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“Why not?”

“Because Mischa did this.”

Raegan’s dark eyes blink. “He has La Mer.”

“It’s not enough.”

Tonight, I realized how serious Mischa is.

This is more than business. It’s personal.

He won’t rest as long as I’m succeeding. As long as there’s a chance for my happiness.

She grabs a visitor’s chair and drags it to my bedside, perching on the edge. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out the book in its protective casing and hands it to me.

“They’re still going through the building,” she murmurs as I turn The Count of Monte Cristo in my hands. I managed to get to the office and retrieve it before the fire reached that part of the building. Thanks to its plastic casing, the book is relatively intact. “Leni’s figuring out how much can be salvaged, but I’ve never been so glad it’s a concrete brick. The bones are there, and the insurance should pay for the rest.”

The businessman in my brain says even if it does, we’re now months behind. We’ll be burning cash, possibly at unsustainable rates.

“None of that is the problem,” I say as I set the book in my lap. “He is.”

The object of my vendetta, the one I was ready to set aside so I could have a life with the woman in front of me. He won’t let me set it aside.

Which means I have no hope of building the future I want, the one Raegan deserves, without stopping him.

“I have to leave LA.”

“Is your insurance in London?” She frowns. “I’m sure they can deal with it from here?—”

“It’s not about insurance.”

Her elbow leans on the edge of my bed, and I get a hit of her familiar scent. That, plus her closeness, send a pang of longing through me.

“Okay. I have some shows lined up, but I’ll cancel them if I need to.” She pulls out her phone. “As long as we need to get this figured out…”

I push the phone away. “I can’t take you with me.”

The phone slips out of her hands as she realizes my intention. “What do you mean? You said you wanted to move on. There are other good things.”

“Things like Kings?” I glance down at the book. “He burned it to the ground tonight.”

She grabs my face in her hands, lifts my gaze to hers. “I’ve spent my life hiding from my past. I’m not hiding from my future.” The cuff shines on her wrist. “I know it kills you that you can’t control him?—”

“This isn’t a joke, isn’t a game!” I’m shouting now, hoarsely. “This is real life.”

“I know it is. That’s why I’m not leaving.”

I think of the news I got about my parents, that they weren’t trying to escape the Ivanov’s business but to reinvest in it.

I wanted to deny it, but tonight in the ambulance, I felt the tiniest flint spark deep in my chest. The part of me built for survival woke up for the first time in a long time, possibly since my parents died.

If they were something other than the saints I made them out to be, then part of me is, too.

“But I am,” I say finally.

I was never meant to be a man who builds things…

I’m destined to be a man who destroys them.