stand.

Kirill fires. “I hate liars.”

The bullet tears through her foot, and she collapses back onto the couch with a scream so loud it rattles through me. Before she can make another sound, he shoves a pillow over her face.

“Scream again and I will remove your tongue.”

I have not an ounce of sympathy. She doesn’t deserve it.

“How could you do that to your own nephew?” I ask, my body quivering with so much anger, I can’t contain it. “I could’ve maybe forgiven you for making me believe I killed Mom, but this? This is unforgivable.”

“I don’t know what⁠—”

“If you continue to lie…” I yank the front of her shirt as my face nears her. “I will lose it.”

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind.” She sneers.

“You bitch.” I slap her hard across the face. “Don’t bother pretending anymore. Eli told us everything. About your plan to steal from Kirill, about taking the boys…everything.”

For a second, she just stares at me, looking dumbstruck.

Then her face changes. And she laughs.

“You deserved it,” she spits through clenched teeth. “You always thought you were better than me. Always playing the good daughter while I had to live in that rat-infested shithole, stuck with that pathetic excuse for a family I was unlucky enough to be born into, knowing I deserved more.”

I shake my head. “All Mom ever did was care about you. You’re so sick, it’s actually sad.”

“Go fuck yourself, Eden.” Her foot continues bleeding heavily as she glances down at it, breathing harder now.

“I can’t do that.” I shrug. “You hurt my family.”

My fingers move toward Kirill. Not for his hand. For his gun.

Our eyes meet, and something silent passes between us before he places the weapon in my palm. When my sister sees it, her eyes grow.

“What the hell are you going to do with that?” She snorts. “Kill me? Please. You’re not capable of that. You’re⁠—”

The shot echoes through the room before she can finish.

The bullet tears into her thigh, and the shock on her face twists into another scream before Kirill shoves the pillow against her mouth again.

“Move it,” I tell him. “I want to see her face.”

He drops it with a small smirk.

“You’ve done enough to me and Milo.” I raise the gun until it points at her chest. “You once told me I was a killer.” My finger tightens on the trigger. “I guess you were right.”

The gun fires, and I jolt back.

She stares wide-eyed, disbelief flickering across her face. Then blood spills through her fingers as she clutches her chest, her body shaking while she tries desperately to push the life back inside herself. But it keeps slipping away.

And as I watch my sister die, I don’t feel anything at all. Not anger or relief. Not even sadness.

That comes later. Much later. When we’re already back in the car and the enormity of what I’ve done finally crashes over me.

Because the truth hits all at once. I’m a murderer. And this time…

I remember everything.

KIRILL

When we get home, I guide her into the bathroom, and she doesn’t argue.

She’s barely said a word since we left her sister’s house after my men arrived to clean up and dispose of that woman. I’m sure a betrayal like that will take time to deal with, but I will be here. I will always be here.

I turn the water on and test it with my hand, adjusting it until it’s warm enough before stepping back to her.

“Everything will be okay, solnishko.”

I kiss her shoulder, sliding her shirt off before removing the rest of her clothes, careful not to let this become anything but what it is: me taking care of her.

She sniffles as she steps under the water, and I move in behind her, my arms wrapping around her

“I love you. I’m here.”

She faces me, brows drawn, so much sadness in her eyes that makes me want to destroy everything that hurt her. “I know you are. You’re the only person I have now.”

“You will always have me, moya lyubov.” My love.

With all the gentleness I can muster, I work shampoo into her hair, my fingers moving slowly over her scalp and she closes her eyes and groans. Turning her again, I let her lean into me while I rinse it out, then work conditioner through the ends, taking my time with it, not rushing anything. Massaging her shoulders, I kiss her neck.

“This isn’t on you,” I tell her. “You did the right thing. What she did was a death sentence.”

“I know that. I don’t regret it. It’s just…” She pauses, like she’s trying to find the right words.

“What is it?”

“I killed someone. I did that.”

My palms rub up and down her arms. “I could tell you it’s okay. That in time, it will get better. And it will. But only you can come to accept it. You are a good mother. Too good. Not everyone can say that.”

“I love you so much.” She weaves back around, curling her arms around me, her cheek pressed to my chest.

“I’ve got you, malyshka.”

I pull her in, saying nothing else as her cries slam into me. Keeping her under the water, I let it run until her breathing evens out, until the shaking finally eases.

And even then, I don’t let her go.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

SLOANE

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Are you ready?” Mandy asks as I study myself in the mirror in my bedroom.

This time I’m wearing another dress I picked out, with a sweetheart neckline and handmade flowers along the top that spill down into a dropped waist, each one touched with tiny crystals. It’s extravagant, the kind of gown you’d see on a runway, but it’s beautiful, and Kirill didn’t spare any expense.

My fingers brush over the soft fabric, tracing one of the flowers, and just like that, the images flash through my mind. The way she looked at me. The way she laughed. The way the bullet hit her before it was over.

With every day that passes, the reality of what I did keeps finding its way back to me, no matter how hard I try to shove it down.

Some days, I spiral, wondering if I shouldn’t have done it. If I should’ve forgiven her. If I should’ve just cut her out of my life.

But in the end, it always comes back to my boys and what she did to hurt them.

Maybe in time, it won’t be as painful as it is now.

It’s not even that I miss her. I don’t. There was never really anything there to miss. It’s the fact that I became exactly what she always said I was—a killer—and I hate that.

“Yeah, sorry.” I shake my head, glancing over at my best friend as Fiona fluffs out my dress and Emilia straightens my veil.

Even though Kirill and I are already legally married, this feels like our real wedding. That should make me happy, and it does, but when I think about walking down that aisle in front of all those people, easily two hundred of them, I instantly become nervous.

I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and the fact that I have to do it alone this time somehow makes it worse.

But Milo is the ringbearer, along with Lev, and he was so excited about it.

Mandy pulls me into a tight hug, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t believe you’re the wife of a mobster. You’re literally living every Mafia romance girlie’s dream right now.”

I roll my eyes and shove her lightly. “Shut up. And why the hell are you reading Mafia romances anyway?”

“Because they’re good.” She scrunches her face in a duh kind of way.

Obviously, I couldn’t tell Mandy everything. But I told her enough. About cutting my sister out of my life after she put all of us at risk. About the way she hurt us. And, of course, about the baby.

We still haven’t told the boys. Kirill and I decided to wait a little longer, until we knew for sure the baby was okay. Maybe that sounds silly, but part of me is always waiting for the next shoe to drop. I guess that comes with the kind of life I’ve lived.

Fiona steps back to admire her work while Emilia tilts her head, studying me like she’s making sure every last detail is perfect before I’m sent out to face the crowd waiting downstairs.

“You look beautiful,” Fiona says.

“Seriously,” Emilia adds, her eyes bright. “Kirill is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

I let out a nervous exhale, gripping the edge of the vanity. Then there’s a knock at the bedroom door.

Emilia glances toward it. “I’ll get it.”

She crosses the room and opens it just a crack, and from where I’m standing, I register voices in the hallway I can’t quite make out.

The door opens wider, and Konstantin steps inside with one arm loosely wrapped around Emilia’s waist, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head before his attention lands on me.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Sloane,” he says warmly. “Kirill is very lucky to have you.”

My cheeks grow in color. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, I’m very aware of the way everyone is looking at me.

He studies me before his expression turns thoughtful. “The reason I came up here is because I wanted to ask you something. And feel free to say no.”

Curiosity slides in as I wonder what in the world the head of the Russian Mafia could possibly want to ask me.

“I was hoping to have the honor of walking you down the aisle…if you would like me to.”

The words catch me completely off guard. Then relief rushes through me.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Absolutely, yes.”

He chuckles. “Good. Then whenever you’re ready. They’re waiting for you.”

My nerves surge all over again while Mandy squeezes my hand. “You’ve got this. And you look hot as shit, so that helps.”

I let out a snicker. “Thanks, but can you guarantee I don’t fall flat on my face?”

Her mouth quirks.

“No,” she whispers. “But if you hold on to that hot brother of his, I think you’ll be fine.”

I shake my head just as the wedding planner steps into the room. She starts arranging everyone in the order they’re meant to walk out, and as we head downstairs and begin lining up near the door that leads outside, my eyes go straight to Milo and Lev standing side by side.

And they’re holding hands. I’m not sure my heart can take it.

Both of them clutch small satin pillows with fake rings tied carefully in the center, their suits pressed and their expressions so serious, it’s precious.

When they see me, they rush to my side, both of them giving me a hug at the same time.

“I love you boys.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Milo says.

As Lev peers up at me with those thoughtful eyes, I wonder what he’s truly thinking.

“Love you,” he says, and I try not to tear up, but fail.

I kneel so I’m eye level with them and rest a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’re brothers now, and I want you to promise me you’ll always look out for each other.”

Milo nods. “Okay, Mom.”

“Good.” I smooth my dress as I rise to my feet, and the boys return to their place while Konstantin steps up and slips my arm through his.

The planner opens the glass doors, and Anton, Emilia, and Mandy step out first. Aleksei and Fiona follow, soft music drifting up as the guests turn their attention to them.

Then come the boys. Milo and Lev step out side by side. In just these short weeks, they’ve built a stronger bond than most people manage in years, spending their afternoons hunched over puzzles together, reading books on the couch with their heads nearly touching, and inventing elaborate games that leave the entire living room scattered with toys. This is what I always wanted. A family who cares about one another.

Beside me, Konstantin peers down. “Are you ready?”

I straighten and force my shoulders to relax. “I think so.”

“You know…” he says after a moment. “Life rarely turns out the way we imagine it will.”

I look up at him as he continues, a faint smile touching his mouth.

“But sometimes, that’s exactly what makes it better.”

Maybe he’s right.

When the music changes, it’s our turn, and together, we step through the doors.

The second I see Kirill standing there, everything else falls away. The guests. The music. Even the nerves that have been twisting inside me all morning.

His eyes find mine instantly, and the way they soften makes everything fall neatly into place.

Konstantin lets out a low chuckle. “I think you made my brother cry.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

He smiles. “Didn’t say it was.”

KIRILL

I barely register the music or the guests turning in their seats. All of that fades into the background the second she appears in the doorway, her hand resting lightly on Konstantin’s arm.

And all I can do is stare.

That’s my wife. And I will never take her trust in me for granted.

When they finally reach the altar, I step forward and clasp Konstantin’s shoulder firmly. “Thank you for this.”

He nods once, understanding how much that gesture meant to me.

Sloane’s hand slips into mine, and I kiss the top of it as her grin widens.

“You’re breathtaking, Mrs. Marinova.”

“Why, thank you. You’re quite handsome too.” She takes in my black tux, flown down from Spain.

Milo giggles at something Lev says, and when I glance down at the two boys standing proudly beside us, I can’t help feeling complete, like all the pieces are finally in their place.

I lean closer to Sloane, lowering my tone so only she can hear me. “I could die happy right now.”

“We’d much prefer it if you lived.” She places a hand on her stomach, her smile gleaming beneath the veil.

And this sense of immense possessiveness slams into me.

She’s growing a baby. Our baby.

“Ya lyublyu tebya,” I remind her.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

She’s been learning Russian, and I have to give her credit because it is not an easy language.

Before either of us can say anything else, Father Pasha begins the blessing, while I already want him to end. This is just for show, but I wanted her to have the entire experience of a Marinov wedding.

But I, of course, have no patience. I just want to get to the end. To kiss her, to dance with her, to get her alone so I can properly show her just how much I love her. All of her.

Father Pasha finishes the final blessing, and after we say our vows, he finally gets to the words I’ve been waiting for.

“You may kiss the bride.”

The second the words leave, I pull her toward me, one hand sliding behind her neck as I crash my mouth to hers.

Cheers erupt, laughter and applause rising around us, but I stop hearing it almost immediately. All I feel is her.

And in this moment, standing here with my wife in my arms and our boys beside us, I finally understand what it means to have a purpose.

Because they’re mine.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

SLOANE

The backyard is completely decked out. A polished dance floor glows beneath strands of soft light stretched between the trees, and every table is dressed with tall arrangements of white roses and orchids threaded with crystal strands, while candles flicker in glass holders.

The band plays something smooth and romantic near the back of the garden, and everywhere I look, people are dressed in tailored suits and evening gowns that probably cost more than my old house. Farther off, acrobats are performing for a small crowd.

I still can’t believe this is my new life.

Kirill’s arm rests easily around my waist as we move through the crowd, stopping every few steps so he can greet someone new. I’m doing my best to keep track of names without looking as overwhelmed as I feel.

The next couple heading our way is impossible to miss. The woman is tall and striking with vivid red hair falling in thick waves down her back and bright turquoise eyes. The man beside her, dark-haired and sharply dressed, carries himself with the kind of easy confidence that makes it clear he’s someone powerful.

“Well, well,” the redhead says when they reach us, her smile playful as her gaze moves between Kirill and me. “Looks like the Marinov brothers are dropping like hats.”

She pauses, considering.

“Or flies,” she adds with a laugh. “I can never remember which one it is.”

Kirill chuckles. “Sloane, this is Gio Marino, from the Messina family.”

Gio shakes my hand politely.

“And this…” Kirill gestures to the woman beside him. “…is Iseult Quinn, of the Irish family.”

“Nice to meet you.” Iseult’s features gleam with mischief as she folds her arms loosely. “Looks like all we have left now is Anton.”

As if she summoned him with the comment, Anton strolls past us at that exact moment, a drink in one hand and his usual faint scowl in place.

“I will never get married,” he says flatly, not even slowing down.

Iseult bursts out laughing. “Felt.”

Gio stares at her in mock horror. “What the fuck does that mean?”

She loops an arm around him. “It means I love you very much.”

She kisses his cheek, then throws me a wink.

“That’s my wife.” Gio pulls her in and kisses her, and she pretends to fight him for all of two seconds before melting into it.

Okay, they’re cute.

When the next group heads our way, there are so many of them, I almost lose track.

“That’s Iseult’s family,” Kirill whispers.

The first man to step forward is tall and serious, with the kind of presence that makes people instinctively get out of his way.

“Tynan Quinn,” he says, shaking my hand. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Beside him is a beautiful woman with long black hair falling smoothly over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes warm. “Elara. It’s a pleasure. And your dress, wow.”

“Thanks. I love yours too.” My attention drops to her emerald silk gown, the diamond earrings at her ears glistening.

Another couple steps up right after them.

“I’m Eriu,” the woman says with a friendly grin, gesturing to the man beside her. “And this is my husband, Devlin.”

Before I can fully take in those names, another pair moves in.

“Fionn Quinn.” The man gives a brief nod, his hand resting at the back of the woman next to him. “And this is my beautiful wife, Amara.”

I keep shaking hands, doing my best to keep up with all the introductions, and the strangest part of all is how normal they seem. If someone walked into this party without knowing who these people were, they’d probably never guess how dangerous they really are.

Finally, the last couple makes their way over.

“Cillian Quinn.” He offers me his hand before gesturing to the woman beside him. “And my wife, Dinara.”

Her eyes immediately land on Kirill, and her grin turns playful. “Well, this is unexpected. My cousin getting married.”

“Careful,” he says dryly. “You don’t want me trigger-happy at my own wedding.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her lips quirk. “Unless you want my husband to get pissy.”

Kirill laughs, then pulls her into a quick hug. “I’ve missed you. How are you?”

“Okay.” She shrugs before her gaze bounces between us. “I am very happy for you. You deserve it. So does Lev.”

He tightens his arm around me as we all talk for a few minutes before they go get something to eat. But just as I start to relax, another group makes their way to us from the far side of the garden.

And this time, I recognize them immediately: the Whitlocks. Jace leads the way, with Thora beside him and Greer not far behind.

“Marinov.” Jace gives a short nod.

“Mm-hmm,” is all my dear husband says before Jace’s focus shifts to me.

The truth is, Kirill never meant to invite them. That was my idea. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either, though he agreed in the end because he wanted me to have whatever I wanted on our wedding day.

Even so, watching the look that passes between him and Jace, I can’t help wondering again what exactly happened between their families to make the tension this bad.

“Sloane.” Jace nods at me. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks for having us.” Thora steps in and gives me a hug, her sweetness obvious the second you meet her.

Greer nods, tossing her curls over her shoulder. “Yes, what she said.” Her mouth curves into a smirk before she adds, “Our parents sent a gift. They’re sorry they couldn’t make it. Urgent business back home.”

“It’s alright.” Kirill takes my hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a dance with my wife now.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before whisking me away just as a slow song begins to play.

“Did you really want a dance?” I arch a brow. “Or were you just trying to get away?”

“Why can’t it be both?” A half-smile tips up. He gazes at me, his knuckles feathering along the slope of my cheek. “You captivate me, Mrs. Marinova. I’ve never been a man who’s easily captivated.”

“You flatter me, husband.”

He takes my wrist and kisses my pulse point as we sway together. “And I will continue to flatter you and love you until my very last breath. You complete me like no one ever has.”

Emotion catches in my throat. “Stop it. You’re not supposed to make me cry.”

He laughs just as Thora passes by. As she says something to her sister, I notice Anton sitting at a nearby table, watching her a little too closely.

“I think your brother likes Thora.”

Kirill chuckles. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

My eyes narrow. “What would you call it, then?”

“Definitely not love.”

“You never know.”

“You’re right, but my brother is different. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

I keep observing Anton, trying to make sense of what Kirill said. But after everything that happened with us, I can’t help wondering if something like that could happen for them too.

Thora turns slightly, and their eyes meet. She smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. Anton catches the movement, stares for a bit too long, and then looks away like he wasn’t supposed to be caught doing that.

Kirill notices it too.

“I don’t care what you say,” I tell him. “There is potential there.”

“Leave it to my wife to find love where there is none.”

I pop my chin and shrug. “Let’s leave that up to fate, shall we?”

“Whatever you say, malyshka.”

He spins me across the dance floor, and I giggle, lighter than I’ve been in a long time.

Because for the first time in what seems like forever, there is nothing hanging over my head waiting to ruin everything. No lies. No secrets. No ghosts from the past whispering that everything I love will be ripped away from me.

That life is over. The people who tried to hurt us are no longer a threat, and the family around us would destroy anyone foolish enough to come after us.

Kirill pulls me back into him, and when I lift my eyes to his, I let myself feel all of it: the safety, the love, the relief.

And the almost impossible peace of knowing I no longer have to keep running.

By the time we’ve said goodbye to the last of the guests and gotten the boys tucked into bed, the house has gone quiet.

In our bedroom, Kirill stands near the window with his jacket draped over the back of a chair, his tie loosened and the top buttons of his shirt undone. When he turns toward me, the look in his eyes is pure fire.

I can’t help but take in how handsome he is. Those broad shoulders, the firm muscle barely hidden beneath his dress shirt, his power, his height, the way he makes me feel whenever he touches me.

He treads toward me, the back of his hand sloping across my chin. “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

“I never really dreamed about my wedding.” I glance down at the lace of my dress before gazing back at him. “Some girls spend their whole lives imagining it, planning every detail, but I never did.”

He studies my face while I continue.

“But…if I had dreamed about it, it would’ve been exactly like today.”

A quiet affection settles behind his eyes. “From now on, dream as big as you want, and I will make it happen.”

And when he looks at me with that burning intensity, my soul grows.

“I want to give you the world, solnishko. Because you are my world.”

Emotion rises fast, and I have to swallow before I take his hand and press a soft kiss to the center of his palm. “You’re mine too.”

A low grunt escapes him, and he cradles my face, his thumb brushing along my cheeks as he studies me like he’s memorizing every inch of me all over again. And when he leans down to kiss me, I’m lost to it. To the warmth, the tenderness, the way his hands move, loosening the pins in my hair until it falls over my shoulders while I reach for the buttons of his shirt.

The distance between us disappears as all the fabric slips away. Until it’s just the feeling of his skin on mine.

His hands slide up my bare back, gliding into my strands as his kiss grows hungrier, his tongue sliding with mine before he lifts me off the floor.

My legs hook around his hips as he guides me onto the bed, his mouth moving down my neck, sucking a slow path down to my breast. He tugs a nipple into his mouth, his tongue dancing around the tip before giving the same attention to the other breast. As he does, his palm slides down between us, finding my wet core and rubbing me slow before he pushes two fingers inside me.

“Kirill,” I whimper, grabbing his hair as he growls around my breast, his thumb working my clit as the sensations overtake me completely.

Every time he touches me, it’s like the first time. I feel worshipped. Loved. It’s not just sex; it’s something otherworldly. Like we’re connected in a way I can’t explain.

His mouth lowers to my stomach, kissing my abdomen with special care, whispering something in Russian I can’t make out before he spreads my legs wider, dropping kisses on the inside of both thighs. The tip of his tongue strokes up my center, and I let out a cry, fingertips gripping his hair as I arch into his mouth, needing this so badly.

My eyes fall to a close and I let myself enjoy it—the way his fingers feel inside me, that mouth taking everything from me. Before I realize what’s happening, he flips me around and slips his head under me until I’m sitting on his face.

“Look at me,” he demands with a possessive growl as he sucks my pussy while I try to shift so I don’t suffocate him. He grunts and grabs my hips, his eyes heated as they take me in. “Don’t fucking move.”

That rough, commanding tone makes me clench.

“That feels so good.”

My fingers run over the tattoos at his temples before slipping into the fuller part of his hair. When he flicks my clit, I lose control, my toes curling, my body on the brink of collapse. His teeth graze me there, and I can’t stop from shaking.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come.”

He groans and sucks me whole, and that’s all it takes.

“Kirill!” I scream, hands tugging on his hair, trying to keep myself upright.

He doesn’t stop, his mouth doing dangerous things to me before I eventually come down from the high. When he pulls me down, his mouth slick with my arousal, he drags me in for a kiss, flipping us over so I’m beneath him.

His cock is thick and hard, sliding between my legs, causing me to jerk from the sensitivity.

“I will always love you,” he promises before he lines himself at my entrance and slams home.

I draw in a sharp cry, the sting blending with the pleasure as he watches me, his mouth tracing passionate kisses along the line of my jaw.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, wrenching him back down into another kiss, and when his hips begins to move, unhurried and deep, I’m lost again. To him. To us. To the quiet magic we create together.

And in this moment, I hope it never ends. When we come together, he gazes down at me, and I know he sees all of me. The good. The bad. The broken. The beautiful.

And somehow, he loves me anyway.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

KIRILL

ONE WEEK LATER

As I enter the basement, each step brings me closer to death—but not mine, of course.

Eli is still there, hanging upside down from the ceiling, barely clinging to life. Blood stains the plastic floor beneath him in dark, sticky patches, some of it old and dried, some of it fresh enough to still glisten.

Keeping him alive has taken effort. Care. The kind of patience most men wouldn’t bother with.

When I make a promise, I mean it. So when I said I’d drag this out and make him suffer, I meant that.

When he hears me, his head lifts weakly. His face is swollen beyond recognition, but he still senses me, recoiling as I step closer.

“P-p-p-please…”

It would almost sound pitiful if I gave a damn.

“Just…kill me.” His one decent eye squeezes shut as another tremor tears through him. “You…you proved…your point.”

One of my men steps up behind me and places a knife in my hand, the blade long and heavy, made for tearing through flesh. The second Eli registers it, a broken sob leaves him.

I bend just enough so he can see my face clearly. “Today is your lucky day.”

His whole body stills.

“Because this ends now.”

For one brief second, relief flashes across what’s left of him. Until I continue.

“You will never hurt her again.”

His eyes flare, panic rushing back in.

“You will never touch those boys again. And when you’re rotting in hell, I want you to know one very important thing.” I edge closer, the knife resting against his stomach. “You never should have touched them.”

He hyperventilates just as the blade sinks into his stomach. I take my sweet time as I open him up the way a butcher opens an animal, the cut deep as the metal slides through tendon and muscle.

His scream tears through the basement, and it brings me immense pleasure. Blood pours over my hands, but I keep going, dragging his intestines out and leaving them hanging for him to see. He jerks violently, his breathing turning into a wet, choking sound.

I step back, admiring my work.

“Finish the cleanup,” I tell one of my men, tossing the knife onto the plastic.

He nods, already knowing what comes next. Every trace of this has to burn after Eli gets cut up and fed to Konstantin’s pigs. Just like Barrett was. Just like her sister.

There will be nothing left of Eli. Only the memory of what happens when someone is foolish enough to threaten my family.

THREE DAYS LATER

When I step into Lev’s room, the bed is covered in clothes. Tiny shirts. Swim trunks. A pair of Milo’s sneakers that somehow ended up in the middle of Lev’s floor.

The open suitcase sits on the mattress while Sloane sits beside it, folding things for our trip. Milo is sitting cross-legged nearby, holding a pair of goggles and staring through them while Lev stands beside the bed watching Sloane pack with intense focus.

They don’t notice me at first, so I take my time, leaning against the doorway and simply watching them, a quiet sense of contentment settling in.

“Are you three planning to bring the entire house with you?” I finally ask.

Milo’s head snaps up immediately. “Yes! I mean…no. But we need a lot of stuff.”

I step farther into the room. “I can see that.” My grin grows. “Are you boys excited?”

“Totally!” Milo practically bounces. “I can’t wait to swim in the pool. And the ocean. Mommy said there’s both!”

His excitement is contagious.

Lev peers up at me before heading to his bookcase to grab some books. Of course.

When I step up to Sloane and drop a kiss to the top of her head, she sighs.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, knowing how sick she has been the last few weeks, though she’s finally coming around.

“I’m fine. Just looking forward to getting away for a few days. I’ve never even been on a vacation before.”

I brush my thumb across her cheek. “This is only the beginning. And in two weeks, we leave for the Amalfi Coast.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait…what?”

“Our honeymoon.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “Kirill…oh my God.”

“That’s nothing. I plan to show you the world.”

The truth is, I enjoy giving her everything. Seeing her discover things she never thought she’d have: the travel, the clothes, the safety, the life she should have had all along.

Then Milo squints up at me. The look on his face is so serious, it makes me stop.

“What is it?” I ask.

He tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to figure something out. “Are you my daddy now?”

Everything in me goes still while Sloane freezes too. Lev’s eyes move between us, taking it all in.

I lower myself in front of him. “I can be. If you want me to be. Would you like that?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his face concentrating before he shrugs. “I think so.”

His words hit me hard, but I nod casually.

“I like you,” he goes on. “And you’re nice to my mommy.”

A faint chuckle slips out. “I’ll always be nice to your mommy.”

“That’s good,” Milo says with a firm nod. “My mommy is the best.”

“I think so too.” I stare over at her, catching the mist in her eyes.

Lev keeps watching the exchange while Sloane reaches over and pulls him closer to us.

“There’s actually something we wanted to talk to you both about,” she tells them.

Milo’s forehead wrinkles. “What is it?”

“Well, Papa and I were thinking we’d both like to adopt you.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” Sloane brushes his hair back. “Kirill would officially be your dad, and I would be Lev’s mom. Forever. Not just in our hearts, but legally too.”

“Forever?” Milo asks.

“Forever.”

Lev stares at us for a long moment, and then, without warning, he leans forward and throws his arms around Sloane. “Mama.”

His eyes squeeze shut, a smile pulling at his mouth, and it hits harder than I know how to explain. It’s so easy to see how badly he needed someone like her.

Sloane gathers him into her arms, kissing the top of his head while Milo scoots in from the other side. “My boys. I love you so much.”

They stay like that, wrapped up in her, before she eases back and smiles.

“There’s just one more little surprise.”

She peeks over at me, a grin tugging at her lips, and I already know what she’s about to tell them.

“What is it?” Milo’s eyes grow wide. “Are we getting a pet snake?”

“Uh…no.” Her lips press while she holds back a laugh. “But kind of close.”

“Tell us!”

“We’re going to have a baby. You’re going to have a little brother or sister.”

Milo’s mouth drops open. “A baby? Like a real one?”

“Yep.”

“That’s awesome.” His gaze wanders straight to her stomach. “Like…the baby is already there?”

“Sure is,” she says, her hand settling over it. “But it takes a while to grow.”

“Wow…cool.”

Lev takes it all in before gradually reaching out and resting his hand against her stomach. “Baby.”

Sloane grins as she nods. “Yeah. A new baby.”

Lev leans into her side, staying close, while Milo keeps staring at her stomach like he’s trying to figure out how something so small can already be there.

And I just stand there, watching them. Watching her. The sound of her laugh, the way the boys gather around her, the way it all fits together like it was always meant to be this way.

I know I could spend the rest of my life right here in moments like this and never want anything more.

I have her. I have them. My family, safe where they belong.

And there’s nothing like it in the world.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Kirill! Want more Kirill & Sloane? CLICK HERE for a bonus scene!

I hope you’re ready for Anton & Thora Whitlock. Their book will be the last in the series before the spinoff to the Blackthorn Syndicate, Thora’s family.

While you wait, jump into the Savage Kings series to get more of the Quinn family!

Want to hear the music that inspired me while I was writing this story? CLICK HERE!

ALSO BY LILIAN HARRIS

Fragile Hearts Series

Fragile Scars (Damian & Lilah)

Fragile Lies (Jax & Lexi Part 1)

Fragile Truths (Jax & Lexi Part 2)

Fragile Pieces (Gabe & Mia)

Cavaleri Brothers Series

The Devil’s Deal (Dominic & Chiara)

The Devil’s Pawn (Dante & Raquel)

The Devil’s Secret (Enzo & Jade)

The Devil’s Den (Matteo & Aida)

The Devil’s Demise (Extended Epilogue)

Messina Crime Family Series

Sinful Vows (Michael & Elsie)

Cruel Lies (Raph & Nicolette)

Twisted Promises (Gio & Iseult)

Savage Wounds (Adriel & Kayla)

Savage Kings Series

Ruthless Savage (Devlin & Eriu)

Brutal Savage (Tynan & Elara)

Filthy Savage (Fionn & Amara)

Wicked Savage (Cillian & Dinara)

Marinov Bratva Series

Konstantin (Konstantin & Emilia)

Aleksei (Aleksei & Fiona)

Kirill (Kirill & Sloane)

Anton (Anton & Thora - Coming Fall 2026)

Blackthorn Syndicate Series

Branded Deception (Jace)

Standalone

Shattered Secrets (Hudson & Hadleigh)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For Lilian, a love of writing began with a love of books. From Goosebumps to romance novels with sexy men on the cover, she loved them all. It’s no surprise that at the age of eight she started writing poetry and lyrics and hasn’t stopped writing since. 

She was born in Azerbaijan, and currently resides on Long Island, N.Y. with her husband, three kids, and lots of animals. Even though she has a law degree, she isn’t currently practicing. When she isn’t writing or reading, Lilian is baking or cooking up a storm. And once the kids are in bed, there’s usually a glass of red in her hand. Can’t just survive on coffee alone! 

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