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"Without hesitating for a split second. Even said something about upgrading security for the building." I roll my eyes. "Apparently our current setup isn't sufficient."

"Wait, is that why the pizza guy was weird? Is Doran having us watched?"

"Probably." The thought should bother me more than it does. "He's kind of intense about the protection thing."

"Kind of? Rev, the man put bulletproof glass in your car."

"Which might actually come in handy if Njal really has lost it."

Dalla sobers at that. "You really think he's dangerous?"

"I think he's desperate. And desperate people do stupid things." I think about those final texts, the pain in them. "I just hope someone finds him before he does something that can't be undone."

"Me too." She's quiet for a moment. "You know what's weird? Part of me feels bad for him. Like, I know he's being a possessive ass, but he really did love you."

"In his way."

"Yeah, but his way wasn't healthy. Even before all this.

" She sits up, facing me fully. "Remember last year when you couldn't go to that law conference because he pitched a fit about you being gone for a weekend?

Or when he showed up drunk at that study group because that one guy in class who flirted with you too much was there? "

"I remember."

"I'm just saying... maybe this is for the best. Even without Doran, I don't think you and Njal would have lasted."

She's right. I know she's right. But it still hurts to think about what we could have been if we'd both been different people.

"This is so fucked up. A week ago, our biggest problem was passing finals. Now you're getting married to the Bratva, I'm considering switching careers, and your ex is missing and possibly manic."

"When you put it like that..."

"Right? Our lives are a soap opera." She grabs the wine bottle, refilling both our glasses. "At least the sex is good."

"Dalla!"

"What? I'm trying to find silver linings here." She raises her glass. "To my sister, who's apparently going to be a mafia wife with great orgasms."

"I hate you."

"You love me." She clinks her glass against mine. "And I love you. Which is why I need you to know—I'll be there. Every step of this insane journey. Maid of honor?"

"Of course." I feel tears prick my eyes. "Who else would I choose?"

"Good. Because I already have ideas for the bachelorette party."

"Nothing too crazy?—"

"Oh, it's going to be crazy. If you're marrying into the Bratva, we're going out with style." She grins wickedly. "Rhiannon already texted me about coordinating."

"When did she get your number?"

"When you were getting dressed yesterday. She's very efficient." Dalla shows me her phone. "We have a group chat. Your future mother-in-law is in it too."

"Oh Gods."

"Oh yes. We're planning the most epic bachelorette party in criminal history. Elfe's in charge of the playlist. Everly's handling transportation. Our mom is... well, she's trying to help."

"Please don't let them go overboard."

"Too late. Rhiannon already mentioned something about a private jet to Vegas."

"I'm going to regret this."

"Probably. But it'll be fun." She yawns suddenly. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

"I have rounds at six." She groans. "I should probably shower and attempt to sleep."

"Go. I'll clean up."

She hugs me tight before heading to the bathroom. "Love you, Rev. Even if you are marrying a stalker."

"Love you too. Even if you are planning to torture me at my bachelorette party."

I clean up the pizza boxes and wine glasses, moving quietly, thinking about everything going on in my fucking crazy life.

This apartment has been our sanctuary for two years—our first real taste of independence.

The kitchen where we've had countless midnight snacks, the living room where we've cried over boys and exams, the tiny balcony where we've watched sunrises after all-nighters.

Soon I'll be living somewhere else, somewhere Doran chooses, somewhere bulletproof and surveilled.

But Dalla will still be by my side.

That's something.

My phone buzzes again as I'm getting ready for bed.

Doran:

Lock your windows

Me:

Already did

Doran:

Good girl

Two words and my face is flaming.

I think about last night, about his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear calling me good girl in an entirely different context.

Me:

Goodnight Doran.

Doran:

Sweet dreams, little wolf.

I curl up in bed, very aware that somewhere out there, Njal is spiraling while Doran is probably reviewing surveillance footage of my building.

My life has become a careful balance between danger and protection, between choice and arrangement.

Ten days until I become Revna Volkov.

Ten days to figure out if what I feel for Doran is real or just Stockholm syndrome with really good sex.

Ten days to hope Njal doesn't do something we'll all regret.

But tonight, in this apartment with my sister singing off-key in the shower and the familiar sounds of Jacksonville outside my window, I can almost pretend things are normal.

Almost.

The last thing I see before closing my eyes is that black sedan still parked across the street, guardian angels in expensive suits making sure the big bad wolf doesn't come knocking.

Or maybe making sure this little wolf doesn't run.

Either way, I'm not alone.

I'm never alone anymore.