Page 17

My phone won’t stop buzzing, and it’s triggering every alarm in my body. I’m halfway through sorting the morning mail when I grab the device and glance at the screen. Father. The title alone launches a wave of dread. It’s been two weeks since the dinner party. Grigor left on a business trip a couple of days ago, and I convinced myself I could breathe easy with him gone—less chance of him discovering my secrets, right? But now, seeing Father’s name blazing across the display, I realize how naive I am.

I tap the phone to my ear. “Yes?”

“We need to speak.”

My pulse throbs in my throat. “If it’s about some new scheme, I don’t have time.”

He scoffs. “I’m calling for your benefit as much as mine. This concerns your sister. You remember her, don’t you?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Don’t start with me.”

“Meet me,” he orders. “The empty warehouse near the docks. Thirty minutes.”

“Warehouse near the docks?” My chest constricts. He’s used that place for shady dealings more than once. “Why can’t we meet somewhere… less murdery?”

“Are you refusing me?” He sounds almost amused. “You know exactly what’s at stake.”

“I can’t just slip out unnoticed. There are guards all over the place.”

“Figure it out,” he says with a sneer. Then the line goes dead.

I stare at the phone, feeling a storm of panic. My father never contacts me unless he needs something. The last time we spoke, he was angry enough to strike me. Then Grigor retaliated by stabbing his hand for hurting me. Now I’m forced to face Father’s wrath alone, with Grigor halfway across the country handling Bratva business.

I tuck the phone away and glance around the living room. Anton is stationed outside the room, as always. He’s been instructed to keep an eye on me while Grigor is gone. He’s thorough, rarely leaving me out of sight. I’ll have to be creative if I want to escape. My gaze lingers on the back entrance—maybe I can climb over the garden wall. It’s ridiculous and risky, but Father’s implication about Cecily leaves me no choice.

I hurry upstairs and toss on a hoodie and sneakers. The estate is quiet at this hour, with most of the staff occupied with chores. I pray no one notices me slipping through the back door. The second I step outside, the breeze hits me. I force a breath, trying to calm my pounding heart. If Anton realizes I’m missing, he’ll call Grigor or chase me down. But looking out for Cecily overshadows every other risk.

I creep around the side of the house, pressing myself against the outer wall. The garden gate stands ahead. I flip the latch, praying it doesn’t squeak. It gives, and I squeeze through before shutting it softly behind me. Once outside, I dart along the hedge until I reach the main road. If I can hail a taxi or find a rideshare within the next few minutes, I might make it in time. My phone’s location services are off thanks to a crash course in covering my tracks. I quickly request a car from an app, ignoring the guilt gnawing at me for lying to my husband’s staff. I have to keep Cecily safe.

A car appears within two minutes, and I hop in. The driver, an older man with graying hair, offers a polite greeting. I respond with a distracted nod and give him the address near the docks.

When we arrive at the rundown warehouse, I pay the driver and step out onto the cracked pavement. No crowd, no guards. Just a vast metal structure with rusted siding. A single car is parked near the entrance—my father’s sleek sedan.

Inside, the overhead lights buzz and flicker on occasion. The space smells of oil and must. My father stands near a row of pallets with his hands shoved in his coat pockets, and his gaze fixes on me like I’m a prize he’s waited months to collect. I keep my distance, stopping a good ten feet away.

“Two minutes late,” he notes, glancing at his watch. “You’ve lost your touch, Seraphina.”

“What do you want? What was so urgent I had to rush over here?”

“To apologize.” He rakes a hand through his hair while I blink at him. There’s no way I heard him right. “I know how difficult I’ve been, and I should never have laid a hand on you. That was out of line. But you see… I’m in a tight spot, Seraphina.”

It feels like an anvil has dropped into my stomach. My father doesn’t apologize, and he definitely doesn’t admit weakness.

I steel myself, not wanting to appear caught off guard. He doesn’t need the upper hand. “How tight?”

“I owe a considerable sum to the Irish. They’re calling it in, and I don’t have the funds. The only currency they’ll accept instead is information—dirt on the Barkovs. They threatened to snatch Cecily if I fail to deliver.”

I swallow past the knot in my throat. “So you thought blackmailing me was the best solution? You want me to betray Grigor’s trust just so you can pay off the Irish?”

He bristles and throws up his hand. “You see what he did to me? Or are you blind? The man is a monster, Seraphina. And worse yet, he’s in alliance with them. They stand together, and he won’t break that alliance for a mere woman.”

“Mere woman,” I echo bitterly.

“You think I enjoy seeing your sister living under constant threat? My family is on the brink of ruin, and you’re in a position to help.”

I’m quiet, torn between disgust and pity. This is the same father who forced me into marriage, the same father who slapped me for disobedience. Yet I hear the strain in his voice.

I clench my teeth. “What do you want?”

“Details. Grigor’s schedule, his routines, any weaknesses or vulnerable points that might interest the Irish. They need leverage to keep him in check if he ever tries to double-cross them.”

“I don’t understand. If Grigor is working with the Irish Mob, why would they want information on him?”

“You know as well as I do that this line of business is treacherous. Alliances are fleeting. Men like the Barkovs and the Irish are ruthless and ambitious. Sooner or later, they’ll turn on each other. They want the upper hand, and if they can get it, they won’t hesitate. It’s a matter of time.”

My heartbeat thunders in my ears. “So that’s the plan? Hand them everything about Grigor so they can control him? And if I do this, Cecily is safe?”

He nods, though he keeps his gaze averted. “Yes, for the moment. If the Irish have enough power over Barkov, they’ll leave your sister alone.”

I glance at the cavernous walls around me, feeling trapped. Father’s logic is twisted, but if he’s telling the truth about Cecily being in danger, can I ignore that? I think of Grigor’s last phone call, how he asked me about my day, how his voice sounded rough with leftover affection from our last night together. He has no clue I’m standing here, about to hand over everything he’s built.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, my voice wavering.

“You will,” Father counters coldly. “Unless you want Cecily gone. They’re not bluffing, Seraphina. They’ll snatch her off the streets the second I fail them.”

Guilt claws at my insides. My loyalty to Grigor battles with my love for Cecily. He’s done so much for me, protected me from Father’s rage, and made me feel safe in a life that’s anything but. And now I’m about to deliver him to the enemy.

“Fine,” I mutter. “But if I do this, you make sure Grigor isn’t harmed.”

“Why do you care so much if he’s harmed? He’s a killer, Seraphina. He’ll toss you aside if you become inconvenient.”

“That’s none of your concern,” I snap. “Promise me or the deal is off.”

He scoffs and turns away before pacing a short line on the concrete floor. “Always so stubborn. If he’s caught in the crossfire of politics, that’s out of my hands.”

“Try,” I insist. “Do your best to ensure he doesn’t end up dead because of my betrayal.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t talk like it’s love, Seraphina. This is survival, pure and simple. You’re picking your sister over that savage. That’s all.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. “I hate you for this.”

“Hate me all you want. Hate never killed a man, but the Irish will if you fail. So pray this is enough to keep Cecily safe.”

A suffocating silence envelops us. My stomach lurches with guilt. I picture Grigor’s face—stern, brooding, and sometimes surprisingly gentle. He’d be furious if he saw me here. He might never forgive me.

“Goodbye, Father,” I murmur, turning on my heel.

He doesn’t say a word as I open the warehouse door and step into the evening light. My chest feels hollow, and my legs feel unsteady. I manage to call a taxi to get back, but I can’t stop replaying the conversation in my head.

The driver leaves me at a side street, and I walk the final block to Grigor’s estate, crossing the garden gate with my heart pounding. Any minute, Anton might appear, furious that I slipped away. Or worse, Grigor could have returned early, discovered my absence, and demanded answers.

But the backyard is empty with no sign of pursuit. Maybe I got lucky. I skirt around to the back door and let myself in quietly. The house is still with the staff presumably finishing their routines. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I jump, afraid it’s Father again or, God forbid, Grigor. But it’s just a news alert. I silence it, not trusting myself to read anything right now.

I climb the stairs, each step heavier than the last. Guilt gnaws at me like a persistent rodent. He must not be harmed. That was my one plea. But Father’s twisted grin suggests he might not honor it. If the Irish are determined to control Grigor, they might do more than posture—they might aim to remove him entirely.

When I make it to my room, my reflection in the mirror catches my eye. I see a woman with dark circles under her eyes and guilt etched into every line of her face. I betrayed him. The thought is relentless, pulsing in my head. After everything Grigor did—after he broke into my father’s mansion, after he risked a confrontation with him to protect me—I repaid him by agreeing to sell him out to the Irish.