Page 98 of Prince of Control

“He did,” my father says simply. “And we cleaned up. Anatoli Rostov will never know for sure who did it. So I can’t run, or it will make it obvious, but I need Kat to be safe, and she’ll be safe at the Kremlin with your father.”

“The Kremlin?” I ask blankly.

“That was the name the neighbors gave our building in Chicago,” Baron explains. “Because so many Russians lived in it.”

“Ah. Kind of how the students at Thornecroft call Baranov house, the Gulag.”

“Exactly.” I see the twitch of a smile on Baron’s face, and his eyes heat, like he’s planning another trip to the dungeon with me.

My nipples get hard.

“Perfect!” My mom claps her hands together. “I get to go plan a wedding. You two will go back to the Gulag.” She looks up at my dad. “I won’t like to be away from you, though,” she says softly.

Regret and longing wash over his face, and I see that deep, always passionate love the two share.

The kind of love I found.

With the man I trust with my life.

And my heart.

And my soul.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Baron

Sunday afternoon, I stand by the grill in the backyard of Baranov house, flipping burgers and brats. Melinda is in Ander’s lap on the outdoor sofa. Alex, Feliks, and Phoenix play frisbee with a few other house members.

Zoe’s acting hostess-y and setting out all the side dishes, plates, and silverware. Anya’s playing DJ.

Lara and I got back to Thornecroft a full week ago. We spent the past week recovering from our bruises and catching up on our studies, but today I decided it was time for a house party and invited everyone for an afternoon barbecue.

My beautiful wife hands me a beer from the cooler, and I give her a kiss. We’ve been on honeymoon all week, starting over with our relationship, falling more deeply in love. She’s friends with everyone in the house, becoming more playful and spontaneous every day.

The atmosphere in the house is lighter than it’s ever been. Or maybe that’s just me. I feel lighter than ever. There’s still a serious edge to me. I know I’m responsible for the safety, well-being, and financial abundance of everyone here, but that sense of having my very soul on lockdown—that fear of looking away for a moment and missing something—is gone.

Lara took the blade out of my heart–the one I inserted myself after watching Valentina die– and she patched it up. The wound is still there, it’s still sore, but I no longer feel like I’m fighting to survive every night while I sleep.

“Hey bro.” Lili walks outside with a guy and gives me a hug. “This is Carlos.” She introduces the tall, lanky blond guy in soccer shorts and a T-shirt that reads Manchester United. They’re holding hands.

“Carlos.” I try to muster a menacing air to show this guy he better not fuck around with my little sister, but my heart isn’t in it.

“Be nice,” Lara tells me in Russian, coming up behind me and placing her hand in the center of my back. I fucking love it. Her casual touches, her giving me orders. The fact that she’s really my wife.

Leo must think I’m slacking because he saunters over and looks the guy over with a frown.

“Is the food ready?” Lily asks.

“Ten minutes.” I flip a burger in the air and catch it on my spatula then slide it onto the grill, showing off for Lara.

“Leo made Bloody Marys,” Lara tells her. “And there are mimosas too.”

“She’s not twenty-one,” Leo growls, still glowering at Carlos. “And I’m guessing he’s not either.”

Lara rolls her eyes.

Considering both the twins are drinking, and they’re not of age yet, it seems odd that Leo’s being an asshole about it, but I don’t interfere.