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Dimitry’s allegiance to Roman comes first. Above everything and everyone.

Even me.

As much as I can trust anyone to make good decisions, I trust Dimitry. Unfortunately, he doesn’t make the decisions about his life.

Roman does.

And I promised myself a long time ago that I would never again allow my fate to be determined by the bad decisions of others.

I turn to face him at the bottom of the plaza stairs. “What doyoutruly want, Dimitry? Have you ever even asked yourself that question?”

“Not this again.” He shakes his head impatiently. “Listen, Abby.” He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm his tone. “I don’t think my position with Roman is what this is really about.”

A muscle tics beneath the jagged scar on his jaw.

I clench my hand to stop myself from touching it. I’m terrified at how much I want to.

“Forget your family for the moment.” Dimitry’s eyes search mine. “I think you’re still afraid of something.” He holds up his hand to stall my protest. “Don’t insult us both by lying about it,” he says quietly. “I’ve always respected yourprivacy. But at some point, we have to face this, Abs.” His brows quirk, his mouth softening. “After all this time, can’t you trust me?”

I trust you.

I just don’t want you dead.

Which is why there’s no fucking way we’re having this discussion.

I avoid it by glaring at him. “Nice pivot. Let’s just forget it.”

I stomp up the stairs to the plaza, deserted in the rain. Diamond-shaped lamps hang from the arches in the colonnades, casting a mellow glow over the old stone.

“Abby.” Dimitry takes my arm, turning me to face him. “Talk to me.”

Oh, God. I’m not ready for this.

I take a deep breath.

It has to be said sooner or later, Abby.

I meet his eyes, every bone in my body aching at the hurt I’m about to cause. “I can’t go to Miami with you, Dimitry.”

His face is hard as a marble statue, the low light catching the rain tracking down his cheeks. “Why not?”

I lift a shoulder. “I’m in Spain illegally, to begin with. My visa ran out two years ago. If I leave, I can’t come back, or at least not for a long time.”

“So we get you a different passport.” He gestures impatiently, like he’s brushing away a fly. “Another identity, even. You know how easy that shit is for me to sort out.”

“But that’s just it.” I shake my head tiredly. “It shouldn’t be easy. It shouldn’t benormal. It isn’t normal that you and Roman could blow up half of Miami a few months ago without even making the local news.” I pause, searching for the words. “Nothing about the life you live is normal. And if I keep agreeing to be a part of it, then I’m agreeing to live that life, too.”

“You’vebeenliving that life.” Dimitry steps forward, hislarge, scarred boxer’s hand brushing the rain from my cheek. “Has it really been so terrible?”

“You know it hasn’t.” I turn my head against his hand, kissing his palm. “But it’s notourlife, Dimitry. It never has been. It’s Roman’s life. Darya’s too, I guess. But I’m not Darya. I wasn’t born into the bratva, or raised like a Russian princess. I don’t have some glamorous past waiting to be exposed.”

No, just a tawdry sewer of mistakes I’d rather never discuss.

“I’m just an ordinary country girl from Australia,” I go on, blocking out the unpleasant internal voice, “who wants to make a life for herself. One that means something.” I meet his eyes. “And I guess I don’t understand why you don’t want to make a life for yourself, too. I know you love Roman like a brother. But you deserve to be more than what he chooses to give you, Dimitry.”

His jaw hardens. “Roman is mypakhan, Abby. Maybe in the world you come from, that doesn’t mean anything. But in mine, it’s the only thing that matters.”

The familiar frustration rises in me like a red wave, made all the worse because I know that deep down, the things I’m saying aren’t the real problem.