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MIA

The next morning, Yulian kisses me good luck in front of the courthouse. I linger on his lips long enough to keep his warmth with me. “Think we can swing some non-alcoholic champagne for later?”

Yulian watches me with equal surprise and awe. “You’re awfully confident.”

“I’m awfully motivated.” I twirl his tie between my fingers. “And I’ve got a damn good plan.”

He hums, darkly pleased. “And you won’t share.”

“Nope.” Guilt flits briefly in my chest, but I swat it away. “Can’t afford to jinx it.”

The truth is, I’m not actually that confident. This is still a gamble, and a risky one at that. But if I’m going to have any hope of selling it to Brad, I have to sell it to myself first.

“Then I’ll take back my good-luck wish.” Yulian kisses me again, deeper this time.

I lose myself to it—the feeling of his fingers on my chin, the scrape of his beard on my face.

His cologne, cedarwood and amber and dark, dark promises.

“And buy a bottle of the finest sparkling cider the world has to offer.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I grin. “Tonight?”

Yulian’s face clouds briefly. “Not tonight,” he says. “I’ve got… business.” A strange sense of unease settles on my shoulders. But then Yulian’s expression clears as he adds, “Tomorrow. We’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. A good word. A hopeful word. “I like the sound of that,” I whisper against his lips. I steal one more kiss, then dash out.

The courthouse is as solemn as I left it. I’m a little early, but that’s on purpose. I wanted to get here before my family and friends. Definitely before Isaak.

Apparently, someone else got the same idea.

Brad flashes me a victorious grin from across the hallway. Smithers isn’t there yet, but I knew he wouldn’t be. Brad was always an early bird. Today, he has even more incentive to be here before anyone else. He expects my surrender.

Too fucking bad.

As if to confirm that, he swaggers towards me. “Come to beg for mercy?”

“Should I?” I keep my tone casual. “Beg for mercy?”

“A smart woman would.”

“Thought you said I wasn’t smart.”

“You could change my mind.” He accompanies that comment with a sneer. “Or try to, anyway.”

I could tell him off right now. Nip this in the bud, end the game before we even get started on round three.

But I want to savor this.

It’s a very Bratva-esque feeling. It’s the kind of thing Yulian would do. Certainly not meek little Mia, with her BSc in running scared and a lifetime’s worth of experience in keeping her head down.

Guess I’ve changed, too.

Because this time, I’m holding my head way fucking high.

“And what would that look like?” I pretend to be interested. “Your mercy?”

Brad’s chest puffs up even more. He reminds me of a subway pigeon, strutting along the tracks, oblivious to the headlights coming up behind him.

“Well, let’s see. You didn’t behave very gracefully last time I showed you kindness.

You’re gonna have to earn that back. In fact, I’m thinking I could use a new maid. ”

“A maid, huh?”

“Sure.” He leans down, tone lecherous. “Clean my house by day, clean my pipes by night. On your knees, like the bitch you are. With good behavior, you’ll be back in my bed within the year.”

His words make me sick. Everything about him makes me sick. I think back to that summer together, all those years ago, and can’t fathom what ever drew me to him. To this monster wearing the face of a man.

Because he wasn’t all bad. The memories fill my heart with a pang of regret. There was still hope for him. If he’d chosen differently—if he’d chosen to be a good man instead of a bad one.

But he didn’t.

“What about the baby?”

“My doctor will take care of that.” He throws a disgusted glance at my belly. “You should’ve known better than to test me like this, sweet thing. It’s not smart.”

Fire rises through me. Fire and fucking brimstone. And then, to my surprise, a new feeling bubbles up right on its heels. I can’t help it—I laugh.

And laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

A vein starts popping on Brad’s temple. “Something funny?”

“It’s not smart to test you? ” I’m practically doubled over. “You, who’ve never fought a single battle on your own? Who’s been hiding behind your daddy’s money your whole life?”

Brad starts fuming at the mention of his father. “That’s it,” he spits. “I was gonna show you mercy, but?—”

“Prizrak.”

Silence falls like a guillotine.

“What did you just say?”

I enjoy watching Brad’s face lose all color. “I think you know what I said.”

“You don’t know anything.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself rather than me. “You don’t know?—”

“Oh, but I do know.” I take one step forward. “Prizrak. Desya Bogdanov. Need I go on?” I take Brad’s silence for an answer. “Wanna hear what I think?” Again, silence. “I think this all started with your dad.”

Again, the mention of his father is enough to twist Brad’s face into something animal. “You keep my father’s name out of your filthy mouth.”

I ignore him. “Daddy Baldwin always prized three things above all else: his money, his power, and his connections to dangerous people. More often than most, the latter was the reason he even had the other two. When he died, you inherited that part of his life, too.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brad’s face takes a trip through all the colors of the rainbow. “My father was a great man. He made himself. He?—”

“He paid off the mob,” I cut in without sympathy. “Only, instead of having to go around pleasing all the powerful families in New York, he found the one organization who had them all under siege. A syndicate of cowards—just like him.”

“Don’t you dare.” Brad’s voice starts rising. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about him, you pathetic excuse for a bitch in heat!”

“And there it is.” I grin. “Your true colors. Nice of you to finally show everyone.”

His gaze darts to the side, panicked—and that’s when he realizes who’s there.

Kallie. Nikita. Mom. Dad.

And Ginny, too.

Her face is the most shocked of all. “Bradley…?”

He grits his teeth, but ignores her. “You don’t have shit,” he growls. “You wouldn’t be here if you did.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I step closer again. The next time I speak, it’s with a whisper only we can hear. “Because, unlike you, I can show mercy.”

“Mercy?” he sneers. “You— you’d show mercy to me? ”

“Yes.” I keep my tone carefully even. “Because you’re still Eli’s father. And I’d rather you drop this quietly than have Yulian drop you to the bottom of the Hudson.”

“What’s your sugar daddy have to do with this?”

“Oh, my. You didn’t hear?” I lean in further. “Prizrak killed his family. Desya Bogdanov, too. What do you think is going to happen when I tell Yulian you’re in bed with the bastards he’s been hunting all his life? That your money is what paid for the bullets that took his parents and sister?”

Brad goes whiter. “No. That’s impossible.” He shakes his head. “My father would never. My father…”

Wow. He really didn’t know, did he?

I don’t feel bad for him for long. If he was in the dark about Baldwin Senior’s allies, it’s because he wanted to be. Because, when it comes to his father, Brad has a blind spot the size of Texas.

“You know he did.”

“Then you’d never tell him.” He’s sweating now, wiping his clammy palms on his pristine white suit pants. “He’d kill me, and you can’t have that. You swore an oath.”

“Maybe so,” I say coldly. “But you threatened my son. So I’ll swear a new one, here and now: Either you drop this suit, or I’ll give him the proof I stole from your laptop.”

“You’re lying.”

“Then why don’t you fucking test me?” I ask.

“Because I can tell you one thing: I might be merciful, but my fiancé won’t be.

He’ll draw it out. You think you know what real pain is?

” I let myself laugh. “Think again. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll wish all you had were cigarette burns to show for it. ”

His panicked gaze darts to my scars.

Then fury flashes over his face. The fury of being confronted with his actions, of being made to face consequences. Brad never liked consequences.

He raises his palm. I realize, with a split-second’s delay, he’s going to hit me.

I don’t flinch.

I don’t move.

I wait for the blow with my head held high.

… And it never comes.

Suddenly, Brad’s arms are both wrenched behind his back. Nikita has one, Isaak the other.

“Think this is enough to get the case dismissed, counselor?” Nikita teases.

Isaak plays along, pretending to think. “I’d say this is a countersuit wrapped in a nice little bow.”

“This isn’t over!” Brad splutters as two officers of the court take over to drag him away. “I’ll end you for this! I’ll fucking end you!”

Every spectator looks white as a sheet. Finally, they’re seeing Brad’s true nature—the monster I’ve had to fight for so long.

The second he’s gone, my parents rush to hug me. “Oh, honey,” Mom whispers brokenly.

“If they hadn’t dragged him off, I’d have killed him myself,” Dad mutters.

“There’s no need,” I tell him. “I handled it.”

“Yes, you did.” He looks at me with something close to awe. “I have no idea what you told him, but there’s no way the judge is going to let this case go forward now. Not with everything we’ve seen.”

I don’t tell him that’s not necessarily true. When it comes to children, a parent’s rights to them often come at a cost of their own safety. I’ve lost count of the tiny coffins in our morgue—of the tears I shed for them.

But even if the judge doesn’t drop this, Brad will. He doesn’t care about Eli enough to risk his life to get him. That’s the difference between us.

I pull my parents close. “Thank you,” I say. “For being here for me.”

When we part, I see Ginny waiting anxiously behind them. “Euphie… I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was like that.”

“I told you he was.” It comes out harsher than I’d intended. “I told you everything, Ginny. I begged you to believe me.”

“I know.” Her voice breaks. “I—I’ll recant everything.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I’d appreciate that.”

Her eyes are wet now. So are mine. “Can you ever forgive me?” she croaks. “For being such a lousy sister?”

No. You’ve gone too far. The words are on my lips, fueled by anger and weeks of sleepless nights. But I don’t speak them. Because I know where the blame rests. And it isn’t all at her feet.

“Only if you can forgive me,” I say.

Her tears start falling. She wraps me in a hug so tight, I’m scared I’ll never breathe again. But maybe that isn’t such a bad way to go.

“We should go inside,” Isaak says, breaking the spell. “The judge wants to see us.”

This time, there’s no fear in me as I walk into the courtroom. Only a strange sort of calm.

I listen as the judge speaks.

I listen as she bangs her gavel, her decision made.

I listen as my side breaks out in cheers.

And I listen as my heart finally— finally —starts beating again.

We won.