Page 16

YULIAN

“ Blyat’, ” Maksim curses as he nearly trips. “Pothole. There’s nothing but potholes here!”

I tune him out and focus on my breathing. Jogging always clears my head. There’s nothing like a good workout to get the blood pumping, but today, the gym didn’t feel like enough.

Today, I wanted to keep my body in motion.

Today, I wanted to be here.

Which is an odd thing to feel about Brownsville.

Maksim’s phone pings. “Nikita?” I ask as he checks it.

He sighs. “Another dead end. Fucking hate dead ends.”

“Not as much as I do.”

He must feel the growl of warning in my tone, because he leaves a wide berth between us as we jog down Brooklyn’s asphalt asshole. “It’s like we said, man. Whoever did this is a ghost. Which fits a little too well with everything else that’s happened.”

He means the shooting at the wedding.

“Any news on Brad?”

“Alive and kicking, unfortunately,” Maks replies. “And kicking up a storm with the NYPD. He’s demanding the perps be found.”

Good luck with that. I’ve been on their tail for two decades and turned up jack shit. If Brad actually manages to get anything done, I’ll send him a fucking fruit basket in gratitude.

But he won’t. I know it in my gut: No one else will bring down my enemies.

That duty belongs to me .

Gunfire. Spilled wine on the floor. Blood, mixing with it. At some point, I stop being able to tell them apart.

There’s a girl next to me under the table. A girl I’ve known all my life. A girl it never crossed my mind to marry—we were friends. Too good friends to ruin it.

But my enemies don’t know that.

“Stay down,” I growl. “Keep close to me, Kira. Don’t let them ? —”

Then her body slumps forward.

“Kira?!” My hand shakes her shoulder. “KIRA!”

But it’s too late.

I shake my head and pick up the pace. Those images never do me any good. I don’t need my wrath to be fueled—I need it to be sated. I need vengeance.

And fucking hell, I need to find Nikita.

Last time, it was too late to save my family. Too late to save Kira.

I won’t let it be too late again.

“We’re stopping?” Maks asks hopefully, more than a little out of breath.

“No.” I take a swig of my water. “Why? Tired already?”

“Just eager to preserve my neck from all these damned potholes.”

“Or maybe you’ve been behind a steering wheel too long.” I chug down the rest of the bottle, then crumple it in my hand. “Can’t remember how to work those legs.”

“Very funny,” Maks deadpans. “I’ll remember that next time I kick your ass on the ring.”

“Sure. In your dreams.”

“Speaking of dreams,” he pants, “why are we in this nightmare of a neighborhood anyway?”

As if on cue, I hear it.

Her voice.

I look up. From across the road, I can see her through the open kitchen window: in her pajamas, flipping pancakes, a big grin on her face.

I thought she looked gorgeous in the dress I gave her. Then I thought she looked gorgeous in her ratty scrubs. Now, I’m not surprised to realize she just might look gorgeous wearing anything.

Or nothing at all.

My cock twitches in my shorts. They’re wide enough to hide it, but not if it gets any more interested. And I know better than to get interested in an asset.

Because that’s what Mia is: an asset. A pawn. A means to an end, no matter the cost.

That cost, I realize, could very well be her life.

Those same old memories flash before my eyes again: the blood, the bullets, the bodies. I was nineteen then. I’m not nineteen now.

But the thought of someone dying for me still doesn’t sit well in my chest.

My men are trained for this life and the death it might bring. They know what they’re getting into. From the moment they’re sworn in to the instant a bullet takes their lives, they breathe for me . And they get their fair dues in return.

What I offered Mia was more than fair, but she still turned me down.

It was a surprise. More than that—it was new. No one has ever turned me down before. Not as CEO, not as pakhan, and certainly not as a man.

But Mia Winters refused all three.

Why?

Why would she turn down a million dollars? Why, when it could change her whole life? It can’t be just because she thought I was rude. That would be absurd.

And yet, I can’t find any other reason.

She has no idea I was the target at Brad’s wedding. Or rather, that she was. I doubt she could have figured it out on her own, given her limited resources.

My past is a secret I’ve guarded carefully. The only explanation left is that, somehow, she caught wind of how dangerous I am. That she’s scared of me.

Call me crazy, but she sure as fuck didn’t look scared.

Suddenly, another head pops into view. Smaller, shorter—a little boy. Her son, I realize. The curtain is waving in the wind, hiding him from view from one moment to the next, so I don’t get a clear look. I’m not so sure I want to.

Because, if Mia ends up saying yes, I’ll be looking at the boy I might turn into an orphan.

An orphan like me.

I shake that thought right off. I can’t let it sink its claws into me. Whatever Mia’s life looks like is none of my concern. Whoever gets hurt isn’t, either.

My revenge takes precedence above all.

Besides, I’m not the kid I used to be. I’m strong now—strong enough to protect what’s mine.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Maksim is grinning next to me. “Should we wave?”

“Do it and I’ll cut your fucking hand off.”

He backs away, eyes wide. “Fine, fine. Geez, you’re touchy. No wonder she dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me. We’re not a goddamn couple.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“You—”

A flash goes off behind me.

I turn, already pissed to hell and back, but don’t see anyone to vent my anger on. “Who the fuck’s taking pictures at this time of day?”

“Construction crew?” Maks shrugs. “They work with blowtorches. Sometimes, those look like camera flashes.”

“Shitty fucking neighborhood.” The longer I’m here, the more I’m convinced my description was accurate: This is a shithole. Mia can get mad all she wants—she’s just mad I’m right.

She could leave, though. If she’d only take my money, she could buy a place in the heart of Manhattan. Live at the top of the world.

So why won’t she?

“You know, you could hire someone else,” Maksim floats out there. “For this scheme of yours.”

“No,” I spit too quickly. “It has to be her.”

“Why?” he presses. “Because your enemies think it’s her already? We both know you could orchestrate a pretense twice as good as that. With a professional, that is.”

“I don’t want a professional,” I snarl. “I want?—”

I swallow it before I can say it. It feels far too real. Maksim wouldn’t understand. He’s a fucking romantic.

Me? I’m a beast. A starving, savage beast.

It’s not my fault Mia’s scent feels like the only thing that could sate me right now.

“I want it to look real,” I tell Maksim. “Mia does that. A professional won’t.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. So stop fucking questioning me.”

My gaze flicks back to the window. Mia is moving away from it now, the smell of half-burnt pancakes wafting down for a couple of seconds longer. She heaps the carnage into a plate, ruffles her kid’s hair, and disappears.

I jog back to the car, Maksim close at my heels. “Put more men on Nikita’s search,” I tell him without looking back. “Turn the heat all the way up. We can’t afford to lose her.”

“Understood,” Maks wheezes as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Should I turn the heat up on Mia, too? Talk her landlord into an eviction, make her reconsider?”

I look back towards her apartment building. “No,” I say. “Let her come to me.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“She will.”

And once she does, she’ll be mine.