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ANASTASIA

S omeone trying to kill me isn’t all that surprising.

I can’t count how many assassination attempts I witnessed against my father.

There’s always someone smaller vying for more power and unwilling to work for it.

Someone else always thinks they can do a better job or that they deserve to be in charge.

Not me.

When I was growing up, I never envisioned leading.

My life was filled with solitude, so I passed the time by burrowing into every book I could find.

When I got older, I tried to earn my father’s favor by learning what I could on the sidelines, but I quickly realized that he had no interest in showing me the ropes.

If only my lack of education in the family business were enough to keep the assassins off my back.

Outside, birds drift lazily through the air, turning the sky into a blue polka dot pattern that completely captures my attention.

The painkillers the hospital gave me a week ago have softened the edges of my world, but I’m not complaining.

They keep the pain at bay, which I am grateful for every morning when I wake up and become swallowed by the agony of my broken ribs.

The world doesn’t stop.

Unlike the attempts on my father’s life, there were no flowers sent to my door, no words of sympathy or revenge from anyone near me.

Except Erik.

He stands by the window, staring at the passing patrol with a slight frown gracing his handsome features.

I shouldn’t think that about someone who works for me, but it’s true.

He’s handsome.

Sweeping tufts of dark brown hair sit on top of his head, leading down to close-shaved sides that feed into an equally close-shaved beard that hugs his square jaw like the touch of a lover.

With tawny beige skin, caramel brown eyes, and a fuller lower lip that makes each smile warm, it’s difficult for me not to look.

I shouldn’t.

But I do.

He saved my life.

Last week wasn’t the first time someone has tried to kill me, but it is the closest they’ve come.

I barely remember my time in the car, although I do remember opening my eyes to find myself wrapped in Erik’s thick, muscular arms.

Safe.

If I close my eyes, I can still faintly feel his pounding heart against my cheek.

Just thinking about it makes my stomach tighten, and my heart flutters slightly.

It’s pathetic.

He held me to protect me because he was doing his job, yet I’m so starved of any kind of affection that I can’t stop replaying that moment in my head.

He was warm and for a few seconds, I truly felt safe.

What’s wrong with me?

This can’t be a normal reaction to something like this, surely?

“Anastasia?” The soft, sweet voice of my underboss, Faina, breaks through my thoughts as she places one hand on my bare knee and squeezes softly.

“Are you alright?”

Faina is the only person I have in the world.

We grew up together since she was the chef’s daughter in my youth, and then she remained with the family after her father’s death.

Before the murder of my own father, Faina busied herself with running a few of the nightclubs, but it was our brief connection when we were younger that made me pluck her out of that life and bring her right to the top with me.

I needed someone unconnected to the dead generals, someone so far removed from my father’s dealings that they could give me impartial advice.

She was the perfect choice, and she’s been running things while I lay in bed recovering.

Her question catches not just my attention but Erik’s, too.

His eyes snap away from the window, and our gazes meet for a split second, long enough for my heart to flutter again.

I glance away and flash a tight smile at Faina.

“Yes. I’m just tired.”

Faina smooths her hand over the files in her lap.

“We can pick this up later if you want to rest?” Her brows knit together, and she tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear.

“We’ve covered the important stuff already.”

“No, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Faina looks uncertain, but she resumes speaking.

I should listen.

After all, she’s been making sure all the victims from last week’s slavery ring are getting the treatment they need, organizing housing and therapy as well as trying to get in contact with any relatives.

She’s been doing it all, and it’s important.

I should listen.

But I can feel the heat of Erik’s eyes on me, and it’s distracting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him lean one shoulder against the wall and cross his arms over his chest, never once looking away from me.

It was a moment of weakness when I asked him to personally take over as my security.

I was chasing that momentary safety I felt in his arms while being high on painkillers and adrenaline.

I don’t regret it, but I must manage whatever this is.

“Actually...” I cut Faina off, and she hesitates.

“ Can we pick this up later?”

“Absolutely.” Faina closes the files in her lap and reaches for my knee once more.

“You know where I’ll be. Just call, okay? And get some rest.”

“Thank you.”

Faina leaves after flashing a smile at Erik, and a heavy silence fills my office.

I want to check on the birds I saw earlier, but doing that would mean I have to look at Erik.

Asking him to leave isn’t an option.

He’s been glued to my side since I made my security request, and a selfish part of me enjoys his presence.

Even if it is residual relief from being rescued, is there any real harm in enjoying it?

“The kidnappers,” I say, breaking the silence and finally turning my attention to Erik.

“Did we identify them?”

Erik straightens up and moves from his spot by the window.

He stops just behind the couch I’m resting on and shakes his head.

“No. There was nothing salvageable from that wreck. The fire burned up everything, including the barber shop, I’m afraid. The bodies were too charred and the car wasn’t registered to anyone.”

“Huh.” Faceless, untraceable assassins.

Figures.

“I have a theory, though,” Erik says, placing both hands on the back of the couch.

When he leans over, my air suddenly fills with the subtle woody scent of his aftershave, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

I have to ignore how his arms bulge faintly when he puts weight on them to support himself and how his throat bobs slightly when he swallows after speaking.

“A theory?”

“What if they’re the same people, or connected to the same people, who killed your father?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Think about it. Someone assassinated your father and then you step into his shoes. The other attempts on your life weren’t this bold, so this reeks of desperation. They really wanted you, and given the lengths they went to, there has to be some sort of connection.”

“If there is one, I don’t see it.” Shifting against the cushions, I give Erik my full attention.

“Whoever had an issue with my father can’t have an issue with me. We’re doing things so differently.”

“You know how this world works,” Erik remarks.

“All it takes is one wrong look for someone to want you dead. And we have no clues about whoever killed your father.” Erik pauses.

“Unless you remember something else about that night?”

Talking about my father is the last thing I want to do.

I turn away and shake my head.

“No.”

“Alright. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find a connection so I don’t have to pull you out of a car wreck again.”

“I understand. You’re just doing your job.” I appreciate that, especially since Igor was more of the strong, silent type who would pass the time gambling on his phone.

The conversation is nice.

“I’m just… I feel worn thin. I’ve been out for a week, and Faina is already swamped. There’s no time to breathe, y’know? I’m sick of being like this.” One hand skims down over the tight bandages hidden under my clothes.

“I want to be helpful.”

Erik straightens up suddenly.

“Then let’s go out.”

“What?” I stare up at him, and despite my best efforts, all I can do is admire how good he looks standing above me like that.

“Where?”

“We’ll go get some food. Being cooped up isn’t good for recovery.”

“Don’t you have to make a dozen calls and set up a motorcade for me to go somewhere this suddenly? You were literally just concerned about assassins.”

“I’ll keep you safe.” Erik’s warm brown eyes lock onto mine, and when he smiles, the outer corners crinkle, making them sparkle.

“Trust me.”

“Okay.”

“So,” I say between mouthfuls of thick, juicy, greasy cheeseburger.

“You were in the military?”

Erik, sitting in the driver’s seat, glances over at me with one brow raised and several fries on their way to his mouth.

“You know about that?”

“It was in your file.”

“You have a file on me?”

“I have a file on everyone. Is that a problem?”

“No. Makes sense. I just didn’t think I was important enough to have a file on.”

“You’re now my only security, never mind that you’re my security adviser. You don’t see that as important?”

“After what you did to those generals, I don’t view titles as anything more than a badge to determine your paycheck.”

Something about the flat way he says it brings an unexpected snort of laughter from my chest.

If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend we’re just two friends huddled in a car on the edge of an incline overlooking the city, stuffing our faces with takeout before we return to our dull, mundane jobs.

In a world of assassination attempts, distrust, and my efforts to dismantle my father’s human trafficking circuit while trying to build my own sustainable businesses, normality is oddly welcome.

“Point taken,” I reply, taking another bite.

“But tell me, why didn’t you see it through?”

Erik swallows and adjusts his grip on his burger.

“Honestly? After my parents died, I joined the military because I didn’t see any other options. I lost my sister and I was alone, so the military seemed like the place where I could find family. Problem was, I have an issue with authority.”

“Me included?” I narrow my eyes.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Depends. Will you yell in my face and wake me at three in the morning with a bucket of ice water?”

“I have no plans to.”

“Then we’re good.”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t, though.” I smirk easily, and Erik laughs around his burger.

“So there’s a slim chance. Got it.” He bites and chews heartily, then shrugs.

“They kicked me out, and I found my way into this life. It was the family bond I wanted without the militaristic rules. I like driving, so being a driver for those jobs and stuff just made sense.”

“Now you’re here. Eating a cheeseburger with the boss.”

“Exactly.” Erik finishes his burger in two bites.

“How the world changes.”

Every time he looks at me, I feel seen.

It’s a strange sensation, and deep down, I know that it’s merely my reaction to being rescued, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I exist as a person more than a name.

In time, this feeling will fade and the strange pull I feel toward this man will be nothing more than a memory.

But it’s a good feeling right now.

No one has ever taken me for a cheeseburger before.

“I’m sorry you lost your sister.”

Erik pauses his fries and a strange look passes over his face.

He looks like he’s wrestling the lid down on some old pain.

After a few seconds, he looks at me intently.

“Sorry about your dad.”

We stare at each other in silence for a few long seconds.

I take him in, truly take in the chiseled beauty of his face and the handsome structure that softens each time he looks me in the eye.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

“Would you believe that no one has said that before?”

“No way.” His brow shoots up.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” I tear my gaze away, unable to look for too long in case the urges inside me deepen.

“People express their shock, their disappointment. They ask me if I know who did it. How the family is. No one said sorry. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I hated my father. But he was still my dad.”

“I didn’t know you hated him,” Erik replies softly.

“Why?”

That’s a can of worms I have no intention of opening, no matter how comfortable the air in the car is.

I know my limits and my father is one of them.

“Too long of a story.” I brush him off and return to my fries.

“So, tell me, you used to drive for the family?”

The next hour passes with Erik filling me in on crazy, exciting stories of robberies, heists, and other events for which he was the driver.

His skills speak for themselves, as he was able to save me from those kidnappers.

Hearing how well-ingrained he is with people lower down the ladder is rather heartwarming.

I learned quickly that none of the grunts under me will ever become anything more than soldiers.

They look at me as the Boss, and that will never change.

Erik eventually drives us back home when night falls and sneaks us in the same way he snuck us out—by using the back garage.

The food sits warm and comfortable in my stomach, and being able to do something like a normal person is an unexpected breath of fresh air.

He takes me up to my room and says goodnight, promising to sneak me out again the next time I need breathing room.

I contemplate his promise as I slowly get ready for bed and toss a few painkillers in my mouth, chasing them with some ice-cold water.

One thing Erik said sticks with me.

He suspects the assassination attempt last week is linked to whoever killed my father.

I know for a fact that can’t be true, but maybe there’s another connection I’m not seeing, someone else who wants me dead.

There are very few people I’ve harmed directly in my time as Godmother.

Very few.

Eight, to be precise.

I drag a brush through my hair, then ease myself slowly into bed as one chilling thought worms its way into my mind.

Did someone survive the dinner party?