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As for the consequences of Roman taking over the organization…that was a problem for another day.

“So?” His eyes pierced mine. “Do we have a deal?”

My old sources may have dried up, but the Brotherhood’s civil war was verifiable if I knew where to look—which I did.

I’d have to triple-check every word that came out of Roman’s mouth. Until then…

I pulled the trigger.

He didn’t get a chance to run. His body jerked from the force of the bullet, and he released a sharp hiss when it tore through his shoulder. Blood bloomed on the front of his shirt and dripped onto the leather armrest.

Goddammit. That was my favorite chair.

Roman glared at me, his face white with pain. But he didn’t scream. He got bonus points for that.

“I could’ve aimed for your heart,” I said. “I’ll be in touch regarding your proposition. Now get the fuck out of my house before I change my mind.”

CHAPTER22

Ayana

Vuk’s mansion resembled its owner: large, imposing, and cloaked in silence.

It was one of the rare Manhattan estates with enough space for a front courtyardanda backyard, all of which were nestled behind giant black iron gates.

I’d visited once before with Jordan. I’d been so intimidated by the sheer size and unwelcoming facade that I’d spent the entire dinner on edge. The lovingly home-cooked, gourmet roast had tasted like cardboard.

That’d been a year ago.

This time, the sight of the gates filled me with relief. I wanted to lose myself behind the security of the thick stone walls and locks. I wanted a bubble where the outside world didn’t exist, and men like Wentworth Holt couldn’t touch me. Most of all, I wanted to see the one person who could possibly make me forget what happened, if only for a short while.

I pressed the call button by the entrance and waited for someone to pick up. The sun had set, and twilight bathed the street in cool blue silence.

This was one of the safest neighborhoods in New York, but I’d still rather be inside than outside.

“Can I help you?” A crisp, vaguely British-accented voice floated out of the intercom.

“Hi. I’m here to see Vuk. Markovic,” I added inanely, like there was another Vuk that could’ve possibly resided on the grounds. “I’m a, um, friend.”

Perhaps “friend” was stretching it, but “his friend’s fiancée who tried kissing him after he almost accidentally choked her to death on the night of her bachelorette” didn’t have quite the same ring.

Also, when I put it like that…I winced. God, I was fucked up.

“I see.” The voice sounded politely unimpressed. “I’m afraid Mr. Markovic is busy at the moment, but I’ll let him know you were here. What’s your name?”

“Ayana Kidane.” I swallowed past the embarrassing thickness in my throat. I wasn’t going to cry just because Vuk couldn’t see me when I showed up at his house unannounced. What had I expected? That he would be sitting there waiting for visitors? He was a CEO and the managing director of Valhalla. He had more important things to do.

A long pause followed my response.

To my shock, the gates buzzed open a minute later, followed by a slightly warmer reception. “Please come in.”

I was confused as to what made the gatekeeper change his mind. However, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I entered the courtyard and walked to the entrance.

A tall, white-haired man in a black suit waited for me by the front doors. I didn’t remember seeing him during my last visit. Then again, Vuk had greeted us himself, and the only staff I’d interacted with were the servers.

“Ms. Kidane, welcome,” he said. “I’m Jeremiah, the butler. Please, come with me. Mr. Markovic is waiting for you.”

Less than a minute had passed since he buzzed me in. How did he have time to inform Vuk already?