CAGED ROSE

AMINOFF BRATVA

BOOK 1

NAOMI WEST

Copyright © 2022 by Naomi West

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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CONTENTS

Mailing List

Books by Naomi West

Caged Rose

1. Iris

2. Iris

3. Kon

4. Iris

5. Kon

6. Kon

7. Iris

8. Iris

9. Kon

10. Iris

11. Iris

12. Kon

13. Iris

14. Kon

15. Iris

16. Kon

17. Iris

18. Kon

19. Iris

20. Kon

21. Iris

22. Kon

23. Iris

24. Kon

25. Iris

26. Kon

27. Iris

28. Kon

29. Iris

30. Kon

31. Iris

32. Kon

33. Iris

34. Kon

35. Iris

36. Kon

37. Iris

38. Iris

39. Kon

40. Iris

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Books by Naomi West

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BOOKS BY NAOMI WEST

Tasarov Bratva

Midnight Oath

Midnight Lies

Nikolaev Bratva

Dmitry Nikolaev

Gavriil Nikolaev

Bastien Nikolaev

Sorokin Bratva

Ruined Prince

Ruined Bride

Box Sets

Devil’s Outlaws: An MC Romance Box Set

Bad Boy Bikers Club: An MC Romance Box Set

The Dirty Dons Club: A Dark Mafia Romance Box Set

Dark Mafia Kingpins

*Read in any order!

Andrei

Leon

Damian

Ciaran

Dirty Dons Club

*Read in any order!

Sergei

Luca

Vito

Nikolai

Adrik

Bad Boy Biker’s Club

*Read in any order!

Dakota

Stryker

Kaeden

Ranger

Blade

Colt

Tank

Outlaw Biker Brotherhood

*Read in any order!

Devil's Revenge

Devil’s Ink

Devil’s Heart

Devil’s Vow

Devil’s Sins

Devil’s Scar

Other MC Standalones

*Read in any order!

Maddox

Stripped

Jace

Grinder

CAGED ROSE

AMINOFF BRATVA DUET (BOOK 1)

This is not the story of a missed connection.

This is the story of a disaster I thought I left behind.

Ten years ago, I ran from my home and found my way to L.A.

Some girls come here with hopes of fame and fortune.

I was just trying to survive and stay away from trouble.

It didn’t take long for me to find it.

Although to be fair, it’s more like it found me.

And “it” took the form of Konstantin Aminoff.

Too tall to be seen. Too gruff to be real. Too handsome and too rich and too dangerous to go anywhere near.

But Konstantin got close before I knew I ought to scream.

Then he disappeared.

Ten years later, I’m still trying to put my life back together.

That’s when I open my door—

And see the man I never thought I’d see again.

“I know you have him,” he rumbles.

I look him dead in the eye and say, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

He says, “Don’t lie to me, kiska. I came for the truth. Now tell me:

Where is our son?”

CAGED ROSE is the first book in the Aminoff Bratva duet from bestselling mafia romantic suspense author Naomi West. Kon and Iris’s story carries on into Book 2, CAGED THORN!

1

IRIS

The look in David’s eyes should’ve been my first warning.

“Turn around,” he orders, his eyebrows furrowed with displeasure.

His bald head reflects the flickering fluorescents above us. He’s all dolled up for tonight’s party in a blue blazer and tie, but on him, even that looks vaguely slimy.

I do as he says, pirouetting in a slow circle like a revolving mannequin. When I finish my spin, that nasty gleam in his eyes has worsened.

I glance past him. There are four other girls lined up behind David, though I recognize only one. She was at the agency last week, too, the interview after mine. The platinum blonde bob cut was hard to forget—which is probably the point. Hanna or Henley or Helena, something like that.

“Iris,” David seethes under his breath, “I told you last week what a big deal this party is. And yet here you are, barely showing an inch of goddamn skin. Are you stubborn, or just stupid?”

I catch my reflection in the window of the waiting agency van. I’m wearing black leather pants and a silver sequined halter top, along with my nicest pair of ankle boots, the ones with the silver chain link around the ankle.

I take another look at the girls standing behind David. I guess I do kind of stand out in comparison to the ocean of bare midriffs, backless dresses, and ass cheeks on full display.

“I was going for something… understated,” I mumble.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not Heidi fucking Klum, goddammit. You can be understated when you’ve made a name for yourself. Until then, you need to make an impression. Impress them with your tits, impress them with your ass, but impress them with something, for God’s sake.”

I wrinkle my nose with distaste. “I’m not a whore, David.”

Again, that gleam flares in his eye. Dark and ugly. “When you signed onto my agency, you put me in charge of you. I’ve been in this business a long time, little ladybug.”

I have to suppress the cringe that works its way up my spine and bite back all the different ways I want to tell him to go fuck himself.

“You’ve got a gorgeous face and a knockout body,” he continues, oblivious to my disgust, “but this is Los Angeles, baby. There’s a million other girls out there with the same assets. Girls who are cooperative and easygoing and who don’t throw a fit when their agent tells them to put on the dress with more cleavage. Girls who are willing to do a lot more for a lot less. Between you and them, guess who’s going to get the jobs?”

He waits for me to answer. When I don’t, he nods, pleased with himself. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Right now, you are a nobody. If you want to change that, I suggest you listen to my advice.”

Go to hell is right there on the tip of my tongue, begging to be set free. But as much as I want to chuck that in his face, I can’t.

Like it or not, I need this.

All my other bridges are currently burning.

I exhale slowly, my face hot and uncomfortable. “These are the nicest clothes I own,” I whisper to my feet.

I’m not lying. I spent the last of my savings on the leather pants. It was that or wear the faded jeans I’ve lived in for the past two years, and even I knew that that wouldn’t fly with David.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “There’s a wardrobe in the back. Find something sexy, put it on, and be out here in four minutes. The van leaves in five.”

He snaps his fingers at me and I slink towards the back of the agency. The “wardrobe” that David was referring to is mostly just racks of unorganized clothes leftover from various photo shoots over the years. Most of it isn’t right to wear to a glitzy party at one of the nicest hotels in the city, and the pieces that are nice enough aren’t in my size.

I pull out one hanger after another, but nothing looks good, until finally, I find a dress that could work. It’s cashmere, which might be a little warm, but the soft, dreamy sea green of the fabric will make my eyes pop.

The neckline is a deep V that highlights just enough of my cleavage to appease David, and the hemline is short, ending just below my ass, so that my legs are exposed, too. It’s what he’s requesting: bold, sexy, eye-catching.

I’m just not sure I’ll like which eyes I’ll catch in it.

But I don’t have a choice. It’s either do what David says, or go back home. And there’s no way in hell I’m going home. I turned my back on my past for good reason. Not a thing on this planet could send me back there.

The only thing I keep from my original outfit are the nipple pasties and my ankle boots. Since there’s no place to stash my phone anymore, I tuck it into the side of my panties.

My long black hair flows behind me as I run back to the front of the agency where David is already loading the other girls into the van. There’s a picture of a cartoonishly sexified woman in a tight minidress printed on the hood. David really runs a classy operation, lemme tell you.

“Stop,” David orders, holding up his hand before I can get into the van. “Let me look at you. Turn.”

I grit my teeth and turn on the spot. I hate this, feeling like a rotisserie chicken or a bug under a microscope while this gross man leers at me.

“Satisfied?” I snap when I’m facing him again.

“Getting there,” he says grudgingly. “Some strappy high heels would have been better. But it’s too late now. Get in the van.”

I’m climbing in when he slaps my ass. Before I can turn around and tell him off, he’s slid the van door closed.

“Don’t mind David,” one of the girls reassures me from the back as I stumble down the aisle. “He’s a dick, but he knows his shit.”

“He better,” I mumble.

David gets into the driver’s seat with a wheezing grunt, fires up the engine, and we head off.

“You’re Iris, right?” someone else says as we pull away from the curb. “I’m Helena.”

I turn to the girl sitting to my left who just spoke, the one with the blonde bob I met when I first interviewed. “Yeah, I’m Iris. Hi.”

“You two are the newbies,” another one of the girls explains. She’s almost as tall as I am, with flowing red hair and an attractive smattering of freckles. “I’m Kendra. This is Willa and that’s Adrianne.”

Willa is exquisite. She’s got a sharp crew cut and the most stunning features I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are a light caramel brown, but they stand out against her dark skin. Both her and Kendra are whip-thin. Adrianne, on the other hand, is voluptuous in all the right places. The kind of girl who makes Coke bottles look out of shape.

“Nice to meet you girls,” Helena says enthusiastically. “How long have you been with David?”

“Two years for me,” Kendra answers.

“I’ve been here nine months,” Willa says. “And Adrianne’s been here six.”

“So… what are these parties like?” Helena asks.

“Crazy!” Adrianne says. “Lots of famous people. I’m, like, one K-Pop star away from completing my Boy Band Bingo card.”

David butts into the conversation with a groan from his perch in the driver’s seat. “The hell does that matter? It’s the men whose names you don’t know who are actually important.”

Kendra rolls her eyes. “Here we go again. Pompous speech commencing in three, two, one…”

“Listen to me, ladies,” David booms right on cue, glancing at us over his shoulder. “Captain Boy Band McFuckFace might give you a smile and finger you until you come. But he ain’t gonna give you a job. You need to be looking at other agents, music producers, designers. People like that. People who see the potential behind a pretty face. They’re the ones that can make you famous.”

“I’d settle for a steady paycheck,” I mumble.

“What was that, spitfire?” David asks, glaring at me.

I’m about to retort, but just then, headlights fill up the interior of the van. David yelps and swerves us back into the proper lane as the horns of oncoming traffic blare at his stupidity. Everyone screams, but he ignores us and launches back into his spiel as though nothing happened.

“If you wanted a steady paycheck, you’d be tending bar in some shithole club or waiting tables at some shithole restaurant. You came to my agency because you wanted to climb the ladder faster. Isn’t that right?”

I find myself nodding reluctantly. It’s not that I care about climbing the ladder, or about fame, or fortune, or any of that nonsense.

I just want to make sure I escape the gravity of the nightmares I’m running from.

“Sometimes, the cost of cutting corners is your dignity. That shit ain’t worth anything anyway.”

I tense as the other girls fall silent. David keeps blathering on. The man loves attention. No such thing as too much of it. “Tonight, you need to make an impression. Be charming, be funny, be interesting, be alluring. They have to remember you tomorrow after the booze wears off. You got me?”

“Yeah, yeah, we got you, David,” Kendra says, speaking for all of us.

The other girls slip back into casual conversation. I watch them talk, wondering why I can’t muster up half their enthusiasm, half their excitement. They want to be here in a way I just can’t emulate. All I want is to not be there anymore.

When I look forward, I notice that David is watching us all from his rearview mirror. Those beady eyes never stop moving. Back and forth, back and forth, like a beetle’s.

When we finally get to Hotel Carnegie, David drives right past the entrance and into the adjoining parking lot. Being bussed here like cattle and then herded in through the side door is at least a little bit humiliating, but I’m actually glad for it tonight because it means no one will see his intensely embarrassing van and the intensely embarrassing picture he’s chosen to plaster on the side of it.

We troop out into the parking lot. Once we’re all out of the van, David stands in front of us like a drill sergeant, his eyes laser-focused and intense. “This night could make or break your careers in the modeling world,” he tells us grimly. “So make it count.” Then he marches off towards the hotel, leaving us to trail behind him.

Kendra and Willa take the lead, but I lag behind, hoping for some time to collect my thoughts before we enter what I’m beginning to think might be a cesspool of the worst L.A. has to offer.

Helena falls into step beside me, flicking that shocking blonde hair back and forth. She’s a few inches shorter than I am, but her hot pink platform heels bring her up to my level.

“I knew he would sign you from the moment I saw you,” Helena confides, giving me a curious smile.

I blush. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You’re stunning. I could barely take my eyes off you.” She says it a little sharply, in a way that blunts the compliment and turns into something else. Something competitive, with a bit of a nasty edge.

“Look around,” I say, as we enter the area reserved for the party. “Everyone here is stunning.”

“Not like you,” Helena insists. “I’ve never seen eyes that green before. What’s your ancestry?”

“Um… I don’t know. I’m white.”

“Obviously, but where’s your family from?” she presses. “My roots are Scandinavian.”

I’m about to tell her that the whole reason I’m here is because I’m trying to cut my roots. Either that or set them on fire.

But before I can, David waves me over. Apparently, he’s already caught a hold of some big shot he wants me to meet.

“Excuse me,” I mutter. “Duty calls.”

I happen to notice Helena’s face as I walk away. She’s not happy to be left out of the introduction.

“Jared,” David croons when I approach, placing his hand on the small of my back and pushing me toward the guy. “This is one of my new girls.”

Jared is young, probably around thirty or so. He’s wearing a red shirt unbuttoned so low that I can see his greasy paunch and a smattering of chest hair. On top of that, he’s flashing an obnoxiously large watch encrusted with diamonds, a pair of thick gold chains, and enough cologne to kill an elephant.

His whole look screams “I’m spending Daddy’s money.” Nothing but a ball of sleaze surrounded by equally sleazy men, most of whom have a scantily-clad woman or two wrapped around them. A few of them—the women, that is, not the men—are even wearing bikinis, although I don’t see a pool anywhere in the vicinity.

“Gawdamn, D,” Jared whistles, looking me up and down. “She’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“She’s also got a name,” I snap before I can think better of it. “It’s Iris, in case anyone was wondering.”

I know it’s a stupid thing to say the second it comes out of my mouth. The whole point of coming here—to L.A., to David’s agency, to this party—is to make connections, right? Because connections mean money, and money means freedom, and freedom means I’ll never, ever have to step foot in my father’s home again.

But does starting over mean I have to sacrifice everything to get there?

Neither of these men are likely to have answers. They both sold their dignity a long time ago.

Jared’s grin curdles at once. “On second thought, David, maybe you should have broken this one in before bringing her out.”

“Okay, fuck this,” I scowl. I rip myself out of his grasp and stride away.

“Iris!” I hear David calling after me. I can tell from his tone that he’s livid, but I’m running pretty hot now, too. “Iris! Turn around. I’m not kidding here!”

I skid to a stop and twist around. David almost runs into me. He’s red in the face and his bald head has a fresh sheen of sweat over the top.

“What the hell was that?” he demands.

“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” I say. “I’m not a show pony, I’m a human being. I’m not some—some thing for creepy rich men to ogle at!”

I intended to say it angrily, defiantly, but at the very end, my voice catches and breaks, revealing the undercurrent of desperation beneath it. The stain of memories I can’t scrub away. My cheeks redden with shame.

“Stop making a scene,” David snarls. He reaches out and snares my arm in a grip that’s way too tight, way too menacing. “Do you realize that I took a risk investing in you? Those headshots I gave you cost money, Iris. Those clothes cost money.”

“Let go of me.”

“You think you can just throw a bitch fit if—”

The words die on David’s lips.

When I look up, I realize why.

And from that moment on, nothing was ever the same.

2

IRIS

I hate the whole damsel in distress bit. Even when things with my father were at their very worst, I never prayed to be rescued. I’ve just never, ever wanted to be that girl. In fact, I’ve made it eighteen whole years without ever having to be that girl.

Until tonight.

But now that it’s here, the moment we’ve all been waiting for, and I’m looking at the man who’s come to save me, I find myself thinking…

If the knight in shining armor is this handsome, maybe being his damsel isn’t so terrible after all.

“Get your hands off of her,” the stranger snarls at David, who still has his grimy fingers locked around my upper arm in a grip hard enough to bruise.

“What—this isn’t any of your—who the hell are you?” David stammers.

I can’t really think less of him for stumbling over his words, though God knows he gives me plenty of other reasons to despise him. Mostly because the knight in question is intimidating as hell, standing a good two heads taller than David. I’m terrified of him and I’m not even the one getting snarled at right now.

The words that come out of the stranger’s lips are pure poison. “I’m going to be your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t let go of her right now.”

David drops his hand from where he was squeezing the ever-loving shit out of my bicep. “Listen, man,” he says without even trying to hide how scared he is. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“I don’t give a fuck what it is or isn’t,” snaps my savior. “Leave her alone.”

For a minute that lasts a lifetime, David and the stranger glare daggers at each other. I look back and forth between them desperately, hearing that same rushing sound of blood in my ears that I always hear when situations spiral out of my control. When the world proves—like it’s done a thousand times before and will do a thousand times in the days and months and years to come—just how fucking cruel it can be.

Then David’s lip twists in disgust. “You know what? Fuck this. You’re cute, but you ain’t worth the trouble, sweetheart. Find a new agent.”

He straightens his lapels, his face Pepto-Bismol pink with humiliation, then stomps off into the party.

My heart and the lone thought in my head beat in sync. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pinned everything on this. I spent my last dollar, my last shred of hope, and now, I’m coming up empty.

Home beckons, ugly and violent. I didn’t make it out. I didn’t get free. I failed.

I’m standing there helplessly, drowning in an ocean of emotions—sadness, fear, disgust at myself—but then one jumps to the forefront.

I’m pissed.

At him.

“Excuse me,” I snap at the hulking stranger as my pride—that stupid, stubborn pride—overturns my common sense. “I didn’t need your help.”

The mystery man raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t look in the least bit impressed with my sudden fire. “I’d say it looked like you did.”

“Then you were mistaken,” I say succinctly. “I can fight my own battles.”

“I doubt you can do much fighting in that dress,” he muses with a wry smirk.

“You’d be surprised,” I hiss back.

“Very few things surprise me, little lamb.” He smiles, and all I can think is Dear Lord, help me. That smile is enough to turn a sensible woman stupid, and I can’t afford to be stupid. Stupid people get eaten alive in L.A.

“Maybe next time you should pick on someone your own size.”

“No one is my size,” he points out.

Unfortunately, he’s not wrong. Extra unfortunately, I’m not able to keep my eyes from sweeping across his broad shoulders and the sinewy forearms visible beneath the cuff of his sleeves. What is it about men’s forearms that turns women into lady-goo?

Focus, Iris. You’re mad. You’re furious. You’re outraged.

I swallow loudly enough for the whole party to hear. “Whatever. Like I said before, I didn’t need your help.”

“I wasn’t looking for a thank you.”

“Then what are you looking for?” I hear myself ask, though I barely recognize my own voice.

He holds my gaze for one more fiery second. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Then, before I can respond, he turns and walks away. When he disappears from view, the electricity buzzing across my skin dissipates. I feel like he stole something precious from me.

I turn to the exit, dreaming of a dark, quiet room to hide in, but before I can get far, Helena appears at my side.

“Jeez Louise, girl. That was quite the scene.”

I wince. “You saw?”

“Mhmm. David’s a yeller, plus he’s been yammering to anyone who’ll listen that he just canned one of his new girls. Thinks it makes him look tough, I guess. And it’s hard not to notice the brooding Greek god with the whole, like, aura thing he had going on.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. I’m so tired all of a sudden. I could curl up and nap right here. “Aura. Sure.”

On the surface, Helena seems friendly enough, but I can’t help feeling like there’s this simmering layer of resentment right below the surface. When she told me on the way in that she could “barely take her eyes off me” —that was nice and all, but the eyes in question looked like they belonged on a great white shark.

“Yeah,” she continues, “I was watching the whole thing. He swooped in like some kind of superhero.”

“And look what it cost me,” I mumble angrily. “I don’t need a superhero. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

Helena gives me a sideways glance that I’ve learned to recognize from countless people over the years. What’s wrong with this girl? She’s wound too tight. She argues too much. She is too much.

“Rough childhood?” she asks, her voice dropping into a softer register.

“You could say that.” And then, because she seems to be waiting for more of an explanation and because my brain is scrambled eggs after everything that just happened, I add, “I grew up poor.”

“So did I,” Helena says with a nonchalant shrug. “I just don’t wear it on my sleeve like you do.”

My first instinct is to defend myself. But I’m just too tired for that. Tired in a way I can’t explain, a way that robs the words from my lips and makes simply standing upright feel like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“Seriously, how do you find fault with a man like that coming to your rescue?” she asks. She keeps glancing over my shoulder, and when I follow her gaze, I realize that without noticing, she’s steered us right to him.

Well, not exactly right to him. He’s sitting two booths away with another man, an untouched drink in his hand and a bored expression on his face.

But we’re close. Too close for comfort.

Sure enough, he scans the room and his eyes land on me. I turn away instantly.

“What are you doing?” I ask Helena.

“I noticed him earlier,” she admits. “And I asked around. His name is Konstantin. Isn’t that a cool name?”

“I guess.”

Helena continues as though I haven’t spoken. “Apparently, he’s involved with the mob.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, like a mafia kind of situation.”

I shudder. “If he’s in the mob, then that’s all the more reason to stay far away from him.”

She laughs. “You and I are very different people, Iris. I was about to say that if he’s in the mob, he’s probably really well-connected.”

“Helena, you can’t be serious.”

She gives me a wink. “A girl’s gotta eat, right? Isn’t that what David always says?”

Then she flips me a casual wave and starts walking right towards him. Right towards Konstantin.

I freeze, caught in the middle. I should walk away and let Helena dig her own grave, but something draws me forward. Close enough that I can hear their conversation.

What the hell are you doing? a little voice in my head asks.

I can’t even come up with the answer because I’m straining to hear what Helena is saying. She’s standing in front of him, flipping her hair from side to side. The light catches her locks, turning them into something shimmery and jeweled.

“You looked bored,” Helena giggles, giving my knight a megawatt smile. “So I thought I’d come over here and introduce myself. I’m Helena.”

“Kon,” he says shortly.

His single syllable grunt makes me feel better, which in turn makes me feel petty and spiteful. Why should I care that they’re having a conversation? He may have interjected on my behalf minutes ago, but look where that got me—cut loose at the worst possible moment. I don’t own him, I don’t want him, I don’t need him.

So why do I have this throbbing feeling in my gut?

It’s not hard to recognize what it is. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Bitterness.

“Kon,” Helena murmurs, cocking her leg so that her thighs are exposed. “That’s a sexy name. Is it short for something?”

“I’m guessing you already asked around,” he drawls. “So why don’t you tell me?”

To her credit, Helena’s smile doesn’t falter. “Konstantin Aminoff,” she says without feigning ignorance. “And the word is that you’re one of the most interesting men at this party.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asks.

“No, I’m here because I appreciate a man who comes to a woman’s defense. I saw you earlier with David and Iris.”

“Iris,” he murmurs.

The electric current I felt before comes back with a vengeance when he whispers my name. It sounds harsh and foreign on his lips, but he says it like he’s savoring the taste. I shiver, goosebumps raising up on the backs of my arms.

“She and I are signed onto the same modeling agency,” Helena explains. “David’s Ladybirds.”

“Jesus,” Kon’s companion grumbles. “And I thought my parents fucked me over when they named me ‘Yefim.’”

“What’s her story?” Kon interrupts.

Helena’s eyes knot with confusion. “Sorry, whose?”

“Iris’s.”

The current spreads over my skin, engulfing me in a white, hot, senseless mass of hope. Am I on fire? I feel like I’m on fire.

Then I notice the look on Helena’s face. And before she even says a word, I know things are about to go sideways.

“Her?” she scoffs, her tone going from pretty to snotty in the blink of an eye. “White trash burnout, same as the million other girls like her who show up in L.A. every year from flyover country.”

I’m not sure why it comes as such a shock to hear the vitriol. Helena and I are not exactly friends. But maybe we might’ve been, if things had gone differently? Is that a stupid thing to think?

I suppose in a way I was counting on it. I haven’t been here long, but that’s long enough to know that this can be a brutally lonely city. I thought I had a friend. Just one more thing I was wrong about. It’s not the first time, either.

Kon turns away from Helena and looks up. His gaze catches mine quite deliberately. He knows I’ve been standing here this entire time.

He doesn’t say anything to Helena, not even when he gets up and leaves her sitting in his booth. He walks right up and stops in front of me, looming tall like few men do.

“Iris.”

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to remember I’m supposed to say something back. “Hi.”

“I have a room in the hotel,” he says, speaking loud enough that Helena can hear. “Come up with me.”

I should say no. Especially because he's ordering me, not asking. And I might’ve said exactly that—if Helena wasn’t still listening.

When I see her with her ear cocked towards eyes, manicured brows in a sharp downward V, I get mad.

Why? Easy answer. Because fuck her, that’s why. Fuck Kon, too. Fuck David. Fuck Los Angeles. Fuck modeling and fuck fame and fuck glammy parties and fuck bitchy girls who think the only way to climb the mountain is to step on another woman’s neck on the way up.

But most of all…

Fuck the past. I want to set the whole thing on fire.

In the end, that’s the one that matters most.

I give Kon a nod. “Lead the way."

3

KON

She doesn’t say a word to me until we walk into my suite. Her eyes sweep over the massive king bed and the glass balcony doors that lead to the circular jacuzzi.

“How many girls have you brought up here?”

“Tonight?”

She lifts her eyebrows and gives me a disgusted look. “Charming.”

I chuckle. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

I walk over to the minibar, which in this suite isn’t quite so mini. I pull out a chilled bottle of water and throw it at her. She catches it easily, then looks surprised that she managed to do it.

She breaks the seal and takes a tentative sip. “You don’t wanna know why I don’t drink?”

“Not really, no.”

Instead of looking annoyed, she looks intrigued by my indifference. “Most people ask.”

“I’m not like most people.”

“Yeah, I suppose not everyone is involved in the mafia.”

I grab a cold beer from the fridge and walk over to her. It takes all my willpower to keep my gaze from slipping to the deep V of her dress. Her skin is flawless, tanned, and beautiful.

“You’ve been asking about me," I remark.

“No, actually, Helena was the one asking about you.”

“The cute blonde with the bob?”

Her eyes flare, betraying her immediately. She tries to cover her face by taking a long gulp of water, but I see it. I see everything.

“Not sure she’s a natural blonde,” she mutters, “but I guess it doesn’t matter to you.”

“I’m not one to tell a woman what to do with her body.” I take a sip of my beer and add, “And just so you know, I’m not in the mob.”

“Really?”

“I’m in the Bratva,” I explain. “Russian, not Italian.”

“And the difference would be…?”

“That we’re Russian, not Italian.”

She smiles. “Ah, forgive my mistake.”

That smile. Jesus Christ. Her cool green eyes soften into something less fierce, something softer. She has a dimple in her left cheek. When she sees me seeing her, though, the smile vanishes.

“Just so you know,” she adds, “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

I shrug. “I’m not going to force you to.”

“Then why did you ask me up here?”

“To piss off the cute blonde with the bob,” I say honestly.

She loses the fight with her smile this time. That dimple comes back like a teasing wink before it’s gone again. “I can’t blame you for that. It was the whole reason I agreed to come up here with you.”

I take a slow, deliberate step towards her. “Is that the only reason?”

Iris tenses, her eyes flickering over my face as though she’s searching for something. She steps away reluctantly. “I should go back downstairs.”

“Suit yourself.”

She doesn’t move, though. She doesn’t even turn in the direction of the door. “It is nice and quiet up there, though.”

I nod. “Since we’ve already established that you’re not drinking or having sex with me, you might as well take advantage of the quiet. Let’s get in the hot tub.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Neither do I.”

I start unbuttoning my shirt and her eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”

“I just told you,” I say. “If you want to join me, you’re welcome to. If not, the door is right there. The doorknob works in the usual way.”

I pull off my shirt and note with satisfaction as she tries hard not to check me out. But between the eight-pack, the scar from a bullet on my chest, and the tattoos snaking across my body, it’s hard for most people not to stare.

I turn my back on her and head out onto my private balcony. I don’t hear a sound as I pull off my pants and boxer briefs. Once I’m naked, I sink into the hot tub and turn it on. The bubbles roar to life, and, a second later, so does the heat.

I deliberately keep my eyes from drifting back towards the room. If she’s waiting for another invitation, she’s definitely not going to get it.

I start to wonder if she’ll actually walk out of here and leave me with the worst case of blue balls I’ve had in a long time.

But then, I hear the glass doors slide open…

And I know she’s mine.

Iris steps onto the deck, still in her clothes. She’s toying with the hem of her dress like she’s considering it. But the look in her eyes says the choice was made long before this moment.

“It’s rude to stare,” I remark coolly.

She blinks slowly. “It looks nice in there.”

“Trust me, it is.”

“Why would I trust you?” she demands, as if the question wasn’t rhetorical. “I don’t even know you.”

“Get in here and maybe that’ll change.”

She looks skeptical, but in the end, her curiosity wins out. “Can you not look?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Aren’t you a model? A bit of advice: you might want to get used to nudity.”

She exhales sharply. I must’ve struck a nerve. Then, all at once, she reaches down, grabs the hem of her dress, and rips it off over her head.

She discards it next to her feet, but she avoids my eyes. Which is a good thing, because I’m not sure I have the strength to look away.

Her body is every man’s fantasy. She’s tall and slim, of course, models never straying too far from type. But she’s got subtle curves in her hips, in her thighs, in the swell of her breasts. She’s wearing nude pasties and a black thong with her phone tucked into the strap over her hip.

“You stashed your phone in your panties?” I ask with amusement.

“There was no other place to put it,” she says defensively, taking the phone out and putting it on silent. But even then, she doesn’t get in with me.

It takes her a full minute of hemming and hawing before she reaches for each breast with the opposite hand and peels off the pasties.

Then she walks forward, leans towards the hot tub, and runs her fingers across the surface of the water.

“It’s warm.”

“It’s a hot tub. Comes with the territory.”

A little shiver rattles through her body and Iris mutters something to herself. It sounds a lot like “Fuck it.” Then she pulls off her panties, revealing the beautiful pink lips of her pussy.

I don’t have much time to enjoy the view, however. She doesn’t slide into the hot tub slowly like another woman might. She jumps right in, displacing water everywhere.

I wipe the drops from my face, and she gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

She sinks into the far corner of the tub and hugs her knees to her chest. Bubbles and ripples in the water turn her body into a shimmering mirage below the surface.

My cock has never been harder.

“What are you doing at this party?” she asks.

“The idea was to drown my sorrows in alcohol,” I answer honestly.

She smiles. “You have sorrows?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not like yours, I’m guessing.”

I laugh. “Truer than you realize, princess.”

She waits for me to volunteer more, but when I stay silent, she doesn’t push. She eyes the beer in my hand, the surface of the water, the handful of stars visible overhead—anything but me.

Then she lowers her head and her black hair shields her face from view. It floats around her in the water, making her look like some raven-haired mermaid out of a sailor’s final dream.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she says abruptly.

“In my hot tub?”

“At this party,” she admits. “In this city, either.”

“I assumed you were networking. Isn’t that what all wannabe models do?”

She glares at me. “Trust me, this is not my first choice of career.”

“Then why do it?”

She keeps her eyes low. “I don’t have many other choices. I didn’t go to college. I don’t have any family to help support me. But I’m tall and skinny and I guess my face is symmetrical. People seem to like that for some reason. I don’t pretend to understand. But maybe it’s all gonna go to shit, because it’s looking more and more like I don’t have the temperament to be a model.”

“What temperament is that?”

“I don’t know… nice?”

I chuckle. “You’re not nice?”

“I’ve had complaints.”

“Let me guess. The little bald shit with the sour face?”

“Yeah. David. Among others.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Ignore them. Don’t waste your time worrying about other people’s opinions of you, Iris,” I say. Fuck, it feels good to say her name. “It’s not worth it.”

She relaxes a little. Her shoulders loosen and she stops treading the water. I can see the tops of her beautiful breasts and the round nubs of her dark nipples.

My erection is rock-solid now, impossible to ignore. But I keep my distance. I don’t want to frighten the little lamb.

“Easier said than done.”

I cock my head to the side, noticing the worry line running down her forehead. “Are you running from something, princess?”

She laughs bitterly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. “This was supposed to be my fresh start.”

“You might’ve picked a bad city for that, love. If you come here with scars, people will find them. And then they’ll cut you back open along the same lines just for the sheer thrill of it.”

She nods and gnaws at her lip. “I’m starting to realize that.”

I let the silence extend, mostly because I can feel her stewing. She moves around the hot tub, shifting subtly closer to me, though I’m not sure she even realizes what she’s doing.

“So what’re your scars?” I ask in a quiet rumble.

I don’t expect her to answer the question. Not honestly, at least. In any case, I’m content just to sit here. The air is cool and the night is silent around us, which is strange for L.A., though I suppose the point of money is to give you privacy like this up in the Hills.

To my surprise, though, Iris raises her eyes to mine and answers the question. “My mother committed suicide when I was thirteen. I’m pretty sure that part of the reason she did it was because of my father. But I still send him money every month.”

I nod slowly. “I see.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “That probably wasn’t the conversation you had in mind when you asked me to get in here with you.”

I look at her with bemusement. “I didn’t have any expectations when I asked you to get in here with me.”

“Is that a line?”

“I don’t need a line to get women to fuck me, Iris,” I tell her straight. “They do it because they want to.”

“Do you think that’s what I want?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

She holds my gaze for a long time. She’s trying to summon up the courage to do what I know she will eventually do. And that knowledge allows me to be patient.

“You said you wouldn’t force me to do anything.”

I shake my head. “I won’t.”

“So if I get out of this hot tub, put my clothes on and walk away… you’ll let me?”

“I’ll offer you a towel and hold the door open on your way out, if that’s what you want.”

“Even though you want to fuck me?”

I smile. A weaker man might be put off by her bluntness. But I like that fire. It matches my own.

“Sure. I’ll have to make do with jerking myself off after you leave. But don’t worry, princess—I’ll think of you the entire time.”

4

IRIS

It feels surreal.

It shouldn’t—it should feel like the nasty, ugly reality I’m used to—but there’s something about this man that makes everything feel surreal. Like I’m floating outside of my body, staring down at myself while I do things I’ll probably regret later.

Things like stepping forward and reaching out to touch him.

Our naked bodies glide together. My fingertips dance below the surface of the water. The bubbles are a veil that lets me pretend I’m not doing what I’m doing—searching for him. His chest, so big that it’s practically all I can see, rises and falls slowly.

And when I wrap my hand around him, that breath quickens.

I run my hand up and down softly, getting a feel of him. As I was expecting, he’s huge. In both length and girth. My pussy throbs thunderously.

I caught a glimpse of his naked body when he got into the hot tub. Even from the back, it was enough to convince me to get into the hot tub with him despite my reservations.

Mafia. Bratva. Mob. The words kept repeating in my head on a loop. Right up until he looked me in the eye and told me that if I chose to walk away, he’d do nothing to stop me.

I’ve had men chasing me my entire life. They wanted to convince me into their bedrooms and out of my clothes. To convince me into their hearts and out of my mind.

But it was always about the convincing. The manipulation.

This man, though? This man isn’t going to convince me. He won’t even try. I saw it in his eyes the first time he glanced my way. He may want me in the same way the other men did, but he isn’t going to give chase.

He wants me to come to him. If I choose otherwise, he’ll let me go. Simple as that.

Even now, my hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly, and he doesn’t so much as make a move towards me. He just sits there, his arms spread over the rim of the hot tub. As if he’s only mildly interested in what I’m doing.

“How old are you?” he asks suddenly.

“You’re asking me that now?” I ask, glancing down at what’s happening between us. “Does it even matter?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter.”

I keep stroking his cock. “How old do you think I am?”

He looks impatient. “I don’t play guessing games.”

“I should’ve known,” I snort. “Way too big and important for that. I’m eighteen, for the record.”

He winces. I notice. “Is that a problem?” I ask.

“No.”

“Are you going to touch me?” I’m annoyed that I even have to pose the question.

He smiles. “All in good time.”

I keep stroking him, running my hand up his shaft and back down again. Because I’m more self-conscious than anything else, I lean in and kiss him. My lips hit the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t kiss me back.

“Now, I can tell,” he murmurs, moving his lips to my ear.

“You can tell what?”

“That you’re eighteen.”

I pull back immediately, defensiveness setting in. Before I can tell him to go fuck himself, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me against him.

His cock presses into my thigh and the curse on my tongue turns into a soft moan. I wrap an arm around his shoulders while his fingers slide between my legs. A second later, there’s pressure as they enter me.

“Oh God…”

I want him to kiss me so badly. But he avoids my lips and instead plants his mouth on the curve of my neck. His tongue glides up and down. It’s like he wants a taste of me.

As he nibbles on my neck, his fingers thrust in and out of me. It’s almost graceful, the way he handles me. Like we’re involved in some sort of synchronized dance.

Except I don’t know any of the moves.

“God,” I gasp as he picks up the pace, his fingers pushing past my walls with increasing speed. But I want more. I want him. “Konstantin…”

He pulls back and slides his fingers out of me. I marvel at the beautiful quicksilver of his eyes.

“Call me Kon,” he rumbles.

I nod, feeling as though my chest is going to burst from anticipation. “Kon,” I whisper back.

His cock twitches in my hand as I say it. I think he likes the way his name sounds on my lips.

A second later, I cry out as he lines himself up and thrusts inside me. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and cling to him for dear life.

He grabs my ass and wraps my legs around his waist. Then he carries me right out of the hot tub and places me on my back on the pool deck. With one hand on my hip and the other on my breast, he starts to fuck me like he can’t control himself.

I apparently can’t control myself, either, because I didn’t bother to ask him to wear a condom. I started birth control a week ago, which is about how long my doctor said it takes for the pill to take effect, so I should be fine, but still—not my proudest moment.

But all logic is gone in a puff of smoke when Kon pulls out of me. The sense of loss is overwhelming, crowding out all other thoughts. I crane my neck just in time to see his head dip between my legs.

The moment his mouth engulfs my pussy, I lose my train of thought. My body rolls with pleasure as he makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.

He sucks on my clit, flicking his tongue over me and nipping at my sensitive skin with his teeth. When I come in embarrassingly quick fashion, I moan so loudly that I’m sure the entire party downstairs can hear.

I’m still shaking with the after-effects when he stands up and drives his cock back inside me.

I’m spent and delirious with pleasure. All I can do is hold fast to his muscular arms as he fucks another orgasm out of me.

I don’t actually see him come, but I know he does because of the sticky moisture I feel between my thighs. He pulls out almost immediately, but I keep my thighs close around his hips, enjoying the feel of his cock nestled comfortably between my lips.

I stare up at him, running my hands up and down his impressive abs. He stares back. His eyes explore me the way I expected them to when we first met.

Intricate tattoos swirl over his arms and his chest, but my eyes are drawn to the puckered scar on his chest.

“How’d you get that?” I ask.

“Bullet wound.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

“But… but it’s on your chest.”

“Mhmm. Bastard barely missed my heart.”

I start to reach out to lay my palm flat on his pec, but about halfway there, I freeze, caught up in a sudden wave of self-consciousness and guilt. My hand dangles in mid-air for a moment before I pull it back and hug myself against the sudden autumn chill.

“I should go…” I mumble through thick, awkward lips.

I wait for him to argue with me. For him to convince me to stay a little longer. But he does neither. He just follows me down from the hot tub and reaches for his clothes.

That’s when I notice that my phone screen is lit up with notifications.

“Fuck,” I groan, making a grab for it. I’ve got five missed calls from David and a string of his texts full of expletives. If you ever want to work in this fucking town again…

“Is it the warden?” Kon taunts.

I ignore him and pull my dress on over my head. “I have to go.”

I grab my phone and head for the door. Kon stays put, his shirt left unbuttoned. I stop at the threshold and turn back to look at him. “Bye, Kon.”

He nods. “Goodbye, Iris.”

I linger at the door, waiting stupidly for him to say something else. I’m not even sure what I’m expecting from this man. I literally met him an hour ago. What do I expect him to say?

Don’t go.

Stay with me.

There’s something between us…

Get real, Iris.

This relationship—that’s a goofy, inadequate word for what this is, but I’m coming up short on alternatives—lasted only a handful of moments, most of which were confined to a hot tub. That doesn’t exactly make for a life-changing romance.

And yet here I am, a jaded realist drowning in the hope of a hapless fairytale.

It hurts all the more because I’ve proven them all right, all the people who hurled vicious words at me like bullets. I really do deserve the reputation I earned, the scars of the old life I’d run from.

Maybe that’s why I don’t act on my instincts and walk back into that room. Back towards him, the way I want to do so, so badly.

Because I don’t deserve a happy ending.

So with a tormented sigh, I close the door and rush towards the elevator. The moment the doors open, the music and flashing lights from the party overwhelming after the quiet of Kon’s room, I call David.

“We’ve been waiting for you for twenty fucking minutes,” he shouts so loud his voice cracks. “Get outside to the entrance. We’re leaving in five, with or without your insolent ass.”

When I make it outside four minutes later, the other girls pepper me with questions I refuse to answer. David just glares, a silent promise that I’ll pay for this later.

“Where did you disappear to?” Kendra asks.

“Were you with that guy?” adds Willa. “The crazy hot one with the tattoos down his arms?”

“Oh my God, the mob guy?!”

“Of course she was with him,” Helena drawls in a dry voice that’s dripping with jealousy. “She stinks like sex.”

The girls exchange glances that I pretend I don’t see.

“Lucky!” Kendra squeals. “That dude is sex on a stick. Yum.”

“How was he in bed?”

“Did you guys talk at all or just fuck?”

Helena laughs cruelly, drowning out their questions. “What does it matter?” she asks. “She’s never gonna see him again. He got what he wanted from her. He’s probably moved onto someone else already.”

I bite my lip and refrain from snapping out a response.

Because the sad truth is… she’s probably right.

KON

TEN YEARS LATER

I have to fight an eye roll.

The sight of my father sitting in this high-backed regent armchair feels a little too on the nose. As he swivels his chair around, I almost expect to see a snow white Persian cat tucked between his arms while he strokes it absentmindedly and mutters about world domination.

“You called, Otets?” I ask.

“Sit.”

Fuck. Stepan Aminoff is not exactly a man of few words. He likes the sound of his own voice. So when he speaks in single word sentences, I know he is about to tell me something I do not want to hear.

“I’ll stand.”

“Must you always be so fucking difficult, son?” he sighs. His eyebrows have a life of their own. They’re thick, bushy, going white with age. He dyes his thinning hair into a dark, unnatural black, like oil, and I’ve never understood why he doesn’t do the same with his eyebrows. The contrast is jarring.

“I’m good here,” I say.

“Konstantin.”

“The name is Kon.”

His hands slam down on the table and he pushes himself upright. “You are not a child anymore. I tolerated this kind of disobedience when you were a boy, but—”

“When?”

He stops short. “What?”

“When did you ever tolerate my disobedience?” I scoff. “The way I remember it, you lashed me senseless until I got too big for you to do that anymore.”

“Lashed?” he snorts. “You weren’t lashed. You were disciplined. That’s a father’s job.”

“Try disciplining me now and see what happens.”

“Konstantin,” he warns.

“Kon.”

He stares at me, his eyes morphing into slits of fury. I stare right back, unmoved and unwilling to make this easy for him.

I know why I’ve been summoned.

I want to hear him say it, though.

“You are thirty-two years old.”

“Exactly. Too old to be ordered around like a boy.”

“As long as I’m around, you are still a damn boy,” he barks.

“Don’t tempt me, Otets. The days of you making the rules are long past.”

His bushy eyebrows knit themselves together for a moment. “Would you really kill me, son?”

“Like I said, keep pushing and we’ll find out.”

But we both know it would never happen. I may have resentments. My father has his fair share, too. But we are both Bratva through and through. It’s the glue that has held us together all these years. We both bear plenty of scars, courtesy of the other.

Patricide, however, is a bridge too far.

Stepan smiles. I’ve always marveled at the way the man can smile and still look sinister. Too bad that smile stopped frightening me a long time ago.

“You’re going to be a fine don one day,” he tells me. “Sometimes, I wonder if your penchant for acting out is because you’re ready to assume the mantle.”

“Is that what you call it when I disagree with you? ‘Acting out’?”

“I am your don. Do you know what would happen to any other man who disagreed with me? They’d have their tongue chopped off. Or worse. So maybe you shouldn’t tempt me.”

I smirk back. My grin looks like my father’s, in its own way. Pleasant on the face of it, but with shards of cruelty lurking just below the surface.

“Since we’ve reached the inevitable stalemate, how about you tell me why I was summoned?” I slump into a seat and kick my feet up so that my boots are sitting on his precious desk.

He glares at the soles of my shoes for a long while before his gaze veers back to me. The fact that he doesn’t force me off his table proves my suspicions.

“Anika Kuzmin graduated from college a week ago.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Not this.”

“You’ve had ten years to prepare for this moment, Konstantin—

“Kon. For fuck’s sake, it’s Kon.”

“Don’t act as though you weren’t given ample time to prepare for it.”

I snort. “Given? I wasn’t given shit. You act as though the last ten years were your gift to me. The girl was a literal child when you went prehistoric and ‘betrothed’ us.”

“I could have married you off when she turned eighteen,” Stepan reminds me. “You’ve been given more time. So yes, given. Don’t be ungrateful.”

“I don’t want this bullshit,” I reiterate. “I’ve never wanted it.”

“You’re too old to sound so petulant.”

“The Aminoff Bratva doesn’t need the Kuzmins.”

“Our businesses are intertwined.”

“Which was a stupid decision on your part.”

“Watch yourself, boy,” Stepan growls. “I will not tolerate disrespect.”

I meet my father’s eyes without blinking. “Disrespect? No, Otets, this is not disrespect; this is the opposite. I respect you enough to give you the truth. You weakened our position by tying us to the Kuzmin Bratva. What’s worse, you’re letting your friendship with Nestor Kuzmin cloud your judgment.”

“Nothing clouds my judgment,” he hisses. “I see perfectly clear. This is necessary. The beginning of the next era. Do you really think Nestor would hand his Bratva over to you if you weren’t his son-in-law?”

“I can be very convincing.”

“Is that so?” Stepan asks. “Because you haven’t managed to convince me that this isn’t a good idea. It makes sense politically. Even Yefim thinks so.”

Yefim. That traitorous little asshole. I’m gonna wring his damn neck next time I see him. If he wasn’t my best friend, I would’ve already done it years ago.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about anyway,” Stepan remarks. “I saw the girl last week when I met with Nestor. She’s beautiful.”

I cringe and close my eyes. Even now, years later, there’s only one face I see when I hear the word “beautiful.”

High cheekbones with alabaster skin. The most astonishing green irises set in unblinking almond eyes. Long black hair, sleek as a waterfall of onyx.

Hers is the only face that deserves the word. Every other woman on the face of the planet can content themselves with lesser adjectives. They can be cute, pretty, sexy.

But beauty is hers and hers alone.

“She’s not beautiful,” I say firmly in a voice that cracks more than I would’ve liked it to.

“What are you talking about?” Stepan growls. “Look at her. Look.”

He opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out a high resolution photograph that he hands to me. Anika’s features are somewhat familiar, though blurred and stretched and shifted by the years since I last saw her.

Her blonde hair is full of gentle waves and her blue eyes are large. She has a lean face, a genuine smile, an air of innocence.

I stare at the picture for a few moments, wondering why it stirs nothing in me, before flinging it over the table back to Stepan.

"She’s a fine-looking girl,” I concede. “I still don’t want to marry her.”

Stepan looks me in the eye with that telltale jaw clench that he reserves for serious moments. “You don’t have a choice, my son.”

I know that voice. I have that voice.

And I know what it means.

So I ask the only question I can under the circumstances. Eyes closed, I whisper, “When?”

I can hear the squeak of his chair as my father leans back in satisfaction. “It’ll take time to plan the wedding. We want an elaborate affair. The kind of wedding that makes a statement of power. Three months, maybe four. Certainly no more than five.”

Less than half a year until my life comes to a screeching halt. Might as well be a death sentence.

“You are still the heir to the Aminoff Bratva,” Stepan reminds me. “You will be don after I am gone. And one day, when Nestor passes into the next world, you will be don of the Kuzmins as well. You can make your own rules after that.”

I squeeze my teeth so hard it’s a miracle my molars don’t shatter. My eyes stay rooted closed. “If that’s all…”

My father grunts. I take that as a yes, so I stand stiffly and make for the door.

“Konstantin," he calls after me.

I pause without turning. I don’t bother correcting him on my name this time. Some dogs are too old to learn new tricks, I suppose, and my father has seen plenty of winters. I wonder how many more he has left.

“You’ll have to meet her soon,” he informs me.

“I’ll meet her at the altar.”

Before he can protest, I stride out the door and slam it shut. I’ll probably pay for that later, but I don’t care at this point.

Let it all burn.

* * *

When I go home, Yefim is waiting for me in the den. He’s sitting on a dark leather sofa that faces the flatscreen mounted on the wall. He’s flipping through channels, but I can tell he’s not concentrating on a damn thing. His eyes are glazed over.

When he sees me, he throws the remote to the side and leaves the TV on a random channel. “Well? How’d it go? What’d the old dog say?”

“What do you think?” I growl.

Yefim gives me a sheepish smile. “You knew it was coming.”

“She just graduated. I thought they’d give it another couple of months.”

“No such luck. I’ve seen a picture of her, you know,” Yefim offers. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s not anything of the sort.”

Yefim rolls his eyes. “You’ve got to let it go, Kon.”

“What exactly do I need to ‘let go’?”

“You know damn well what. Her.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. “I see you’re taking my father’s side.”

“His reasoning is airtight,” Yefim says. “He’s trying to give you two Bratvas instead of one. Things could be a lot worse. Anika Kuzmin could have been an ugly cow or a thorn in your side. But she’s not. She’s young and pretty and she’s been bred to be a Bratva wife. You’re the only man in the world who can have the perfect life delivered to him on a silver platter and still stick your nose up at it.”

I give my best friend the finger without looking at him. “I was expecting more from you.”

He shrugs. “This marriage is a good idea. It’s time to start looking at it that way.”

I glance towards the television. A late night show host comes on. Some overly Botoxed, chuckling clown, though the name escapes me. I can never remember which one is which.

Yefim is a fan, though. The moment he sees the man’s plasticky face, he cranks up the volume.

“Hey everyone, welcome back,” the host croons, greeting the audience like they’re old friends. “Tonight’s final guest is a supermodel who’s best known for her starring role in rock star Jake Nox’s breakout music video, ‘My Girl.’ Please welcome…!”

The guest’s name is lost in the audience’s applause. The curtains backstage part. One leg emerges, then…

The breath seizes up in my throat.

No.

It can’t be.

But there’s no denying that it’s Iris Keller who walks out. Emerald eyes, obsidian hair, legs for days. Beautiful. The definition of the word. The only definition.

Yefim’s eyes turn slowly to me in awe. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he breathes.

She doesn’t look that much older than the last time I saw her, though ten years have passed. Her hair is shorter now, chopped at her collarbones, but it still has the same cascading black waterfall effect. It catches the light and holds it in a way that no one else’s can.

Her makeup is subtle everywhere except her eyes, which are ringed with charcoal eyeliner and mascara. Her shimmering irises glow like a flash of lush green forest caught by moonlight.

I notice Yefim reaching for the remote. "You touch that and you die,” I snarl.

He backs off immediately, but he looks worried.

Onscreen, Iris shakes the host’s hand and gives the audience a cursory smile.

“Iris Keller,” the man says with wonder in his voice. “Some out there might ask who this woman is. I mean, you’re gorgeous, obviously…”

She laughs and blushes ever-so-slightly, as though she’s not used to hearing compliments about her looks. But it’s too practiced to be quite real. Too elegant, too effortless.

She’s no longer the little lamb quivering in the headlights of my attention.

She is a woman now, through and through.

“… but you're not a household name. Not yet, at least.”

“No, you’re right,” she agrees pleasantly. “Not quite there yet!”

“I mean, I recognize you,” he continues. “But then, I’m a fan of Jake Nox.”

Jake Nox. The name is familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Like most people,” Iris says with another tinkling laugh.

“For those of you who don’t know, Iris is a model,” the host says to the audience before turning back to her. “You recently appeared in a campaign for Atelier Sorbonne, isn’t that right?

Atelier Sorbonne, Jake Nox—the list of names I need to investigate is growing.

I could swear I see her shudder imperceptibly, though it’s gone in the blink of an eye. “That’s right,” she says. “It was a lovely experience.”

“And then of course there’s Jake Nox’s music video, which caused quite the stir.”

She nods. “He’s a very talented artist.”

“And you’re a beautiful woman,” the host says again. I want to choke the life out of him for the way he’s looking at her. “You can’t blame people for speculating… well, for speculating that…”

He pauses to let his words hang, building tension. My instinct for murder beats hot in my chest.

“I certainly don't blame anyone,” Iris says. “People love to talk."

“So will you confirm it here?” he presses. “You and Jake Nox? Should we be working on a couple name for the two of you? Kellox, perhaps? I spy a brand sponsorship waiting in the wings for you there…”

The crowd roars with laughter. Iris laughs along with them, still pleasant as could be. But the longer I watch her, the more it starts to seem like a mask.

“Jake and I are friends,” she says once the uproar fades.

“Aw, come on,” the host cajoles. “Do you really expect us to believe that? Folks, what do you think? Do we believe her?”

The crowd responds in one booming voice: “No!”

Grinning like a loon, the idiot host turns back to Iris. “You heard ‘em, Ms. Keller. Just give us a little tidbit, that’s all we’re asking. One morsel of gossip.”

Iris runs a hand through her glistening hair. My cock is achingly hard behind my zipper.

“I wish I could,” she says apologetically. “But I’ve only got room in my life for one man. And that’s my son.”

Hushed silence. Not just in the studio, but in this room, too. The walls feel like they’re crowding in on me. The breath that was caught in my chest the moment she appeared is gone now. I’m drowning in the quiet chasm that follows her words.

Son.

Son.

Son.

“You have a son?” the host asks. “How old is he?”

Her face lights up. “He just turned nine.”

I can feel Yefim’s eyes boring a hole in the side of my head. He’s probably doing the mental calculation just like I am.

And apparently, he arrives at the same conclusion I do. Because when he speaks, it comes out breathless.

“Fuck. This is not good.”

6

KON

The moment the show cuts to commercial, Yefim turns to me. “Okay, Kon, listen: I know what you’re thinking. But we don’t know that—”

“The boy is nine years old, Yefim. Do the math.”

“So? She could have left the party and banged some other dude. Or the next day, or the day after, or whatever. This kid could be anyone’s!”

I suppress the lash of anger that that thought inspires in me. “He’s not.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because I know her.”

He guffaws in disbelief. “You know her? You spent a couple hours with her at a random party ten years ago.”

“Shut up,” I growl. “The show is starting again.”

I can feel Yefim squirming next to me, but I ignore him and turn up the volume.

“Hey, everybody, we’re back with Iris Keller,” the host says before turning to Iris. “So when we left off, you were telling us about your boy. You must have been really young when you had him, no?”

“I was nineteen,” she offers. “And I’ll be the first to admit he was a surprise. But he was the best surprise I could have ever asked for.”

The crowd oohs and awws. I like them less and less with every passing second—and I fucking hated them to begin with.

“Kids have a way of being worth it no matter what, don’t they? But fair warning: things take a turn for the worse when they hit their preteens. The drama never ends.”

She laughs. The sound goes straight to my dick like a lightning bolt. “So I’ve been told.”

“But we’re not here to discuss kids or a modeling campaign or a music video,” he says, clapping as he changes the subject. “You’re here to talk about this amazing nonprofit called ‘Her Voice.’”

“That’s right,” Iris says, angling her body towards the audience for the first time. When she looks at the camera, I feel the same chemistry I felt ten years ago. As if she’s looking right at me.

Fuck the millions of other eyes on her right now.

She’s mine and mine alone.

“Her Voice,” she recites, “is a nonprofit that helps rehabilitate young women who have been the victims of sexual abuse and domestic violence. The aim is to give these women a place to go, a safe haven that they can turn to. It’s some of the most important work there is.”

The crowd claps thunderously. I glance at Yefim as the host starts peppering Iris with softball questions. My right-hand man is tuning it all out, though. He’s scrolling furiously through something on his phone.

I promptly snatch it right out of his hands.

“Aw, c’mon, Kon,” he grumbles.

“Wikipedia?” I scoff. “That’s the best you can do? You’re supposed to be a master of investigation. If I knew you were just searching for the top Google hits, I’d be paying you a hell of a lot less.”

“It’s a start, asshole. She’s got a page.”

He’s right. But it’s short. The only picture there is of her in sexy lingerie. A black and white photo with a caption that reads, From the “My Girl” music video.

There’s no information about her childhood or parents. As far as professional accomplishments, it’s the same stuff she just spoke about on the late night show. A campaign with Atelier Sorbonne. A music video with rock star Jake Nox.

I open a new tab and search for the music video. Yefim tries to steal his phone back, but I punch him so hard he almost falls off the sofa.

“Fucking hell! That hurts. You realize you’re basically a giant, right?”

I ignore him and sync Yefim’s phone with the television. The late night show disappears and the music video pops up. I watch with my breath bound up tight in my throat.

It starts with silence and a house. The kind of modernist cube with clean lines and excessive glass that rich morons fawn all over.

The camera glides through living rooms, kitchens, sprawling patios, and then delves into the heart of the home. Still not a peep. Then into the bedroom.

It’s as expected: a dozen different shades of white, soft dawn light filtering in through the windows. A man steps into the scene.

Jake Nox. I know without having to ask. It’s not just the tattoos and piercings on his shirtless torso, the long, greasy hair, or the way he walks with his hips thrusted forward so his dick is front and center in those tight black briefs he’s wearing.

No—more than all that, he’s got that preening, self-involved swagger that says he’s all too aware of the cameras focused on him.

The camera finds his feet in close-up and rises up his body slowly before locking in on his face.

“Jesus,” Yefim mutters. “What’s the bet he directed this piece of shit himself?”

More egotistical shots of brief-clad dick and skinny-boy abs and meaningless dogshit tattoos. More light through the windows. More panning through the no-doubt expensive features of the bedroom.

Staticky guitars kick in suddenly with a sparse, haunting drumbeat. The bastard opens his mouth and starts crooning. I have to admit—grudgingly, but still—that he’s got a good voice. Raspy, with just enough grit to come off as soulful.

A shadow falls across his back. The camera pivots with agonizing slowness—

And then I see her.

Iris is wearing a see-through dress that displays the perfect lines of her body. I almost swear I can make out the dark peaks of her nipples through the lace.

Her black hair flows down her shoulders and back. She’s barefaced and all the more beautiful for it.

He keeps singing as he steps up to her.

As he reaches out to her.

As his fingers float closer and closer to her—

I hurl Yefim’s phone at the screen. It crashes dead-center, sending cracks spiderwebbing to every edge of the frame.

“Goddammit, Kon!” Yefim protests. “That was my fifth phone this year! Stop breaking my shit!”

I fish my own phone out of my pocket and toss it at him. “Look up Jake Nox. Now.”

He keeps bitching under his breath, but he does as I say. I watch as a splintered, hazy version of the music video keeps playing out on the million different shards. It’s just bits and pieces left to see—a flash of bare foot, curtains rustling in the breeze, ocean waves in black and white.

I feel something hot on my hands and look down to realize I’ve clenched my fists so hard that my fingernails broke the skin of my palms. I wipe them clean on my pants and force myself to relax.

Breathe, motherfucker. Get your shit together.

“Jake Nox,” Yefim reads aloud suddenly. “Born Jacob Drewry. Twenty-eight years old. Came up as part of a heavy metal band called Hell Gun. He left a couple of years ago to kickstart his own solo career. More poppy, top-of-the-charts type shit. He’s done well with it.”

I keep waiting for Yefim to start reading, but he’s taking too long. I grab the phone for the second time. This time, he surrenders it without a fight.

There are two paragraphs about Jake Nox’s personal life. I focus on the second.

From November 2016 to 2017, Nox was in a relationship with supermodel Leona Roth. The couple broke up after almost a year together. Since then, Nox has been linked to several different women. In 2020, rumors began that he was dating model Iris Keller, who starred in the music video for his hit single “My Girl.” Neither Nox nor Keller has offered confirmation.

I get up out of my seat and start pacing. Yefim is eyeing me warily. “Kon, this could be nothing,” he suggests.

“This would never have happened if you had just found her for me when I asked you to,” I explode, rounding on him. “This is why she disappeared. She found out she was pregnant.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I have a child out there, Yef. A boy. And he doesn’t know who his father is.”

“His father is spoken for,” he reminds me, getting to his feet and holding his hands out like he’s trying to placate an uncaged tiger. “Kon, brother… nothing good can come of finding her.”

“She has my son. My fucking son.”

“We don’t know for sure that this kid is yours,” Yefim insists. “Say it all you want, but we don’t.”

“Then I guess I’m gonna have to find out.”

“Don’t be crazy!” he begs. “Kon, you’re engaged to be married.”

“I’m in line to sign a business deal. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s semantics, but whatever. Fine. Call it what you want—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still getting married this year.”

“What are you suggesting?” I demand. “That I should just forget this kid exists? Ignore it?”

“That’s exactly what I think you should do,” Yefim says. “Bringing a child into the picture will only complicate things.”

“I have to find her,” I say. “I want her address. Within the hour.”

“Brother—”

I grab him by the collar and pull him towards me. “Listen to me, Yef. I let it go the last time. I let you convince me that allowing her to disappear was the best thing for everyone. But this is different. This is my child, and I’m not letting him vanish. I want her address in an hour. Understood?”

Yefim sighs. “I got you. Can you let me go now?”

I push him away from me. “Don’t come back until you have answers.”

He exhales sharply like he wants to say something snappy, then thinks better of it. “I’ll be back soon.”

The second the door is shut, I pull open my phone and search her name. I spend too long scrolling through image results, staring at the same few photos from the Atelier Sorbonne campaign again and again. Shots of Iris in lingerie and dripping in diamonds, her body contorted in the name of high fashion.

I try to remember the girl I met, the one behind the cool, detached gaze aimed at the camera lens. She was eighteen when we met, which means she’s twenty-eight now. I let her fall off my radar after the one night we had together, despite the fact that I never stopped thinking about her.

I never had another fuck like her again, either.

Which is strange, because sex is still sex at the end of the day. But after her, it no longer gave me the same euphoric rush. Not the way I’d felt it with her.

I walk over to the dartboard across the room and absentmindedly pull the darts out of the fiber. I walk back about ten paces and take aim.

The first shot is the worst miss I’ve had in a decade. But the sound of splintering wood is satisfying in its own way.

I just want to hit something. To make something hurt. And since Jake Nox is not in the vicinity, I’ll have to make do with the dartboard that’s been hanging on this wall since I was a boy.

I glance at my wristwatch, wondering what’s taking Yefim so long. Then I realize it’s only been seven minutes. I force myself to be patient.

Am I inviting trouble by pursuing this? Probably.

Do I care? Not for a goddamn second.

I think about the pretty little Kuzmin girl who’s going to be carrying my name soon enough. The mere thought pisses me off. Sure, I could have mistresses—that kind of thing is mostly just overlooked in Bratva marriages—but Iris is certainly not going to be one of them.

I know that with absolute certainty. I may not have known her longer than a couple of hours, but those few hours told me enough. She’s made for more than shady, illicit fucking in motel rooms.

I fling another dart at the board, imagining Jake Nox’s face in the center. This time, I hit the bullseye so hard the dart snaps in two.

The door opens and Yefim walks back in. He’s got a piece of paper in hand, hot off the printer. He passes it to me warily.

“There,” he says. “Didn’t take long to find her. She lives right here in L.A.”

“Time to pay her a visit.”

“Just… fuck, just be careful, Kon,” Yefim pleads. “This is going to be more complicated than you think.”

I don’t bother telling him that I already know that.

But it will be worth it.

7

IRIS

“That’s it, honey. Give me another smile,” Corey encourages. “Beautiful, Iris baby, beautiful. Turn your head down a little. That’s right. Perfect.”

I do as he says. Yet another photographer’s hapless little marionette.

Click. Click. Click.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

I want to vomit, to close my eyes and wait for it all to go away.

Breathe, I tell myself. Get your shit together.

Corey finally straightens and flashes me his blindingly white teeth. “Got the shots. Thanks, doll. You’re a treasure.”

I give him a tight smile and walk off the shoot towards my agent, Liza. She’s got her head buried in her phone and she doesn’t look up until I clear my throat pointedly.

“Ah, there you are,” Liza says, looking up at last. “All done?”

“All done.”

She drops her phone into the pocket of her oversized blazer and pulls the tight brown curls back from her face. “Okay, hon. We’ve got to talk.”

“You know I hate when you say that.”

She turns to the craft services area. It’s a small shoot for an up-and-coming designer with a long way yet to go, so the “refreshment table” is just a plate of cookies and some dry-as-the-Sahara finger sandwiches. I couldn’t be less interested.

Liza grabs a cookie and takes a massive bite. “Fuck me, I’m starving,” she mumbles through a mouthful, eyeing me up and down. “I could never be a model.”

Liza is quite skinny as it is. But L.A. has a way of convincing people they aren’t good enough.

“You don’t want to be,” I tell her. “I’m just doing this to pay the bills.”

Liza’s eyebrows knit together. “About that… you’ve seen your paycheck from this shoot right?”

“Yes. Five hundred dollars.”

“Five hundred fuckin’ dollars,” she says, sounding pissed. “That’s horseshit, Iris.”

“It’s enough to pay my bills next month.”

“You realize you could be earning twenty times that amount if you did Sorbonne’s next campaign?”

I exhale frustratedly. “Jesus, Liza. Not this again.”

“We need to talk about this, Iris. What went wrong between the two of you? The first campaign went so damn well.”

“He’s too… big,” I say awkwardly. It’s not the word I would like to say, but I know that crossing a man like Sorbonne can only bring consequences. I can’t afford to take that chance.

“What does that even mean?” she asks, perplexed. “The guy is like, five foot five and a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“Big like big,” I say. “Big designers have big egos, and he’s the biggest. And they think they can have whatever they want. If I get on any set, it’s to work. Not to stroke some old dirtbag’s overblown sense of self-esteem.”

“Sorbonne isn’t that old,” Liza says. “And yeah, he’s short, but he’s not bad-looking, either.”

“So I’m supposed to be flattered if he hits on me?”

Liza sighs. “The problem with you, Iris, is you’re too damn principled for your own good. This is Los Angeles. Most people here are willing to sell their souls to look ten years younger. Imagine what they’re willing to do for actual money.”

“They can do whatever they want with their souls,” I say firmly. “I’m keeping mine.”

Liza pops the last piece of the cookie into her mouth. “I always tell you to do what you want, darling. But honestly, I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth keeping you on as a client.”

“Liza, stop. There are other designers in the world besides Atelier Sorbonne. Call one of them.”

“I have a better suggestion,” she counters. “Call Jake.”

I stiffen instantly. “Liza…”

“Dating him was the best decision you ever made.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, gawking at her. “He cheated on me.”

“One time,” she says dismissively. “This is L.A. Everybody cheats.”

“For God’s sake, stop saying everything is okay just because we live in this horrible city! He cheated on me once. That’s messed up. And I forgave him, like an idiot. Then he did it again. Fool me twice or whatever, but he’s not getting a third chance.”

“Pish-posh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “He was photographed in a strip club. That doesn’t necessarily mean he cheated.”

“Why do I get the feeling that even if he had been photographed balls-deep in a porn star, you’d still be making excuses for him?”

“Because you can use him, Iris,” she snaps. “He’s a rock star. He’s got connections. That music video put you on the map.”

“As Jake Nox’s maybe girlfriend,” I spit. “My five minutes of fame was never about me at all. I was arm candy. Flavor of the week.”

Liza rolls her eyes. “Sure! Fine! But instead of using that, you took your spot on the late night circuit to talk about a freaking nonprofit. It’s like you want to disappear without so much as a whimper.”

“Her Voice is an amazing organization!”

“I get it, Iris. You’re passionate about this, like, abuse against women shit—”

“Passionately against it.”

“Right, whatever. Was that not clear?” Liza scoffs rhetorically. “My point is, you should have capitalized on the limelight and promoted yourself. You. You’re the product. That other stuff is just… side hustle.”

“I want to contribute to the good of the world. Not just sell designer handbags, Liza.”

“Well, honey, guess which one pays the bills?”

I let my chin droop to my chest. She’s got me there.

“You have a son, Iris,” she presses earnestly, sensing a victory. “Think about Max.”

“I think about Max all the time,” I whisper fiercely. “I want to show him that you can still earn a living without compromising what you believe in.”

Liza laughs sardonically. “Kiddo, you landed in the wrong city for that shit. Jake may not have been the most faithful boyfriend, but he was good to you.”

“If that’s your standard for ‘good’, you’re setting the bar low enough to trip on, Liza.”

She shrugs. “Hey, we’re not all supermodels.”

“Me, neither.”

“Except you have the potential to be! But you keep refusing every big name that comes your way.”

“If you say Sorbonne one more time…”

Liza growls in frustration. “Who cares if the man is an ass? If you can get something out of him, then why the hell not? Jake, Sorbonne, it’s all the same—use them!”

“That’s not how I want to do things. That’s not how I want to live my life.”

Her eyes narrow into harsh slits. “You know, when I first met you I thought you were gonna be my most valuable client. Easiest money I ever made. I looked at your face and thought, This girl’s gonna take us to the top. Every designer out there is going to want her. She’s got the face and the body and those beautiful eyes…”

I brace myself for the hammer. The “but” is coming in three, two, one…

“But that pigheaded pride of yours, Iris,” she sighs.

“I can make you money without having to compromise myself, Liza.”

“I’d love to hear how.”

“How much did we make from the Lotus & Athena campaign? That was—”

“It was like four years ago now, is what it was,” Liza hisses. “Trot that horse to the glue factory, darling—it’s dead. And—except for He Who Must Not Be Named—no other big designers have come sniffing around.”

I can see her frustration. I understand it, I really do. But I can’t compromise. Not on this.

My dignity is the only thing I have left.

So she can try all she wants. She can beg and plead and threaten and belittle. But it won’t work. Not because of her, per se, but because of me. I’m not going to let anyone else into my head ever again.

It happened once, and I still haven’t managed to get him out of there.

“I have to go,” I tell Liza. “I’ve gotta relieve the babysitter.”

“Isn’t the kid old enough to take care of himself?” she asks impatiently. It’s been a source of constant annoyance to her that I have a child and a tricky schedule to keep.

“He’s nine.”

“Is that a no…?”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Unless it’s to tell me that you’re taking the new Sorbonne campaign, don’t bother,” she snaps.

She storms away without saying goodbye. She’s been that way since the moment we met. She used to use that fire for me. Lately, though, I’ve been feeling the heat aimed in my direction.

I take a deep breath and reach for a cookie.

“Agents, huh?” a deep voice says next to me. “Special place in hell for those bastards. Or, those bitches. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

I turn to the right. I remember his face from earlier this morning. One of the male models. He’s about an inch or two taller than I am, with oiled abs and the kind of smile that could make almost any woman swoon.

But I’m immune. Only one man has ever made me swoon, and no man has succeeded since. This dark-haired Ken doll certainly won’t break that streak.

“Right,” I say. “Agents.”

“Mine’s a bitch, too,” he says as I take a big bite of my cookie. His smile brightens. “I’m Gavin. You’re Iris, right?”

“Right.”

“I like you, Iris,” he says with the easy confidence of someone who’s never been told no. “I’ll be done with my shoot in, like, twenty. How about we go grab some coffee after?”

So much self-assurance. And yet it does nothing for me. “Sorry, Gavin. I’ve got to get going.”

“Oh yeah? Got some hot event to hit?”

I have to try really hard not to roll my eyes. “Nothing so glamorous. I’ve got a nine-year-old at home waiting for me.”

He looks borderline disgusted. Flabbergasted at the very least. “You’re a… mom? You don’t look like a mom.”

I frown. “What’s a mom supposed to look like?”

Gavin doesn’t seem to take the hint. “Frumpy, I guess.”

I don’t know why I’ve let myself be dragged into this conversation. “I’ll see you around, Gavin.”

“Can I get your number?” he asks as I walk away. Props to him for sticking to his guns. Prettier than he is bright, though. He doesn’t have much of a read on the situation.

“Sorry. I don’t give out my number to strangers.”

I pick up the pace in case he still hasn’t taken the hint.

Since my car is still being serviced, I rode my bike to the studio today. I made sure to hide it behind the trash bins at the back of the studio so that Liza wouldn’t see and read me the riot act. I can hear her in my mind already: Supermodels don’t ride bikes! Do you ever see Gigi Hadid on a bike? Do you ever see Adriana Lima fucking roller-skating to work?

I give imaginary Liza the imaginary finger, throw my leg over the seat, and start the trek back home.

My son needs me.

8

IRIS

It takes me forty minutes of furious, near-death pedaling before I make it home. No one in L.A. can drive for shit. They’re all texting Tinder matches and reapplying makeup and planning out their next TikTok dances, I swear.

In case you couldn’t tell, a decade here has made me bitter.

Max’s bike is parked out front in the tiny little square of our lawn, which is a euphemistic term for the dead grass we keep out front. I push mine into place next to his.

Just as I’m about to unlock the door and let myself in, my phone starts ringing. I immediately groan, but when I see Carrie’s picture popping up, I relax a little bit.

“Hey, Care Bear. What’s up?”

“Hey, boo,” Carrie says, and right away, I know something’s off.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighs and my stomach plummets. “I have some bad news,” she says.

Great. Just what I needed. First Liza, now Carrie. I’m pretty sure the clouds are gonna part any minute now and God himself is going to tell me that a water pipe busted in the house or a coyote ran off with Max while he was playing outside.

“Firstly, I just want to say that ‘Her Voice’ is so damn grateful for all your help over the last two years. Like, so, so damn grateful. Seriously, your time and effort has been greatly appreciated. And that interview you did… we received a ton of donations after it aired. It’s gonna change everything.”

I squeeze the phone hard and try to keep my voice steady. “Which part of that is the bad news?”

“Well, I’m calling because we have to… part ways. That’s the bad news.”

It hits me like a Mack truck. I plop to a seat on the dead, itchy grass. “Excuse me?” I croak hollowly.

“I can’t explain it, Iris. I so wish I could, but—”

“Try.”

She sighs. “Listen… honest truth? I don’t know. I got a call from the higher-ups telling me to give you this call. To ‘cut you loose,’ was what they said.”

“Cut me loose? I’m volunteering at a nonprofit,” I point out with angry tears budding in my eyes. “I don’t get paid.”

“I know that, but the guys and gals upstairs don’t want your name associated with Her Voice anymore. It doesn’t make any sense to me, either.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I say limply. “Carrie, seriously, what’s going on?”

“Trust me, honey, I asked. Numerous times.”

A nagging suspicion creeps into my head, but it seems too petty, too low. Even for him.

“Are you okay?” Carrie asks.

“I… Sure. I’ve got to go, Carrie.”

“If it means anything, I spoke up for you, Iris. But apparently—”

I cut her off. “Can I ask you a question you may not like answering?”

“Uh, sure. Shoot.”

“Did the nonprofit get a huge donation right around the time you got the order to let me go?”

She hesitates. “How did you know that?”

“How much?”

“I really can’t—”

“How much, Carrie?”

Another long, weary sigh. I hate putting Carrie through the ringer—she’s the literal definition of the word “sweetheart”—but I need to know if I can trust my gut on this one.

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

I let my chin fall to my chest. “I guess he didn’t give them much of a choice, then.”

“Iris, you wanna tell me anything?” she prompts.

“No,” I say. Why would I bother? There’s genuinely no point. The damage is done, and they won’t change their minds. “Thanks, Carrie. It was a pleasure working with you. I hope you guys keep doing amazing things. I’ll be rooting for you.”

I hang up and slip my phone back into the brown leather satchel I bought with my very first paycheck. It’s older than Max, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. Whether that’s overly sentimental or overly frugal, I can’t decide. I’m not really sure which is worse.

I let myself into the house and drop my keys into the little green dish Max got for me one Mother’s Day. He picked it up from a stand at the flea market, handed it to me, and said, “Look, Mama… like your eyes.”

I melted then. I melt now. I’m pretty sure I’ll melt every time I see this silly little thing for the rest of my life.

It’s not just a memory of when he was young and cuddly and so open with his love because he knew no other way to be. It’s a reminder that I used to be that way, too.

I’m lost in thought, running my finger around the edge of the jade bowl, when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Mom?”

I remember the exact day my little boy transitioned from calling me “Mama” to calling me “Mom.” As silly as this sounds, it felt like a knife to the heart. He’d met some kids his age at the park, and on the walk back home, he let go of my hand as soon as we crossed the street. He hasn’t called me Mama since.

“Max-a-million! Hey, kiddo. Mama’s home.”

He runs towards me. Rinna, the babysitter, follows behind him. She’s wearing her signature denim cut-offs and an oversized band t-shirt with a French tuck at the waist. Like everyone else in this damn city, she’s trying a little too hard to seem like she’s not trying hard.

“Hi, Rinna,” I say. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“No worries. The little guy and I were busy building the train track.”

Max comes up to me and wraps his arms around my waist. A rare show of affection from my suddenly stoic little man.

I drop a kiss on his head. He’s tall for his age. People assume he’s thirteen or fourteen, though I still always see a pudgy little boy when I look at him.

“Say thank you to Rinna,” I instruct Max.

“Thanks, RiRi!” he chirps. She gives him a high five. Then he turns his big eyes up to mine. “Can I finish my track before dinner?”

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” I tell him in a stern Mom voice.

He skips off happily in the direction of his room. I throw my satchel onto the sofa and kick off my sneakers, flexing my toes until they crack. “Thanks for showing up, Rin. I know I didn’t give you much notice, but this job kinda came out of nowhere.”

“It happens,” she says pleasantly while I rummage around for the cash I’d put away for her in my jeans pocket. “Listen, Iris… I have something to tell you.”

I freeze. “Oh God… please don’t tell me you’re moving away.”

From the apologetic smile on her face, I can tell I’ve hit the nail on the head. “My parents are in Montana,” she explains. “So is my sister. I’ve been out here for long enough by myself. I gave it my best try, but it just wasn’t meant to be. None of my pilots have ever taken off, and I’m not gonna be able to resist telling the next creepy studio exec to stick it where the sun don’t shine when he suggests we get late night drinks to ‘workshop some more of my ideas.’ It’s been eight years, and I’ve finally hit my limit.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry, Rinna. I should’ve asked more questions about how your work was going.”

She smiles. “It’s okay, Iris. You’ve been busy. I can’t imagine being a single mother.”

“Neither did I,” I admit. “Then it happens and you just… figure it out.”

“Well, you make it look good.”

“Do I?” I ask with a humorless laugh. “Most of the time, I feel like I’m just pretending. I keep waiting for Child Services to swoop in and arrest me for being an impostor.”

“That kid worships the ground you walk on, Iris,” Rinna promises me. “He’s happy, he’s healthy, he’s sweet. You should be proud of yourself.”

I blush. “Wow. Thank you. That means a lot.”

You can’t wear your heart on your sleeve out here. The jackals in this city, in this industry, will eat you alive. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart. And hearing Rinna say those things summons up tears I didn’t know I was capable of shedding anymore.

“I mean every word of it,” she swears. “It wasn’t an easy decision. I’m gonna miss Max like crazy.”

“He’s gonna miss you, too. You were his favorite.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not. Girl Scout’s honor.” I hand her the cash I owe her for today. “Thanks for everything, Rinna. You’ll always have a home here.”

“Thanks for always having frozen pizza in the fridge. If you’re ever in Montana, I owe you a slice.”

Laughing through the tears, I open the door for her. She gives me a quick hug, then gets in her little blue Toyota with the squeaky brakes and drives off, leaving me lingering in the doorway with a growing sense of unease.

That’s two things I’ve lost in one day. The babysitter and my position at the nonprofit I poured so much of my energy into. They both sting, but in different ways.

And I have the sneaking suspicion that Liza is going to drop me before long. Bad things always come in threes, right? A part of me resents her for it, but the more practical side of me kind of understands.

That’s a problem for future Iris, though. For now, what I need to do is provide for my little boy.

I head into the kitchen and throw some instant noodles into a pan with water. I put it on the stove and then head to my bedroom, where I throw my day’s clothes into the hamper and pull on black bike shorts and a long white tank top. By the time I walk back into the kitchen, the noodles are ready for the flavor packet.

Once I’ve stirred the contents, I portion it out into two bowls and call for Max. He runs in a couple of seconds later.

“Hungry, kiddo?”

“Like a lion,” he says in a growl.

I laugh. “Where did you hear that?”

“Samson. He says his dad says that all the time.”

I turn away so he can’t see me wince when he mentions his friend’s father. It’s been nine years, but the topic of Max’s other parent is still sensitive territory. I avoid it like the plague.

We perch on the tall barstools opposite each other, the wooden kitchen island between us. “How was school?”

“Fun. We played Spies during recess.”

“That does sound like fun. Learn anything interesting?”

“We talked about planets.”

“Yeah? Do you have a favorite?”

“Mars,” he says confidently. “Because it’s named after a candy bar.”

I burst into laughter and Max joins in. I live for these moments. It really does make the grind worth it. Everything else seems so small and meaningless in comparison to this.

Once our bowls are empty, I wipe down the counter while Max loads the dishwasher. Then he hugs me goodnight and heads to his room for the night.

That’s a new development, too. It used to be that we’d finish dinner and I’d take him to his room and tuck him in. But apparently, he’s too grown-up to be tucked in anymore.

Just like everything else, I bury that hurt somewhere out of sight.

“Goodnight,” I call again.

The only answer is his door clicking closed.

I sit in my empty kitchen, realizing that I have no one to call for a random chat. It’s just me in my sad little bubble. My only friend is a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a special occasion.

Since my oncoming depression seems like a special enough occasion to justify opening the bottle, I go to get it. But before I can reach it, the doorbell rings.

I check the time. It’s eight-thirty and I’m not expecting anyone. Moving on cautious tiptoes, I go up to the door and peer through the peephole.

My life being the shitshow that it is, though, I’ve still got last Christmas’s wreath blocking my view. It may be June, but the holidays never end at the Keller household, apparently.

“Who is it?” I call out in a nervous warble. I can’t explain why my skin suddenly feels cold, why I’m toying with the ends of my hair like I always do when something bad is about to happen. It feels like there’s a tornado on the horizon.

“Open the door, Iris.”

If my skin was cold before, now it turns to pure ice.

It can’t be.

No way.

No fucking way.

I say “No way” in my head so many times, all crammed into the span of a few seconds, that I manage to convince myself that it’s true. I heard wrong, the visitor’s voice is muffled, I’ve had a bad day and my mind is playing tricks on me, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. There are a million possible excuses.

And then, before I know what I’m doing, I’m twisting the handle and flinging open the door. If nothing else, just to prove that it’s not him. That surely even my life can’t be that cruel.

But when I see who’s standing there, I realize the truth.

This world is crueler than I ever thought possible.

9

KON

“Kon?”

Her voice is soft. Tentative. Damn near hopeful.

But I can barely focus on anything else because she looks like pure sin.

She’s dressed casually in a pair of spandex bike shorts and a cotton tank, but her slim legs are on display and it’s obvious she’s not wearing a bra underneath her tight shirt.

In person, it’s even easier to see the ways she has changed. The sharpness in her jawline and cheekbones. The confident way she stands tall—shoulders back, chin proud.

She’s definitely not eighteen anymore.

“Iris.” I step into her home without waiting for an invitation, trying to ignore how just saying her name has my lips buzzing numb. It tastes good, that word I haven’t let myself say in ten years.

The place is small, and the moment I step inside, it seems to shrink further. I look around with casual interest, but only because I’m forcing myself not to look at her. Not yet. Not like that.

“It’s been a while,” I say, turning to her at last.

“Ten years,” she whispers.

I nod. “Ten years.”

“Are you real?”

“You’re welcome to touch me and find out.”

Her eyes narrow. “It’s you alright. A decade hasn’t actually changed you that much. Still a smug asshole.”

I chuckle. “Fancy finding you in this neck of the woods.”

“You wouldn’t have found me at all if you weren’t looking,” she suggests. Then, after a small pause, she asks, “Were you looking?”

“Do you think I have a reason to?”

I wonder how long it will take before she just comes right out with it and confesses the truth about our son. But then I remember—I know her. No matter what anyone else has to say about it, I know her. No matter how little time we spent together, I know her.

There’s no way she’s going to come clean on her own.

“Why are you speaking in riddles?” she asks impatiently. “And what are you doing in my house?”

“You call this place a house?”

“I’m sure it’s a hovel compared to whatever mansion of debauchery you live in. But some of us don’t have the benefit of mob money.”

I cock my head to the side. “Bratva money is different.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“It’s not stolen. It’s earned. With blood and sweat and tears.”

“Aw, do you cry?” she taunts.

“Not my tears,” I clarify. “But tears nonetheless.”

She rolls her eyes. “What a well-rehearsed line,” she sasses. “And a tidy little justification.”

“I’m sure it seems that way to someone like you.”

Her eyes keep darting around her living room as though she’s worried I might notice something I shouldn’t. Like the boy’s tennis shoes discarded in the corner of the room or the video games stacked on the bookshelf or the model rocket made from popsicle sticks.

The truth is written everywhere, plain as day. She must think I’m a fool not to see it.

“Why are you here, Kon?” she asks.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and fixes me with a steely gaze that doesn’t quite manage to hide her nervousness. “Bullshit. You saw the interview, didn’t you?”

“Regretting it now?”

“Maybe if it hadn’t been so good for donations. But a ton of women are gonna get the help they need because of the awareness that the interview created.”

“What a martyr you are.”

“That’s me,” she says with a sigh. She chews at her lip, then raises her eyes to mine. “I honestly didn’t think about it, you know. I thought you’d forgotten me.”

I raise my eyebrows. That’s probably the most vulnerable thing she’s said so far. “Is that right?”

She shrugs, trying to act as though it’s no skin off her nose, even though we can both see the strain this conversation is having on her. “Well, you made it clear that our night together was a regular thing for you. Forgettable.”

“You assumed I did that all the time with other women?”

“Didn’t you?”

I take a step towards her. “It seems like you’ve already made up your mind about me. So why would you believe anything I tell you now?”

She looks unsure for a second. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

“But you knew my name.”

She nods, still trying hard not to panic. But she’s no fool. She knows where this is going. She knows why I’m here.

“What’s your point?”

“It wouldn’t have taken much to track me down. If that’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want to track you down, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says.

“I deserved the choice, Iris.”

Only when she steps back do I realize that I’m moving towards her. I’m not trying to be threatening. But the distance between us now feels intolerable. It’s been ten years of thinking about this woman. Looking at her isn’t enough.

I need more.

Her jaw stiffens and her eyes flare with anticipation. She’s gearing up for the fight she can sense is coming. I can sense it, too. Like how the temperature drops before a violent storm rolls in.

“What choice?”

I clench my jaw. “The choice to decide whether I wanted to be a part of his life or not.”

She snorts immediately, planting the seeds for the lie she’s about to tell. “That’s what this is about? You really think he’s your son?”

“I know it.”

“Why?” she demands, all fire and fury. “Because the timing checks out? That’s pretty damn presumptuous of you.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

“So you assume that after you had your way with me in your cheesy little hot tub seduction, I was just oh-so-completely ruined for other men. You think I haven’t let another guy touch me since? That I doodle your name in my diary and imagine us with two point three kids and a golden retriever and a white picket fence? Is that it? Did I get all that right?”

“You missed your calling as an actress,” I chuckle. I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest.

“Go fuck yourself.”

I laugh again. Her feistiness would be even more amusing were it not for the painfully hard erection that’s dying to burst free from my pants.

“You can’t deny we had chemistry,” I remark. “Don’t even bother lying about it. I’ll see it in your eyes.”

She just glares back at me. “You think ‘chemistry’ would stop me from sleeping with other men? Tell me: did it stop you from fucking other women?”

She throws that out like a barb, like a winning punch, but I sense the earnestness behind the question. And for a singular moment, I actually consider answering her honestly.

Because the truth is, I spent an entire decade trying to fuck her out of my system. Surely there was one woman out there who could make me forget her.

But it’s been ten years and not a single one has even come close.

“Maybe if you’d stayed, it might have,” I say in a hushed rasp.

She stiffens, as if warding off the feelings that that simple sentence stirs up in her. But when her voice comes out, it’s as choked and melancholy as mine. “Maybe you should have stopped me from leaving.”

I remember that exact moment. She paused at the threshold of my hotel room door. She looked back at me. She wanted to stay.

She was just waiting for me to give her a reason to.

In the present, I look down at the perfect bow of her lips and wonder what she’d do if I claimed her mouth right now. Would she kiss me back or push me back? Would she moan or would she scream? Would she run or would she stay?

I think I know the answers. But before I can find out for sure, I hear the creak of a door opening.

“Fucking fuck,” she mutters under her breath. She looks at me. I can see the fear in her eyes. Can taste it in the air. “Please, just…”

Before she can finish the sentence, I see a dark head peek into the living room. I feel something strange pass through my body. “Someone just walked over your grave,” Yefim would say if he was here, that superstitious bastard.

But it’s not like that. It’s not spooky or intrusive or unnatural. It’s… familiar. Like something deep inside of me recognizes the exact same thing inside of the child squinting into the light.

“Mom?”

Iris steps in front of me, momentarily blocking the boy from view. I move to the side and take in his dark brown hair. It has a tinge of auburn. His shoulders are broad for his age, his hands big. He’s going to grow, maybe even as much as I did. I look at this little acorn and see the oak tree he’s going to become and it makes my chest throb so painfully I almost fall to my knees.

But I grit my teeth and shove all that aside. Just like how I was always taught to do.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did we wake you up?”

“Who’s that?” he asks instead. He looks past her at me.

She throws a glance in my direction, mouth flapping like a landed fish as she grapples with how to answer the impossible.

I step forward, forcing Iris to the side, and crouch down to his level. “I’m Konstantin. You can call me Kon. I’m an old friend of your mother’s.”

As the boy’s eyes adjust to the light, they get wider. Wide enough for me to see how deeply gray they are. A perfect mirror of mine.

“Hi,” he says, somewhat self-consciously. “I’m Max.”

I smile and offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Max.”

We shake, but his eyes keep darting to my arms. “Those are really cool tattoos,” he blurts. “I have one, too.”

He folds up the sleeve of his blue-striped pajamas to reveal a cartoon blot of a pirate with an eyepatch and a parrot on his shoulder. It’s large and absurd and obviously temporary, although you’d never know it by the gleam of seriousness in his eyes.

“A pirate, huh?”

“Yeah, I like them. I used to have a pirate boat when I was little.”

I nod. “Do you miss it?”

He frowns, wondering if admitting that might make me think less of him. “Sometimes.”

“I had the same kind of situation with this toy I used to have. I still miss it.”

“Really?” he asks, his eyes going wide.

“Really.”

“Mom bought me another one, but…”

“But it’s not the same,” I finish for him.

He nods. Then his eyes flit to his mother for a brief moment like he’s worried he’s hurt her feelings. “But I still like the new one!”

Not many nine-year-old boys who would worry about hurting their mothers’ feelings. She’s done a good job with him. It infuriates me more than I’d like to admit that she did it without me.

“Uh, Max, why don’t you go back to bed, honey?” Iris suggests, trying to get between us without actually touching me.

She bends to talk to Max and the stretchy fabric of the shorts hugs her perfect ass. I have to concentrate on not getting hard. Breathe in and out through the nose, think about anything but the perfect woman leaning right in front of me.

“I wanna stay and talk to your friend,” he protests. “I wanna see all his tattoos.”

I smile. “I promise I’ll show you all of them one day. Just not tonight.”

He slumps forward, disappointed, as Iris grabs his arm and wheedles him back through the narrow hallway he came from.

I give them a five-second headstart—just long enough to rearrange my aching dick in my pants—and then I follow.

She’s left the door to his bedroom open. I stay hidden in the shadows behind the door jamb so I can watch without being seen. His single bed is shoved up into one cramped corner. He’s got superhero sheets, a lava lamp, toys strewn across the floor.

Iris kneels down beside his bed and takes his hand. “Sleep, my sweet boy,” she says to him in a gentle, sing-song voice I haven’t ever heard from her before.

“Will your friend be here tomorrow?” Max asks.

“No,” she says immediately. “He won’t.”

“He said he’d show me the rest of his tattoos.”

“He was probably just being polite,” she suggests.

“But he promised!”

“Honey, you’ve got school tomorrow. Time to sleep now.”

“I want a tattoo like one of his,” he says sleepily.

“When you’re eighteen, we’ll talk,” she drawls, amused.

“When I’m eighteen, I won’t need your permission.”

I hold back a laugh. The kid has fire. As if I needed more proof that he’s mine.

Iris doesn’t seem as impressed as I am, though. “Listen carefully, buddy: you will always need my permission. You know why?”

Max sighs. They’ve clearly done this routine a few times and he knows his lines. “Because I’m your baby boy, no matter how tall I get,” he recites, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly.” She smiles and then leans in and kisses his forehead. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

She stands up and I slip back into the sitting room before she can see me watching. I’m standing by the window when she reappears, looking extremely annoyed and extremely sexy.

“What is wrong with you?” she demands right away.

I smirk. “It’s a long list. How much time do you have?”

She just glares at me. “I mean, where do you get off making promises to my son?”

“He’s not just your son, Iris.”

She struggles with her next rebuttal. A dead giveaway. “Listen, Kon, I know it may seem to you like—”

“His eyes, Iris,” I interrupt. “Ever notice his eyes?”

“Of course I noticed his eyes,” she snaps. “I’m his mother.”

“My mother had silver eyes, too. So do I. It runs in the family.”

“He’s not yours, Kon. Get that through your thick head.”

I sigh and drop into a seat on her threadbare couch. “It’s good to see you doing well, Iris.”

It’s back-handed at best and downright rude at worst. The effect is not lost on Iris. She draws herself up to her full height, glares down at me with that long-lost-princess sense of imperiousness, and hisses, “You’ve got one hell of an ego on you. I mean, did you imagine I was some sort of sad, pathetic mess after I left your room that night? Do you think I spent the last ten years pining for you? Do you think I just drink boxed wine and cash welfare checks and complain about the one who got away?”

I take my time straightening out my pants, unfastening and refastening my watch. Her words hang in the air, but with every passing second, she grows less and less sure of them. Her fire pales in the face of my own. The house is silent around us.

Then, when the moment is right, I stand.

She is tall for a woman, but I still dwarf her in every way. I lean down, close enough to smell her perfume, and whisper, “You want me to believe he’s not my son? Then prove it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Quickly, I reach into my pocket, whip out my switchblade, and hold my hand out face-up in between us. Iris recoils and claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, but I ignore her. I slash open a thin red line on my palm.

“Here’s my blood. Test it.”

Her jaw drops and her hand falls. “You… you can’t be serious.”

“Which part of this looks like I’m joking?”

“You can’t just—for fuck’s sake, you can’t just barge into my life and start demanding things of me! Of my son!”

“I can when one of those belongs to me,” I say.

Her eyes flash with fury. “He doesn’t belong to you.”

“Who says I was talking about Max?”

Iris’s jaw drops even further. She’s completely at a loss for words now. Those pale pink lips part in shock, dumbstruck by a turn of fate she never saw coming.

Truth be told, neither did I.

I sigh and close my cut hand. “I have a right to get to know my son, Iris. He has a right to get to know me.”

She stares at me for a long time. Words are a thing of the past, apparently.

“Did you even consider finding me when you found out you were pregnant?” I ask bluntly.

She wraps her arms around her body like she’s trying to hold herself together. I have a feeling she’s done that quite a lot in the last few years. It’s worked thus far—barely.

“I considered it,” she whispers at last.

An admission. The truth I already knew, finally coming to light.

“And…?”

She raises her eyes to mine. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of the chance that he’d turn out like you.”

10

IRIS

“I found out I was pregnant about four weeks after that party,” I tell him. “I didn’t have morning sickness. I didn’t feel bloated. But one day, I woke up and realized that my period was late.”

It’s funny—most people embellish the past. But my memories of him don’t stand up to reality. I made him smaller in my mind’s eye. Dulled the fire in his gaze, the sharpness in his jaw.

But now that we’re standing opposite each other, it’s like I’m looking at him in HD.

Maybe that’s why I’m doing what I swore I’d never do: I’m telling him the truth. He listens intently, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“I’m never late,” I continue. “So I went to the closest pharmacy and picked up the two most expensive pregnancy tests I could find. I didn’t even wait until I got back home; I took both tests in the bathroom right then. Positive and positive. The lines were faint, but they were there. I went from the pharmacy to the doctor and had it confirmed.”

I’m not quite sure why I’m telling him all this. I’m not even sure that he wants to know. But so much of my pregnancy, my birth story, my early years of single motherhood, was incredibly isolating. Without realizing it, I’ve been waiting to share this story for years.

Not just with anyone.

But with him.

“Is that why you decided to leave the modeling agency?” Kon asks.

I raise my eyebrows. “How did you know I left?”

“I did my research.”

I shuffle in place, feeling distinctly uncomfortable about that. How much does he know about me already? It’s not like I don’t know he has connections. And money. A lot of money. It wouldn’t have been all that hard for him to root around in my past and dig up a whole bunch of skeletons I would rather keep buried. He’s not the type of man to ask permission.

“I didn’t leave Ladybirds because I got pregnant,” I tell him. “Although I’m pretty sure David would have dropped me—again—the moment he knew. I didn’t give him the chance to.”

“You left in anticipation of that?”

I shake my head. “I left because of Helena.”

“Helena?”

“You don’t remember her?”

“Should I?”

Part of me is relieved he doesn’t. “She was the cute blonde with the bob. She was desperate to get in your pants.”

“Hm. Unsuccessfully, I guess.”

“She was a bitch, to cut to the chase. She made my life miserable after that night. I guess she took your rejection of her personally.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You strike me as the kind of woman who can hold her own.”

“I can if I have to,” I say. “But if I can avoid drama, if I can avoid confrontation, then I will. I didn’t think it was worth staying at the agency when I knew she would be trying to hurt me the entire time.”

I look around my messy living room, realizing how out of place Kon looks in it. He doesn’t suit my humble world. The thought depresses me more than it should.

“What did you do?” he prompts.

“Got jobs in different places,” I tell him. “Temp work, mostly. And because the schedules were flexible, I decided to try and get a degree. At the time, it seemed like a smart decision.”

“And now?”

I hesitate. “It seems… less smart. No one is beating down my door to hire a marketing major.”

“Who looked after Max while you were studying and working?”

He’s still standing by the window. I almost never close the flowy blue curtains. I like looking out at the yard. Pretending that things are as simple and carefree as the flawless California weather makes them appear to be.

“I found a daycare close to the temp agency I worked with. And he’s had a whole gang of babysitters over the years. But I try to schedule my life around him. So if I could work or study from home, I did.”

I’m not sure where these questions will lead. I fear that I’ve stopped thinking altogether. Seeing Kon again after so long… well, I wasn’t prepared for it. I’m saying things I should’ve kept buried. You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now. But you’d have thought wrong.

“You didn’t need to do it alone,” he murmurs.

“You’re saying you would have been there for me?” I snort. “Get real.”

He walks around my sofa and sits down. He takes up almost the entire thing with his knees spread wide. I sink to a seat in the adjacent armchair, mostly because my trembling legs are about to give out if I don’t.

“I’m not the type of man to run from his responsibilities.”

I feel my gut twist. Is it hurt or anger? I can’t even tell at this point. Is that what we would have been to him: a responsibility he’s obligated to fulfill? A box to check?

“You want to know the honest truth?” I ask him.

“Always.”

“After I realized I was pregnant, I looked you up. It wasn’t easy. Your name isn’t as widely known as I expected. I had to go to the kinds of parties we met at to get any information.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And what did you find, princess?”

“What I heard… It scared me.”

His eyes flare, his brow furrowing. “I never lied to you about who I was.”

“No, but you didn’t tell me everything, either.”

“It was one night, Iris,” he reminds me.

I shrug. “All the same. What I heard was unsettling. Shady deals, violence, unexplained deaths. They were all linked to your name. Your family’s name.”

“We’re a Bratva, not a monastery. Don’t act so surprised.”

“So it’s all true?”

“Truth is relative.”

“Don’t beat around the bush,” I insist. “Do you do shady shit? Illegal shit? Do you hurt people?”

He tilts his head and regards me solemnly. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

I suck in my breath. I honestly expected him to deny it. “That’s how you make your money?”

“Some of it.”

“How do you get away with it?” I ask in amazement. He’s so brazen, so open. I’d bet he’d march into the attorney-general’s office and say all of this right to the poor bastard’s face, then dare him to do something about it.

“You can get away with anything if you’re smart enough.”

“You mean if you’re wealthy enough.” There’s more than enough bitterness in my voice for him to start catching glimpses of the past I’ve spent so many years fleeing from.

“Everything comes with a price, Iris. Everything.”

All my fears from ten years ago are being confirmed now. And still, I can’t find it in myself to be relieved.

“Well, I didn’t want my son to have to pay that price,” I say. “I didn’t want him involved in any of it.”

“So you made the decision for me?” Kon asks. “For him?”

I glance towards Max’s room. I haven’t heard a peep from down there, so I figure he’s asleep by now. But I’m still irrationally nervous he’ll overhear.

“I was alone,” I say, my voice shaky. “I made the decision that was best for both of us. I didn’t even think you’d want me—him—in your life.”

“You were wrong to assume.”

I don’t know how to take that. Is it a thinly veiled threat? I stare at him, wondering if he’s capable of hurting me. It’s not like I’m special to him.

His kid? Maybe.

That kid’s mother? Definitely not.

“I did what was best for my son and myself,” I repeat, refusing to show him any weakness. “And I won’t apologize for it. I didn’t know you. I certainly couldn’t trust you. And after what I heard about you and your family, I wasn’t about to go looking for you.”

“Maybe that is what you convinced yourself you wanted. But deep down, I think you wanted something else.”

I frown. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you went on one of the most popular shows in the country and mentioned your son,” he says. “Your nine-year-old son. Why would you do that if you didn’t want me to find out?”

I swallow. The truth is that I didn’t think. I didn’t think about anything at all. I was asked a question and I answered. I never thought it would bring my whole life crumbling down.

“Maybe on some subconscious level, you wanted me to find you,” he says, his tone going deep and silky.

“N—no. No. Definitely not.”

“No?” he presses. “Because you don’t seem convinced of that yourself.”

I stand up and stare down at him. I don’t miss the way his eyes flicker over my body. I’m aware that the clothes I’m wearing are nothing special. But the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m naked.

“I’d forgotten all about you,” I lie.

He doesn’t buy it for even a second. “Hard to forget about the father of your child.”

“We had one night at a random party,” I say. “You were a brief break from my life. But I knew you’d never be a part of it.”

“Wrong again.”

He’s so bafflingly arrogant that I want to strangle him. But there’s something about it that is undeniably appealing, too. What’s it like to move through the world with such certainty? I feel like I’m guessing all the time, pretending to be a mother, a model, a functioning adult. My life is held together with duct tape and prayers. And lately, it feels like it’s falling apart at the seams.

“Listen,” I say desperately, “he’s a good kid. He’s happy. And I don’t want to disrupt his life by bringing you into it.”

“Who said anything about disrupting? What if I can make it easier?”

After the day I’ve had, an offer like that is a godsend. Someone to make my life easier? Yes, please. I’ll take two.

But how can I possibly put my faith in him? I’ve spent my life telling myself that the only person I can truly rely on is myself. How can I justify breaking that rule for a man I’ve had exactly two conversations with?

“How can you make it easier?”

“For starters, I can get you out of the debt you’re drowning in,” he says.

I freeze. “What did you say?”

“I told you, Iris. I did my research. That degree you got, impressive as it is, has you buried under a mountain of student debt. I’m sure it’s the reason you’re forced to live in this shithole.” He looks around with his nose wrinkled as though my home has personally offended him.

“We’ve lived here for almost three years,” I argue. “It’s got a yard, a room for each of us, and a mountain of good memories. That’s all it takes to make any place a home.”

“Then you need to raise your standards.”

I spread my hands wide. “See? You’re coming in and trying to ruin everything, upend our lives. This is the very definition of disruptive.”

“No, it’s not. I just offered to pay off your debt so that you can give Max a better life in a nicer neighborhood. Or are you trying to say that if you had the choice, you’d still choose to stay right here?”

I can’t say that and he knows it. But accepting his help would be conceding that I can’t do it on my own. And even though I’ve been worried about our growing debt for years, I can’t bring myself to admit that.

“I thought so,” Kon says triumphantly. His eyes never leave my face.

“Is this you trying to rescue me again?” I demand. “Because I told you once before, I can take care of myself.”

“Still stubborn, huh?”

“I’m not interested in playing the damsel in distress. I told you that, too.”

“I’m offering you a way out. You’re the one self-casting.”

I point to the door. “You need to leave.”

He doesn’t make a move to get off my sofa. “Not until we’ve come to some sort of understanding.”

“No. The only thing you need to understand is that Max is my son!” I cry out. “You won’t take him from me!”

He gets to his feet and struts around the coffee table, then stops right in front of me. I have to crane my neck back to look into his burning eyes.

“Don’t make a decision based on fear, Iris,” he rasps.

“Fear is all I have,” I whisper. “It’s all I’ve ever had.”

I don’t mean it to come out like that. I’m not even sure what it means. But it feels true. I’ve been running and scrabbling for so long. I don’t know any different.

Kon just stares down at me. He’s not touching me, but it feels like he is. It feels like he’s flaying me open with his eyes alone.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Iris,” he says gently. “You have something else now. You have me.”

And just like that, I’m transported to the night I met him. I can feel the butterflies erupt in my belly. I can feel the weakness in my knees. I’ve been dreaming of this man for ten endless years, and now that he’s here, I’m terrified I’ll never see him again. Another layer of fear to add to the ever increasing moat of the stuff floating around my soul.

Because if one night with him could leave me weak and fragile and jaded, what will I do if he disappears again?

It will shatter me.

I know that much with the same certainty that allowed me to make the decision to keep Max. That’s why I have to stop this now, before he pierces through my armor and leaves me vulnerable.

I have to be strong for Max.

I have to be strong for my son.

“The only person I can rely on is myself,” I say firmly.

Before he can answer, I hear the screech of wheels outside the house. Frowning, I rush to the window and see a red Maserati pull along the curb.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Then I sense an opportunity. I turn to Kon.

“I’ve moved on with my life, Kon. I’ve built something for myself and I don’t want to lose it.”

His eyes are trained out the window. When he speaks, his tone is lethal. “Who is that?”

“My boyfriend,” I tell him. “Jake Nox.”

11

IRIS

Jake is drunk. That much is for certain.

He’s wearing your standard Rock Star™ outfit like he bought the whole thing right off the mannequin: low-riding ripped black jeans with a strange chainmail belt, a garishly patterned silk shirt splayed open over his chest to show off his tattoos, and jewelry stacked on every finger and both wrists.

When I first met him, I thought he was unbelievably cool. Everything from his combat boots to the messy tangle of his unwashed hair drew me in.

I no longer see the appeal.

I rush to the door and pull it open before Jake can even knock. He looks stunned when he sees me and stares down at his hand like it’s malfunctioning. “Uh… hi.”

I glance back over my shoulder. Kon’s shadow is only a few feet away. He’ll definitely be able to hear us.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I croon. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

Jake’s stunned expression only gets more pronounced. “You are?”

The lone silver lining is that he’s still outside the house, in the shadows. I’m hoping that Kon can’t see how shocked Jake is. I need him to sell this shit.

“Of course!” I pull him towards me for a clumsy hug.

But then I take one whiff of him and have to bite down my frustration. He’s had a couple of drinks tonight—I can still smell the tang of whiskey. That’s not the real issue, though. The real issue is that he had those drinks, then proceeded to start smoking up God-knows-what in God-knows-where with God-knows-who.

He’s high as a fucking kite right now.

“Did you drive yourself?” I ask, trying not to sound too pissed.

“Uh, of course, babe. Y… you know I can handle myself.”

On any other night, I’d have disagreed vehemently about that. But tonight, I just ignore it as he throws his arm around my shoulders.

I steer him towards the sitting room, but he comes to a stop almost immediately. He squares off with Kon. “W-who the hell are you?” His eyes struggle to focus, pinwheeling wildly in their sockets.

It’s funny to see the two men here together. Correction: it would be funny if my entire life wasn’t hanging in the balance.

They’re both handsome, both tattooed, both dangerous in their own kind of way. But Kon’s entire persona is geared towards deflecting attention. He gets it anyway, of course, because there’s no avoiding a man that huge, that imposing. But he’s like a black hole—even when you’re looking at him, you’re not quite sure what you’re seeing.

Jake, though? Jake is a damn fireworks show. In his eyes, if you aren’t looking at him 24/7, you’re doing it wrong. He craves attention. Feasts on it. His clothes are loud, his voice is loud, his music is loud—and none of that is an accident.

“Jake, this is Kon. He’s… an old friend of mine.” I stumble awkwardly. “Kon, this is Jake. My boyfriend.”

I make sure to emphasize the last part. But apparently, I was a little too obvious because Jake turns to look at me with a glimmer in his eyes. Thankfully, he doesn’t question my sudden change of heart.

“That’s right, man,” Jake says, perking up immediately. “I’m her boyfriend.”

The two men stare each other down for a moment, and I have no idea what I’m gonna do if this thing ends up in a fist fight on the floor. I also have no idea who I’d even be rooting for.

“Jake Nox,” he adds when Kon says nothing. “You must have heard of me.”

Kon doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Fortunately not.”

Jake plays right into his hands. “Seriously? You ever heard of Hell Gun?”

“No.”

“Used to be my band,” he mumbles possessively. “But those cocksuckers thought they could stifle my voice and expect me to stay. Showed them, didn’t I? I’ve got two singles at the top of the charts right now.”

I have to try really hard not to roll my eyes. I have a feeling that Kon is doing the same.

“Okay,” he says with blistering apathy.

Jake squints at Kon like he’s trying to place him. “You’ve really never heard of me?”

“I already answered that question.”

“Kon was just leaving actually,” I interject.

Kon looks right at me, unreadable clouds crossing over his eyes. “Yes, I was. I’ll be in touch.”

I may be in over my head with Kon, but I still know a threat when I hear one. My legs go weak, because of all the men in the world, Konstantin might be the one most likely to hurt me in a way I’ll never recover from.

Jake leans heavily into me. Whenever he’s high, his legs seem to stop working. I’m holding him upright, pure deadweight, as Kon walks to the door and lets himself out.

Once he’s gone, I count to five and then shove Jake off of me.

“F-fuck!” he stammers when he trips backwards. He’s lucky to land on the couch.

I walk back into the sitting room and glance out the window to the dark street beyond. Kon is gone without a trace. No sign of a car, a motorcycle, nothing.

Spooky.

“Why are you acting weird?” Jake asks. I feel his breath on my neck. I guess he can walk when he wants to, but only if it serves to irritate me.

I shift away from him. “Have you ever heard of personal space, Jake?”

“No one wants space from me,” he laughs.

“Wrong. I do. I told you I needed as much space as I could get from you. I believe I said that right before I broke up with you. The first and the second time, actually.”

He frowns. “Wait… so what was that that just happened?”

“I needed to get rid of him,” I explain irritably. “And you seemed the best way to make that happen.”

Jake looks suspicious. “You said he was an old friend. Did you mean old boyfriend?”

“He said we were old friends,” I lie, hoping he’ll buy it since he’s not exactly in his right mind right now. “Not me. And—”

“No, he didn’t say shit,” Jake says, cutting me off. “You were the one who said you were old friends.” He sounds much clearer all of the sudden.

I stop short. “Did I?”

“Yes, you did.” He squints at me. “Why are you being so cagey? Who was that guy?”

“Just someone I used to know.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “We are absolutely not having this conversation. You have no right to ask me that question. We are not together anymore.”

“I thought we were just taking a break?”

“What made you think that?”

“I never cheated on you!” he says, getting riled up.

“Keep your voice down,” I snap. “Max is asleep.”

His expression softens. “I miss the little bastard.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You can’t just stop by like this anymore. It’s not okay, Jake.”

“Saved your ass tonight though, didn’t I?” he points out.

“Yeah, well, you cheated on me. So we’ll call it even.”

“The first time was on me,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I was a fuckin’ tool. I deserved to have my ass kicked. But the second time was not what you thought!”

“I saw the pictures, Jake.”

“It was a strip club, Iris,” he retorts adamantly. “Hate to break it to you, but there are naked girls there. And sure, one was giving me a lap dance. But only because Ziggy paid her to do it. It was a gift from a friend. Am I really supposed to turn down a gift from a friend?”

“I already told you, we’re not having this conversation.” I turn away from him.

He grabs my arm and whirls me back around. “I didn’t even want the dance, babe.”

“Really?” I ask. “That’s weird, because I’d say you looked pretty damn comfortable.”

“I was high off my ass.”

“Like you are right now?”

He has the wherewithal to look a little chastened. “I sobered up the moment I saw you.”

I snort. “If only that were true.”

“Come on, you can’t always be so righteous, Iris. Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”

“So many I can’t even keep track of them.”

He raises his chin smugly. “Then you should have a little more compassion for me.”

“Are you for real?” I scoff. He tries to wrap his arms around me, but I slap them away immediately. “Next time you try and touch me, I’m aiming for the crotch.”

His eyes bug out at me for a moment. “You used to think I was charming.”

“That was before you started sleeping with other women.”

“There was only one woman,” he insists. “And a horny stripper that I shoved off me. You wanna know why? Because of you.”

“Really romantic, Jake. I’m so touched. Have they made a Hallmark movie about you yet?”

“You should be touched! Do you know how many girls come after me on the daily? I could have anyone I want, but I choose you.”

The thing is, as insulting as his words are, they’re really sincere. He doesn’t mean to be cruel. He’s truly just that clueless.

“Because I love you, Iris,” he presses.

I sigh. He said he loved me on our third date. It took me a couple of months to figure out that he is the kind of guy who falls in love fast. So it always stood to reason that he would fall out of it just as quickly. But considering he’s standing in my living room, begging me for a second chance, my theory doesn’t seem to be panning out as expected. Or hoped for.

“Jake, you really shouldn’t have driven over here in this state. It’s irresponsible. You could really hurt someone.”

He frowns. “What about me?”

I stare at him in confusion. “Huh?”

“Aren’t you concerned about me?” he explains. “I could hurt myself, too, you know.”

My confusion turns to incredulous impatience. “Well, considering you made the choice to drive while intoxicated, I’d say that part of things is kinda on you.”

He pulls away from me and plonks himself down on the sofa again. “We were together for almost two years, Iris. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

For the first time, he doesn’t sound like Jake Nox, rock star. He sounds… normal. He sounds sad.

“Jake…”

“Two years and you never once told me you loved me.”

I sit down on the coffee table so that I’m facing him. “Love is a hard word for me.”

“Someone hurt you bad, huh?”

“Every man I’ve let into my life has hurt me bad,” I murmur with a grimace.

“Including the giant who was here earlier?”

I stiffen, though I try not to let him see it. “No. Not really.”

He squints at me. “You may think I’m just some dumb musician. But I notice more than you realize, Iris.”

“What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Pot makes me say crazy shit sometimes.”

He lays himself back on the sofa and his eyes flutter closed. He looks beat, and I can tell that he’s not about to move anytime soon. Tonight, as riled up as I am, I don’t have the heart to make him.

“Does anyone know you came here?” I ask.

He doesn’t open his eyes. “No.”

“Not even Andy?”

“Fuck no. That little shit has been riding me hard lately.” One eye flashes open. “Not in a sexual way.”

I stifle my tired laughter. “Thanks for clarifying. It would have kept me up all night.”

He gives me a tired smile and closes his eyes again.

I move to the cabinet in the far corner of the room and grab a blanket. I cover him with it and turn out the lights. Then I grab my phone and head to my bedroom. I collapse onto my bed and scroll through my contact list until I find Andy’s name.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Jake’s manager says by way of a greeting when he picks up, his Irish brogue as strong as ever. “He’s with you, isn’t he?”

“Drooling on my sofa at the moment.”

“Didn’t manage to crawl into bed with you?”

“He was too high for that,” I tell him.

“Fookin’ idiot. He’s gon’ get himself killed one day.”

“Maybe it’s time to think about rehab,” I suggest.

“He’s not an addict. He’s just trying to get over you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “He’s been in love before, Andy. He’s always made quick recoveries.”

“I don’t know, Iris,” Andy tuts. “This time might be different.”

“If you’re trying to convince me to stay with him, don’t bother.”

He sighs. “You were a good influence on him. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I already have one kid. I don’t need another.”

He exhales. “Fair enough. I’ll send a car for him.”

“It can…” I chew my lip. “It can wait. Send it in the morning.”

There’s a pause. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t feel like waiting up to send his ass packing anyway. Thanks, Andy.”

I hang up and stare at the ceiling. A man who says he loves me, who says he wants to take care of me and my son, is slumbering on my couch right now. My thoughts should be with him.

But they’re not.

They’re with a man who’s never said those words once, and who never, ever will.

You have me now, Kon said. I play that short sentence in my head over and over again.

I can’t decide if I’m more scared that he’s lying…

Or that he’s telling the truth.

12

KON

My phone rings again, but I don’t even glance its way. I’m too focused on the partial scene I can spy through the open curtains of Iris’s second window.

I would never have left the house if I hadn’t suspected that Iris was just play-acting for my benefit. He may have been her boyfriend once, but he certainly isn’t anymore. Their body language was a dead giveaway. There was a distance between them. A clench in her jaw whenever his fingertips grazed her bare skin.

She was using him to get me out of her house.

I turned to observe as soon as I strode through the front door. Sure enough, the moment she thought I was gone, she’d pushed him off her.

The rest was easy to read, even though I couldn’t hear their words. He was unfaithful, she told him to fuck himself, end of story.

My phone lights up yet again. Yefim. The bastard is persistent, that’s for damn sure.

I watch as Iris gets a blanket and throws it over the douche bag sprawled across her sofa. Then she turns off the lights and disappears down the hallway.

Only then do I pick up my phone and call Yefim back.

“Jesus Christ, why weren’t you picking up?” he grumbles.

“I don’t have to answer that,” I retort. “Why have you been hounding me all night?”

“You seriously forgot?” he asks incredulously.

He’s stressed out, which only ever happens when my father gets involved. But my head is so pumped full with thoughts of Max and Iris that Yefim and my old man are the last things I want to think about.

“Did we have plans or something?”

“Did we have plans?” he repeats. “Did we have plans?”

“You keep repeating what I say, and I’m gonna hang up.”

“The dinner, Kon,” he growls. “The fucking dinner.”

“Since when do we make plans for dinner?”

“Not you and me, moron! You and your future father-in-law. You and your future bride. Christ, are you stupid?”

“That’s not tomorrow?”

“No, pendejo, that’s not tomorrow. It is—was—tonight. Eight-thirty.”

I check the time. It’s almost ten o’clock. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right. Your father is on the warpath. Everyone else showed up, including the girl. Your absence was seen as an insult.”

I grit my teeth. “I’ll handle it.”

“You better handle it fast. Papa Aminoff has been in his den for the last half hour. I can hear him pacing from here.”

I hang up and rip out of my parking spot. The lights in Iris’s house are still off. Part of me rankles at the thought of that slimy fuck trying to worm his way into her bed tonight.

Even though I’m fairly certain she’d slice his dick off if he puts it anywhere near her, the idea alone makes my skin crawl. But I can’t linger anymore.

For now, I drive at a hundred miles per hour towards the estate that I’m supposedly going to inherit one day. I’d lived in it until I was seventeen years old, at which point I’d had enough money—and, more importantly, enough of my father—to move the hell out.

My car hurtles toward the black gates with the Aminoff family crest emblazoned in the middle. I don’t brake or pause. Security knows I won’t slow down, so they crank the gates open extra quickly. I snake through with barely an inch of clearance on either side of my car.

Parking out front, I leave the keys in the ignition and stalk inside toward my father’s den. I don’t bother knocking. If he wanted privacy, he’d lock the door.

As it happens, he’s expecting me. He turns as I enter, wearing nothing but dark pants and a white undershirt. He looks far older when he’s not all dressed up. Like an aging actor who’s sick of playing the same role for far too long, when the costumes no longer fit right and the makeup has begun to smear.

Stepan stares daggers at me. He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, waiting for me to break the silence.

Lesser men would crumble under that glare. But he didn’t raise me to be a lesser man.

He raised me to be a fucking don.

So he can try that shit with his Vors, with his business partners, with his allies, with a valet who scrapes the bumper or a chef who burns the fish. Let him glare and glare to his heart’s content at all the weaklings of the world.

But it won’t work on me.

He can see all of that written on my face, because after a few tense moments have passed, he sighs and flaps a wrinkled hand at me. “You fucked up, Konstantin,” he growls.

“I had business to attend to.”

“What business is more important than this?” he says. “You embarrassed me tonight. You embarrassed this family.”

“I had other things on my mind.”

“Like what?”

For a moment, I actually consider telling him. Then I realize that my ridiculous forced engagement to his friend’s daughter means he won’t hear a damn word I’m saying.

He’s going to see Max as a nuisance at best and a liability at worst. I can hear him now: Why recognize a bastard son when you will soon have legitimate children who can carry on your name and legacy? Better to leave the runt with his mother and focus on your future wife.

“Nothing that concerns you,” I say coolly.

“I am still your don,” he reminds me. “I have a right to know what business you’re attending to.”

“It’s personal.”

“If you missed this dinner because you were busy fucking some random whore—”

“Unlike you, I don’t have to pay a woman to fuck me.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Careful now, boy.”

I saunter closer. My father recognizes only one thing: strength. All else is irrelevant.

“I have agreed to your marriage, Otets. I’ve conceded by that gesture alone. Enthusiasm was not part of the deal.”

“So far, I have managed to convince Nestor of your willingness and desire to marry his daughter,” Stepan snaps at me. “But tonight proved to him that you had to be convinced.”

“I did.”

“But he can’t fucking know that!” Stepan roars.

I have to suppress a smile. He never shouts unless he feels like he’s losing control of a situation. He’s never shouted at anyone as much as he does around me. I take it as the highest compliment.

“I will make amends with the old man,” I say dismissively.

“And what about his daughter?” Stepan prods. “She was here, too. Dressed to the nines, pretty as a picture, waiting to meet her future husband.”

“She will get over it.”

“She’s a woman now,” Stepan hisses. “And an incredibly accomplished one at that. She speaks four languages. She can play the piano and the cello. She’s a brilliant swimmer, a talented archer.”

“And I’m sure she rescues kittens from trees in her spare time. Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“She’ll make you a fine wife,” Stepan says through clenched teeth. “You can mold her into the woman you want her to be. Keep her happy, and Nestor will give you his legacy on a silver goddamn platter.”

“Like I said, I’ll make amends.”

Stepan snorts. “You really think Nestor will let you near his daughter now? He’s pissed. Rightfully.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. My head is starting to ache. It’s been one hell of a night. “What does he want?”

“A meeting. Just you and him.”

“To determine what?”

“Your intentions towards his daughter. He needs to be soothed.”

“Soothing is for horses, not dons. I will talk to him like a man. No more, no less.”

Another silence follows. Two stubborn souls staring each other down. Neither of us wants to blink first.

But Stepan doesn’t have the energy to fight these kinds of battles anymore. He doesn’t have the energy for much at all, truth be told.

He sighs at last. “You turned out stronger than I ever thought,” he says. “I just didn’t realize that it would backfire on me.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. Let the old man slide into retirement gracefully. It’s coming any day now—the end of his reign and the beginning of mine. He can taste it in the air like an oncoming storm.

Stepan plops down behind his desk. His entire body seems to sigh with relief. I can see the gray hairs of his chest stick out at the collar of his shirt.

There used to be a time when I thought he was as wide as a house, as tall as a mountain. But he looks small now. Withered and fragile. Collapsed inward on himself.

“Have you been taking your meds?” I ask quietly.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, son.”

“I learned from the best.”

He gives me an annoyed smile, then lets his eyes fall closed. “Be respectful to Nestor when you meet with him, yes? Keep that tongue of yours shackled.”

I cock my head to the side. “Scared of him, Father?”

“Fear keeps a man alive.”

I frown. There was a note in his voice there that I didn’t like. “Is there anything else I should know about your friendship with Nestor, Otets?”

He looks down for a moment, but when he leans back against the armchair, I can see he’s back. The ancient lion who still has some sharpness left in his teeth.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to ask stupid questions?” he snaps.

More silence. From the corner, his old grandfather clock tolls out an hour until midnight. My father’s eyes are closed once more, and he doesn’t look interested in opening them again. The flash of fire from a second ago is fading.

I sigh and walk quietly to the door. I turn to look at him once more before leaving. He’s so old. I used to think he was invincible. Now, I know the truth: no man is.

“Goodnight, Otets,” I whisper under my breath. “Sleep well.”

13

IRIS

I wake up early, just as the sun is getting ready to come up for the day. My wooden floors glow with the early dawn light refracted through my window. I’m warm, I’m cozy, I’m well-rested.

But my problems are waiting right on the other side of the door.

I know that Jake is sleeping on my couch, and I know that Max will be up in an hour. There’s no time to cocoon up here and ignore what needs doing.

So, with a sigh, I exchange my pajamas for mom jeans and a thin beige sweater vest. Then I slip out of my bedroom and into the living room where Jake is sprawled across my small sofa.

He’s thrown his legs over one arm, and his head dangles off the thick cushions. A string of drool has dried down the side of his mouth.

“What did I ever see in him?” I mumble to myself. I need coffee before I can deal with this shit.

I head into the kitchen to put a pot on. The coffee maker was my one big splurge when Max and I had moved into this house. He’d wanted a dreamcatcher, which is currently hanging outside the kitchen window so that we can see it at all times.

I, on the other hand, wanted a coffee machine. I’d spent almost a hundred bucks on this one and regretted it almost immediately. Especially after Max’s school had called to inform me that his sneakers were not up to scratch, and I’d need to buy him a new pair. Another hundred bucks gone, poof, like I never had it at all.

I think about the unexpected visitor I’d had last night. I’d be lying if I said that a little cash infusion wouldn’t greatly help my current situation.

Kon seemed to genuinely want to help. But nothing in this world comes without a price attached. Am I prepared to pay his?

I grimace, shove all thoughts of Kon aside, and dial Andy’s number. “Morning, Iris,” he mumbles sleepily. “Is he awake yet?”

“What do you think?”

“Probably still drooling. I’m on my way to collect him now.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Mind waking him up for me?” Andy asks. “It’ll just be easier getting him out of your place if he’s already quasi-lucid.”

I roll my eyes. Of course he’s giving me the dirty work. “Fine. How long will you be?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“An actual fifteen minutes, or an L.A. fifteen minutes?”

He just laughs and hangs up. Ass. Sighing heavily, I duck back into the living room to try to tackle my Jake problem. He looks disturbing with his head hanging upside down like this. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t inhale his own drool in the night.

“Jake. Jake, get up.”

Nothing. He doesn’t so much as stir. I try again, a little louder this time, but I’m still met with blissful ignorance. Finally, I resort to poking him awake.

He snuffles like a pig and rolls over, which tosses the blanket off of him. That, in turn, reveals an erection poking against the zipper of his pants.

“Jesus!” I say, recoiling in disgust. “Jake, get the hell up!”

“Iris?” he grumbles, his eyes squinting open a little.

“Get up.”

“Babyyy…”

His arm comes up around me. He grabs my ass and pulls me down on top of him. I promptly slap him across the face and lurch backwards.

He blinks again and sits up, pressing a hand to his stinging cheek in confusion. Then he looks around like he hasn’t even registered where he is. “I… I spent the night?”

“On my couch,” I say. “Yes.”

“Did we have sex?”

“You need to get your shit together,” I say with a scowl.

“You know it hurts me when you do that, right?”

“Do what?”

“Roll your eyes at me.”

I have to try really hard not to roll my eyes a second time. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask, standing under the threshold to the kitchen.

“Hell yeah.”

I leave him sitting there and head into the kitchen. By the time I pour out two mugs, he’s leaning against the threshold, looking at me with that hungry gleam in his eyes.

“Damn, girl, you look good.”

Suppressing a weary sigh, I place his cup on the wooden island and push it over to the opposite corner. He doesn’t even glance at it, though.

“Do you always wake up at this ungodly hour?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have a son, remember?”

He smiles dreamily. “Aw, I can’t wait to see little Maxie.”

“No,” I say firmly. “He’ll only be confused.”

Jake’s smile splinters. “Why would he be confused?”

“Because we’re not together anymore.”

“For fucking—I mean, Christ, Iris, are we still on that?”

I push myself up onto one of the barstools and sip at my black coffee. The first taste sends a flood of conviction right through me. Magic bean juice, seriously.

“We’ve been through this a couple of times now. You and I are done. That’s not changing.”

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

“I don’t want to get back into that,” I sigh. “Listen… cheating aside, it wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. We’re not right for each other.”

“You’re a model. I’m a rock star. It’s peanut butter and jelly, baby. What’s not to love?”

“I came to L.A. to be a model,” I correct. “Because I had to make a living fast. But I’m not sure I’m in the right profession. Or the right city, for that matter.”

“Iris, now you’re just talking crazy. Look at you, woman. You’re gorgeous. You belong here with all the other gorgeous people.”

I feel a twinge of pity for him. I’m not sure that Jake knows any other life than this one. Even the mere thought of a life outside of Los Angeles seems to scare him shitless.

I take a deep breath. “It’s not happening.”

“How can you just fall out of love with a person so damn fast?” he demands.

I know I have to be harsh with him. Blunt is the only language he speaks. “Because I was never in love with you in the first place,” I say. “Not truly.”

He cringes like I hit him. “You don’t mince words, do you?” he mumbles.

“Not when it matters.”

He just stares at me. “Is there someone else?”

“Jake!”

“Well, is there?” he asks. Then his eyes go wide. “That guy! That guy who was here last night. It’s him, isn’t it?”

“No—”

“I fuckin’ knew it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Who is he, Iris?”

“Someone I met a long time ago.”

“Yeah, that’s real specific,” he drawls. “Clears things right up.”

I take a deep breath. “We broke up months ago, Jake. Who I see is none of your business anymore.”

“So you’re fucking him then?”

I shake my head and concentrate on my coffee.

“Oh, you’re not talking to me anymore? Giving me the silent treatment like a real grown-up?”

“I’m just not a fan of pointless conversations,” I say calmly. “My life revolves around work and my son, and that’s all. Not that I owe you any explanations.”

He frowns. “Look at you. I used to think you were just calm as shit. But apparently, what you really are is cold as shit.”

I wish I could tell him what made me this way. I wish I could show him the scars, both inside and out, that shaped me.

But I can’t. And even if I could, he wouldn’t understand. So I just sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jake.”

“Tell me you’ll give us another chance!”

“I did give you another chance,” I remind him. “And you just tore my heart right down the same lines. I can’t let that happen again.”

He growls in frustration and drops his head into his open palms. “You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met.”

“So give up, Jake,” I say softly.

He opens his mouth to argue with me, but the doorbell rings. “Who’s that?” Jake asks.

I ignore him and answer the door. “Andy, thank God,” I breathe.

Andy gives me a smile and runs his hand over his balding head. He’s always reminded me of a shorter, skinnier version of Vin Diesel, though with more flab and less familia.

“The lad been giving you a hard time?”

“As always. He’s in my kitchen.”

“Aye. Lead the way then.”

Andy follows me inside. The moment Jake sees his manager, he groans like a fifteen-year-old boy whose parents have just embarrassed him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” he asks me.

“I called him last night,” I reply.

“Time to go, Jakey,” Andy says, fixing him with a stern look.

Jake glares right back at him. “You realize you’re my fuckin’ manager right? Not my handler.”

“Actually, I’m both, so you should be paying me double.”

“Keep your voices down,” I order. “Max is still asleep, so if you can take this outside, that would be great.”

Jake looks down at the coffee he hasn’t touched yet. “I haven’t finished my coffee.”

“Take it.”

“What about the mug?”

“Keep it.”

“You heard the girl,” Andy says, grabbing Jake by the shoulders and forcing him out of the barstool he’s perched on. “Let’s go. You look like shit warmed over. You realize you have press today, right? And a photoshoot?”

“That’s next week.”

“Wake the hell up, you junkie,” Andy growls. “This is next week.”

Andy strong-arms him to my front door and forces him out of it. I follow behind just so I can throw the lock as soon as they’re outside.

But before I can, Jake swings around and looks right at me. “Just so you know, Iris, I’m not giving up.”

Only then does he allow Andy to tow him towards the waiting car. I see one of Andy’s assistants get in Jake’s haphazardly parked Ferrari and go whisking away. Andy and Jake follow.

Once the whole lot is gone, I close the door.

But not before I take one last quick look down the street.

I have no idea why I’m looking for him. It’s not like I expect him to have stood guard the entire night. But somehow, I didn’t expect Kon to just walk away and leave a bad boy rock star in my home.

Granted, I’m sure that in Kon’s eyes, Jake is the furthest thing from a bad boy. But he’s still a very good-looking man with a very bad reputation.

I take a deep breath as I walk back to the kitchen. I’m about to get the cereal out of the fridge for Max’s breakfast when something catches my eye.

All of Max’s art that was pinned up on the refrigerator is now stacked in a neat pile on the countertop. One thing remains stuck up there, though. Something that wasn’t there before.

A business card.

There’s nothing on it except for a phone number. No name, no address, no explanation. But I don’t need one.

I know it’s his.

I take the card off the fridge with trembling fingers and tuck it in my pocket before hastily rearranging the art back where it was.

I almost jump a foot when my phone starts ringing. “Hi, Liza,” I say, picking up the call. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve booked you a job,” she says between bites of what I assume is a bagel. “It was kind of a last-minute deal. You game?”

“Sure. Fine. I’m your girl.”

“Great. I’ll be there to pick you up at eight-thirty.”

“You’re the best, Liza.”

“Yeah, remember that when you’re rich and famous.”

She hangs up and I breathe a little easier knowing that I have another job lined up. One more paycheck. One more brick in the wall between me, Max, and the looming specter of poverty.

I put my hand in my pocket deliberately to run my fingertip along the edge of the card. The number engraved there is like Braille that only two people in the world can read.

I want to call it, but the real reason why has nothing to do with money or Max or anything else.

I just want to hear his voice.

14

KON

Nestor Kuzmin’s house is a gargantuan nightmare. Flashy, obnoxious, despicable.

The worst part is that it’s meant to be exactly that. A vain attempt at highlighting the owner’s own sense of aggrandized self-importance. A monument from himself, to himself, of himself.

“Want me to come in with you?” Yefim asks.

“Wait in the car.”

“Like a dog?”

I glare at him without any sympathy. He’s been taking the brunt of my anger all morning with his normal good cheer. Still didn’t convince me to take it easy on him, though.

“A word of advice, old pal?” he adds as I step out of the car.

I pause against my better instincts. “It better be just one word.”

“I’m not sure this whole ‘Who needs you’ attitude is going to win over Nestor,” Yefim suggests. Something occurs to him. “Hey, you think he’s lured you here to kill you?”

That gets a smirk out of me. “I wish he would try. It’d make this shit a whole lot easier.”

Yefim frowns. “Which part of ‘killing your family’s ally who also happens to be the don of the city’s next most powerful Bratva’ qualifies as ‘easy’? Your pops would throw a bitch fit.”

“Something tells me he will do that regardless.”

Yefim sighs. “Can I please come in? You know I get claustrophobic in tight spaces.”

Rolling my eyes, I nod, and Yefim leaps out of the jeep with a gleeful cackle. We head to the front entrance of the house. The pathway is white marble winding through a glistening koi pond. I’m tempted to take a sledgehammer to the whole damn thing.

The front door is predictably huge. Twice my height and four times my width. The knocker is a snarling kraken. With a grimace, I jerk my chin towards it and look at Yefim.

“You do it. I’m not touching that garish piece of shit.”

Yefim shrugs and raps a few times with one of the iron tentacles. The door opens almost at once to reveal an old Russian man in a tuxedo and bowtie. “Greetings, gentlemen. Don Kuzmin is expecting you.”

If I keep rolling my eyes like this, they’re going to come loose in their sockets. “Great. Where is he?”

“Please follow me.”

We’re led into the house. I’m brooding on what’s about to happen, though Yefim is taking in the sights with aplomb. I spare a single glance around the interior of the home. Gilded paintings, ornate chandeliers, the works. Wasted money, in my opinion.

“The don will be with you in a moment,” the butler says. “Please make yourselves comfortable.” Without waiting for a response, he strides away stiffly down a nearby hallway lined with portraits of sneering Kuzmin ancestors.

“He’s making us wait,” Yefim sighs. “Pretty sure that’s on page one of the playbook.” Then he looks around, annoyed. “There’s no place to sit.”

“That’s page two.”

“Right,” Yefim agrees with a nod. “Mind games. Hey, where’d the butler take off to? Don’t we at least get some snacks?”

I snort. “Maybe I should replace you with an actual dog.”

“You’d miss my quick wit and disarming smile.”

I just sigh and lean against the glass wall separating the foyer from the turf-lined patio beyond. The city of L.A. beckons in the distance like jewels in the desert.

“Ahem.”

I look at Yefim, who’s just cleared his throat. “What?”

He’s got that pained, pinched look in his eyes that says he’s about to launch into a topic I have no interest in discussing. Sure enough, he says, “You just gonna ignore it then?”

“Ignore what?”

“Don’t ‘ignore what’ me. You know damn well what. I figured out where you were the night of the dinner.”

“Since you gave me the address in the first place, I can’t really say I’m impressed.”

“Well? Any salient takeaways from your impromptu little visit?”

I shrug. “He’s mine.”

“I’ll be damned. Did she give you proof?”

I scoff. “You act as though she’s the one trying to convince me of the fact.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m the one who went looking for her,” I explain impatiently. “She tried to deny that Max is mine.”

“Max. Hm. Very spunky-teen-hero-from-an-80s-movie kind of name. How do you feel about it?” I glare at him, and he holds up his palms. “Right, sorry. Unimportant. Well, she probably denied he was yours because he isn’t actually yours. Maybe—”

“I saw the boy, Yefim.”

He stops short. “Oh?”

“I don’t need a paternity test to recognize my genes when I see it. He looks like I did at his age. He’s got my eyes.”

Yefim grimaces, running a hand through his mottled brown hair. “I was kinda hoping you were mistaken.”

“Because it’s more convenient for this farce of an alliance I’m being forced into?”

“Well… yeah. Among other things.”

I shake my head. “I’m not pretending like he doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not actually what I’m worried about.”

I frown. “No?”

He meets my gaze. I know Yefim. As unassuming as he might seem, the man is perceptive. He’s got an intuition about things, but he doesn’t always let on until he needs to.

Apparently, he needs to now.

“I’m worried about her.”

I keep my expression as impassive as possible. “You don’t need to be.”

“Oh no?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and refusing to take his eyes off me. “You forget that I know you, brother. I watched you in the weeks after that party. I don’t know what the hell happened in that room between the two of you. I know it was something, though. Something significant. But you know what else is significant? This deal. That shit was an imagined sort-of-missed connection and it happened a decade ago. Don’t let it ruin things, Kon.”

“I have no illusions about my relationship with Iris. She was a girl I fucked in a hotel room one night. Now, she’s—”

“The mother of your child,” Yefim finishes. “That’s also significant.”

“The Kuzmins can’t complain,” I say. “It happened a lifetime ago.”

“Oh for God’s sake, don’t tell Nestor about the boy!”

I narrow my eyes at Yefim. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. You’re the only one who knows, and I don’t intend to change that anytime soon.”

“Praise be. Because I have a feeling shit’s gonna hit—”

The sound of footsteps forces Yefim to stop mid-sentence. The dour Russian butler is back, and his expression is as grave as his posture.

“Master Aminoff,” he says. “The don is ready for you.”

“Stay here,” I order Yefim. “Don’t touch anything.”

I follow the butler down another long hallway. This one has no portraits, just frame after frame of muddled abstract splashes of dark paint on white canvas. It’s vaguely unsettling, for reasons I can’t quite explain. I think I’d prefer the grimacing old Kuzmin men from the other hall.

At the end of the corridor, the butler turns right and stops in front of an imposing ironwork door. He knocks once, waits a breath, knocks twice more, then opens it up.

He steps through and gestures me inside. There’s a starkness about the space that suits the man sitting in the black leather chair across from me.

“Don Kuzmin,” I say respectfully. The door clangs shut behind me, taking the butler with it.

“Konstantin.”

“Call me Kon.”

“You’ve always preferred Kon, haven’t you? Why is that?”

“Mostly because it pisses my father off.”

The man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s slim and tall and vibrant, and it strikes me once again how young he is, how alive he is compared to Stepan. I remember a fiftieth birthday celebration for him sometime last year. I’d been invited, but I’d begged off the event and flown to Russia instead.

“I used to be the same way with my own father,” Nestor remarks. “I’d do anything to get under his skin. Take a seat.”

I sink into the stainless steel chair he points at. The desk’s broad surface feels like an iron ocean between us.

“I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for missing the dinner with you and your daughter,” I say stiffly. “I got held up with some business and lost track of time.”

He’s silent for a long while, and I wonder if I’ve ended the meeting before it’s even begun. “I must say, Kon, losing track of time doesn’t bode well for your future with my daughter.”

“You of all people must appreciate how demanding a Bratva can be.”

“Oh, I do. And I’m aware that I will come across as a hypocrite when I say this to you. But I will not allow my daughter to be treated as I have treated my women over the years.”

I shrug. “It is the nature of a don to be a hypocrite. We say what we must and do what we must. Those two things don’t always align.”

Nestor smiles. “I like you, Kon. I always have. When your father proposed the alliance, I was easily convinced. You’re a strong man, and an intelligent one. Intelligent enough, I think, to see the wisdom in this union.”

“I understand you and my father have a vision for the future.”

It’s not quite an answer to what he’s subtly asking, but he doesn’t seem too dismayed as of yet. “My daughter is my most precious asset,” he continues. “You may think I’m ridding myself of her, but that’s not the case. I want her to be happy. I want her to be looked after.”

“Marriage was the deal, Nestor. Not happiness.”

He surveys me through squinted eyes for a long moment before relaxing. “The wedding will take place five months from now,” he says with finality. “After that, Anika will move from my home to yours. But if ever she feels the need to move back into my estate, I tell you now, with all the force I can muster: our alliance will not survive a broken marriage.”

“I have no intention of—”

“Intentions, pah!” Nestor says dismissively with a flick of his hand. “Intentions mean fuck-all to me. You can intend never to harm someone and end up doing just that. I want to make sure you understand the extent to which you owe the Kuzmin Bratva.”

I lean forward immediately, elbows on knees. “Say that again.”

“I have spent the decade before this one bailing your father out of one bad decision after the next. Untold millions spent to keep your family afloat.”

Fuck me. So that’s it. A debt hanging around my neck, placed there by my own damn father.

The significance of the timing isn’t lost on me. The decade before this one, he said—in other words, the decade that culminated when the deal of this marriage was struck.

My father used me as a pawn to shore up his own bank accounts.

Nestor is either oblivious or indifferent to my growing temper. “And I have been generous,” he’s saying. “I am giving your family the greatest jewel I have to offer: my own daughter.”

“You’re right,” I say, masking my fury behind false gratitude. “You have been generous.”

“Remember that before the next dinner we attend together,” he growls.

I rise to my feet and nod. “A pleasure as always, Don Kuzmin.”

“Kon.”

He smiles with self-satisfaction. This meeting went exactly as he planned, I’m sure.

Or so he thinks.

I leave him entombed in the vault he calls an office and retrace my footsteps back to the foyer. I glance up when I feel eyes on me. As I do, I catch a flurry of fair hair and a retreating shadow.

My stomach twists with disgust. Is this the woman I’m supposed to call my wife? The kind of shy little girl who hides around corners to spy and lurk?

I can sense her just beyond the staircase, trying not to make a noise. I grit my teeth and cross the final distance into the foyer where Yefim is waiting.

He takes one look at my face and groans. “No point in asking how it went?”

“Nestor Kuzmin is satisfied. For the moment.” I whip around suddenly to look at him. “Did you know that the Aminoffs are indebted to the Kuzmins? We’re talking millions.”

“So we pay it back,” he says with a shrug. “We’re good for it now.”

“It’s not that kind of debt anymore. This debt will only be forgiven if I marry the girl.”

Yefim sighs. “There are worse consequences.”

I turn and storm out of the house before I start breaking shit. Yefim hurries after me. His anxiety for what might happen next is loud and jarring to me, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Y’know, just thinking out loud here, but confronting your father right now may not be the best idea.”

“I’m not.”

“Then where—”

“I have another appointment,” I interrupt. “And I will not miss it.”

15

IRIS

Liza frowns as we drive higher and higher up the hill into Bel Air. “I’m starting to think I should have negotiated up,” she mutters under her breath.

“Are we driving to a private residence?” I ask.

“Looks like it.”

I turn to face Liza, who keeps her eyes resolutely on the road. “You don’t know for sure?”

“I told you, this job came in at the last moment. I wasn’t about to ask any questions.” She throws me a wary look. “I’m gonna need you to be on your best behavior, okay?”

“When am I not?”

Liza rolls her eyes. “You are the single most difficult model I’ve ever worked with. Most people try to gain a little fame and fortune before they start getting picky.”

“I happen to believe that you can make a living and maintain your integrity. Sue me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Liza moans. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

We drive past one massive estate after the next before we come up to a gated property at the end of the road fronted by an imposing arch of greenery. Liza stops outside the gate. A security guard steps out of the glass-walled booth and shuffles over.

“Hey,” she says, after rolling her window down. “We have an appointment.”

“Name?”

“Liza Cartwright and Iris Keller.”

He nods and signals to someone that I can’t see. Then the black gates part as if by magic, and we drive in.

The driveway slopes upwards and ends in a cobbled circle right in front of the house. I’m a little taken back by how weirdly charming it is. Every other rich guy’s home in L.A. is like a giant fishbowl, all glass and modern art and sharp edges.

This one is smaller, homier. Brick and ivy like something from the Northeast, with cute shuttered windows and birds trilling from the rooftop.

“This is… nice?” I say cautiously, like I’m waiting for someone to reveal that it’s all just a movie set.

“Like I said,” she warns, “best behavior.”

We walk up to the door and ring the bell. It opens to reveal a short man with dark, curious eyes. I’m not sure why, but he looks familiar to me.

“Hello,” he says, looking me up and down. He’s definitely not checking me out, though. His expression is more scrutinous than anything. “Iris Keller, correct?” He ignores Liza completely.

“That’s right.”

“Welcome,” he says. “Come in.”

Liza and I follow him inside. When the door shuts behind us, a shiver breaks out across my skin for reasons I can’t explain. “Your home is beautiful,” I murmur.

“Oh, it’s not mine,” the man demurs. “I’m more like the… happy assistant.”

Liza gives him her polite smile. “Where is the client?” she asks.

“He’ll be down in a moment. He’s instructed for you to wait for him in the garden.”

Liza is uncharacteristically quiet as we wind through the house and emerge into a lush patio and garden. Everything is so green it hurts my eyes. White sofas, a stone-lined fire pit. All with that ethereal glow that only lots and lots of money can buy.

On a table nearby is a tray of finger sandwiches, éclairs, and champagne cooling in a silver bucket. “Help yourself,” the butler says generously.

“Well, I don’t mind if I do,” Liza says, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite without hesitation.

The butler gives her an amused smile. “I’ll just go and inform the boss that you’ve arrived.” He disappears into the house. I just stand there, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Something feels off to me about this entire situation.

I sidle up to Liza, who’s already demolished the finger sandwich. “Liza, what is—”

“Damn, these things are good,” she says with a little sigh of satisfaction. “You’ve gotta try one.”

“No, thank you.” I don’t tell her that I feel like Snow White, with the Evil Queen trying to force a poison apple down my throat.

“C’mon, live a little. You—”

“Liza!”

She doubles back. “What?”

“What the hell is going on?” I demand. “What is this job? Why do they have us standing here in the garden while they’re being all weird and stuff? Why are there no photographers or cameras or—”

“Well, the person who called said their client was looking to speak to Iris Keller and they wanted to set up an appointment.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Liza says, reaching for an éclair. She takes a bite and promptly convulses. “Oh my God! Orgasmic! Five stars!”

“Get a hold of yourself, woman!” I say. “You don’t even know this guy’s name. What if he’s some crazy, murderous, psychopathic—”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

My body goes cold.

I know that voice.

I would recognize that voice anywhere.

So I can’t even say I’m surprised when I whirl around and find myself looking at Kon.

Behind him stands his right-hand man. Not a butler after all, it seems. But it explains why his face looks vaguely familiar. Ten years ago, I saw him on a night I can never forget. Yefim, I think his name was.

“Oh,” Liza says, her tone changing instantly. She abandons the last bite of her orgasm-inducing éclair and tries to compose herself. “You must be the client.”

I narrow my eyes at her goo-goo-ga-ga voice, but she’s not paying any attention to me anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, “I don’t know your name.”

“That’s because I never gave it to you. I’m Kon Aminoff.”

“Ooh. How exotic.”

I roll my eyes. Yefim notices and suppresses a snort of laughter.

“Mr. Aminoff—”

“Please call me Kon.”

“Kon then,” Liza says with an uncharacteristic giggle. “I suppose my next question is, why do you need a model?”

“I don’t,” he says. “I need her.”

He looks incredibly good. The sun hits his auburn hair and I can see all the different colors hidden there. Dark mahogany and light caramel, subtle crimson and deep burgundy. A river of chocolate and copper and blood.

“Oh?” Liza says, sobering up for maybe the first time since we got here. She glances back at me, looking unsure about what to do next.

“I saw her appearance on TV the other night and I wanted to discuss her charity work with her in more detail.”

“Well, your timing couldn’t be more horrible, Mr. Aminoff,” I say, sticking carefully to his last name. “Because I’ve recently stopped working with Her Voice. So you’re barking up the wrong tree. We’ll just be going—”

“Iris!” Liza exclaims. “You’re being rude.”

“Me?” I ask defensively. “I’m just being professional. I certainly wouldn’t want to waste a single second of Mr. Aminoff’s precious, precious time.”

I expect an eruption, but Kon just smiles pleasantly. “Yefim, why don’t you show Liza around the grounds?” he suggests. “I’m sure she’d love a tour.”

“No, she—”

“Lead the way!” Liza crows over my protests.

She doesn’t even bother to question why I’m not being included. She just leaves me there on the deck with Kon and walks off with Yefim.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand, turning on him once we’re alone.

“I was expecting something more along the lines of, ‘Thank you for hiring me.’”

“This is… It’s deception. You lured me here under false pretenses.”

“I really did want to discuss your nonprofit.”

“First of all, it’s not my nonprofit. And second of all, I wasn’t lying before. I’m really not a part of it anymore.”

He raises his eyebrows. “They fired you.”

“How did you—Ugh. Yes. They fired me.”

“Why?”

The idea of telling him the truth makes my skin crawl. He knows too much about my life already. Which means he knows about most of my mistakes. Why would I fill him in on the rest? Let him do his own damn dirty work.

“No idea.”

“Seems like an ungrateful way to treat you after you drummed up all that free publicity for them.”

“Yeah, well, nothing in life is free,” I mutter. “I learned that the hard way.”

“Maybe because you refuse to do things the easy way.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “I’m offering to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Case in point.”

“I don’t like being indebted to anyone. And like I said, nothing in life is free.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m being kind by approaching you this way.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I could be more forceful. I don’t need your permission to meet my son.”

“You sure as hell do,” I snap with full-on Mama Bear fury, getting so worked up that I take a step forward like I’m spoiling for a fight. Of course, all that does is put me nose to chest with Kon, which in turn rewards me with a huge whiff of his cologne, which in turn makes my thighs feel like they’re made of I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Butter. “I am his fucking mother!”

“Then we’re on equal footing,” he replies coolly. “Because I’m his fucking father.”

“I spent nine damn years raising him alone. You’re nothing to him.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“What was I supposed to do?” I exclaim. “Track you down and tell you I was pregnant? Throw myself at your feet and beg for support? For all I knew, you had a wife and kids. You had a whole other life that wouldn’t have had any room for m—for… a child.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you were scared.”

“No, asshole, I’m—”

“You were scared of being rejected, so you deprived Max of the chance to know his father.”

He regards me with that completely unflustered gaze. All it seems to do is make me feel flustered enough for the both of us.

“We had one night together,” I whisper. “Not even one night—just a few hours. End of story.”

“And what about those few hours scared you so badly, Iris?”

I have answers. I have plenty of answers. I’ve spent ten years thinking of them every time I can’t fall asleep at night.

But now that I finally have the chance to share them with the only person in this world who might understand, I’m speechless.

“I… I just don’t want to confuse him.”

“So he hasn’t asked about me? He hasn’t asked any questions about who his father is?”

I hesitate, then sigh. “He’s nine years old. Of course he’s asked about who his father is.”

“And? Which lie did you choose for him?”

I still feel guilty about it, because it was the first time I’d told an outright lie to my son. Back then, we were living in a shitty little one-bedroom East Hollywood apartment with a leaky roof. It was raining that day, I recall. It must’ve been cold, too, because we were both wearing socks—the matching pair of fuzzy pirate socks that I’d bought for us as a Christmas gift—and I made us hot chocolate. I can’t actually remember the cold, though. I only remember the rain, and the socks, and the frothy chocolate mustache across Max’s upper lip.

“I told him his father was a fighter,” I whisper. “I told him he went to war and fought bravely to keep us safe, and that he didn’t quite make it home.” I glance up and catch the brooding darkness in his eyes. “It must be easy to jump back into my life after a decade and judge my choices. But I did it all on my own.”

“That was a choice.”

“Was it?” I ask. “Well, we all have choices, Kon. You made plenty of your own.”

Silence follows. I hate this—being silent with him, feeling his judgment and his anger like a hot wind on my skin.

“But for the record,” I add in a quiet voice, “I’m not proud of myself.”

I meet his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Ten years of wondering if this moment would ever come hits me like a runaway train, and suddenly, standing upright is out of the question.

So I plop down on the couch, snag an éclair off the tray, and take a bite.

Liza was right—they’re fucking delicious.

16

KON

I watch silently, hands clasped behind my back, as she finishes the eclair and licks her fingers clean.

It’s difficult to hide what it does to me. Those plump lips pursed around her long fingers. The flickering of her tongue. My memories of her taste vibrating in my mouth.

“I don’t make a habit of lying to my son, you know,” she says after a pregnant pause. “That was the first and last time.”

“I think maybe it’s time to be honest with him.”

The corner of her mouth screws up. “Why turn his world upside down?” she asks. “Why change his entire sense of reality for nothing?”

“A man must know where he comes from,” I say somberly. “It’s the only way to know where he’s meant to go.”

She shivers as if a cold breeze just passed through, though the day is warm and sunny. “Where are you going, Kon?” she murmurs.

“Wherever the fuck I want.”

Iris picks at the bed of her nails. “People say stuff about you, you know. I hear bits and pieces. Or I mean, I’ve heard. Over the years.”

“Is there a question in there?”

She drags her eyes up to meet mine. “What do you do?”

I sigh and sink onto the couch a few feet from her. Close enough to smell her perfume, but too far to touch. “I work. And when I don’t work, I play.”

“Right,” she says. “And your work is dangerous, from what I understand. So I have to guess that your version of play is probably not very wholesome, either.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“Am I?” she asks, getting out her fighting tone. What a pity—my erection was just settling down a bit. “Because from what I’ve heard, Konstantin Aminoff has his hands in all kinds of nasty, violent business.”

“People do like to talk,” I sigh.

She gets to her feet and starts pacing. I admire the way that the sun hits her slim legs. The way her tanned thighs glisten in the sun like glitter. Her black hair swings over her shoulders as she looks out over the garden, then whips back around to face me once more.

“You’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?” she asks. “Don’t answer that—it was rhetorical. Well, my son is not some pretty accessory you get to tote around until you get bored. He’s a kid. A beautiful, amazing, wonderful, thoughtful kid. And he deserves more than a ghost passing through his life just for kicks until you get bored.”

“Bored?”

“Yes, bored,” she spits. “Or frustrated, or distracted, or whatever else. What do you think parenthood is like, Kon? You think it’s fun all the time? You think it’s exciting all the time? Because I’ve got news for you: it’s gritter and more harrowing than anything you’ve been through.”

I bark out a laugh. “Little girl, you have no idea what I’ve been through.”

She keeps right on steamrolling as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s sleepless nights, and throw-up on your favorite shirt. It’s temper tantrums at three in the morning and growing pains when you least expect them. It’s midnight fevers and constant worrying. It’s putting your entire life on hold, because there’s another little person whose life is more important than yours. Do you get that, Kon? Are you even capable of getting that?”

Her chest is heaving when she finishes. “His heart is mine to keep safe. And I just… I can’t let anything jeopardize that. I won’t let anything jeopardize that. Not even you. I’ve been down that road and I know what happens in the shadows there.”

As soon as the words have left her lips, she looks around in alarm like it was someone else who said them.

“Do you still send him money every month?” I ask quietly.

“What? Who?”

“You told me that you still send your father money every month,” I remind her. “Do you still?”

She flushes. “I told you that?”

“In the same breath when you told me your mother killed herself because of him.”

She stares at me in horror as she lowers herself back on the sofa before her legs give out. “I told you all that?” Her lips tremble.

I can tell that she’s gone over this a million times in her head. I can see the scars in her heart, the lines worked into her bedroom carpet from pacing night after night and asking herself the same questions again and again.

Did my mother mean to die?

Did she mean to leave?

Does she deserve to be hated or blamed or pitied or loved?

“That must have been hard for you,” I offer quietly.

She shrugs, though it’s obvious how much of a toll it takes on her to act so nonchalant. “I had to get on with things.”

I lean forward, close enough now to touch, though I don’t allow myself to do so. Not now. Not yet.

“Listen to me, Iris: I am not going anywhere. I am not your mother. I am not your father.”

She bites her lip again, so hard I wonder if she is going to bleed. Then she looks up at me. “No,” she says hollowly. “You’re worse.”

I wait for her to explain. She needs this space to tell a story she’s never told anyone before.

“I knew my father was a mess,” she begins in a fragile whisper. “I knew my mother suffered. That she was a victim of her own fucked-up thoughts, her own fucked-up brain chemistry. I knew they were both lost causes from the time I was old enough to know anything. But you…”

I hear that catch in her voice and I know what it means. When you spend so long building walls of brick between you and the things that have hurt you in the past, you come to rely on them. And if you take those walls apart, your whole castle may come crashing down.

She’s worried that, if it does, there won’t be anyone around to put her back together.

“What about me, Iris?” I prod.

“Look at you,” she says without meeting my eye. “You’re not a mess. You’re in control. You’ve got it all. You have your whole life together. Which means that if you walk away, it won’t be because of your own personal demons. It’ll be because of us.”

I open my mouth to respond. But before I can, we hear footsteps around the corner, and a voice.

“Everything okay?”

Iris glances around to see Liza approaching the deck with Yefim by her side. Yefim shoots me an apologetic expression that tells me he couldn’t hold the agent any longer.

“Yeah. We’re leaving,” Iris says, grabbing Liza by the arm.

“What about the—” The agent looks over her shoulder at me. But when she gets no explanation, she allows herself to be pulled along.

Iris disappears through the door. It feels like ripping my heart out of my fucking chest to let her go.

But this isn’t the last time I see her. This isn’t over yet.

Not by a long shot.

“What the hell happened?” Yefim asks when they’re gone.

“What I expected to happen,” I say. “Why didn’t you distract the agent longer?”

I sit back down and Yefim takes the sofa opposite me. “Because that woman was a pain in the ass. She kinda figured that I was meant to be distracting her. I couldn’t convince her to take another lap around the garden.”

“Ran out of charm?”

“Don’t doubt me, Kon. There hasn’t been a grenade invented yet that I wouldn’t fall on for you if you asked me to.”

I grimace and slump back onto the couch. “Fair enough.”

“She’s a knockout,” Yefim says as he collapses next to me. “Makes sense now.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I was never interested in her because she’s beautiful.”

“No?”

“No. She’s beautiful, yes. But also, she was—is—fierce, independent, angry, broken, hopeful, anguished… Shit, I can’t explain it.”

“Broken, hm?” Yefim says. “Interesting.”

“Don’t analyze.”

“Why not? I’m bored.”

I roll my eyes. “You need a hobby. And a girlfriend.”

“Why?” Yefim asks. “So we can double date once you get hitched?”

Just like that, the last vestiges of my reverence for Iris disappear, replaced by cold, hard reality. “I haven’t forgotten about Anika, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“That’s the thing: I’m afraid you will forget. If you keep her around. You—”

“What about me, Yefim?” I snarl dangerously.

“You’re the don-in-waiting, Kon,” he says with a resigned sigh. “What you say and do matters. And who you knock up definitely matters. You really think Nestor’s going to like having another potential heir scampering around?”

“I didn’t plan on asking his permission.”

“Maybe you should,” Yefim says. “Millions of dollars in debt seems like it gives him the leg up here, like it or not.”

I grind my teeth together and stand up. Yefim follows suit. His worry is obvious. It’s why he makes such a good Vor, but it’s also why he’s a tremendous pain in my ass.

Lately, it’s been lots of the latter.

“Pissing off Nestor Kuzmin is not a good idea, Kon,” he finishes. “If he finds out about Max…”

“He won’t.”

“Really?” Yefim asks. “What makes you so sure? You’re playing with fire, Kon. Sooner or later, someone is gonna get burned.”

“I can handle it.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, brother,” he says sadly.

I grimace again. The day was so bright, so full with pure potential just a few short minutes ago. Now, the sun feels like a finger in my eye.

“I’m just saying that there’s a lot of ways for this shit to get messy.”

“And if it does,” I reply, “you’ll clean it up for me like you always do.”

He looks exhausted at the mere thought. “I need a raise.”

I give him a friendly punch on the arm. “Not a chance. Speaking of which, I have a job for you to do.”

“If it’s illegal, I’m in.”

I chuckle. “It’s not illegal. Not really. But it is dangerous.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued.”

“I need you to gather intel for me.”

“About?”

“My father,” I say.

Yefim’s face drops immediately. “Oh, come the fuck on.”

I clap him on the back. “Don’t be a pussy. I need to know the full extent of his debt. What the transactions were, what deals he made. I need to see the numbers on the ledgers.”

“You see the ledgers all the damn time.”

“Clearly, I’m being given cooked-up files. Documents that tell me only half the picture. He doesn’t want me to know about the debt. He’s probably scared shitless I’ll back out of the marriage.”

“Which you’re not going to do… right?” Yefim asks cautiously.

“We’ll see.”

“Jesus, Kon—”

“Maybe I wasn’t being clear,” I growl. “This was not a question. It was an order.”

Yefim stiffens up at once. He despises being yelled at, but he knows the hierarchy. He knows how things must be. He nods crisply like a soldier. “Understood.”

“Now, go get to it.”

“Where are you going?”

“To have a frank conversation with my father.”

17

IRIS

“What the hell was that about?” Liza hisses at me the moment we’re in her cramped little car.

“Can you just drive?”

“Not until you answer my questions.”

“Then can I drive?”

“Iris!”

I bite my tongue and wait until she puts her seatbelt on, slips on her shades, and starts the ignition in a huff. The whole time, my right leg keeps jumping up and down without my control or permission.

“Can you just please get us out of here?” I beg at last.

She throws me a curious look and finally turns the car around and drives down the sloping hill towards the black sliding gates.

“Keep your panties on, we’re almost out,” Liza mutters.

The moment the gates close behind us, I take a deep breath. It’s entirely superficial—as if a flimsy pair of gates could keep Kon from getting what he wants—but it makes me feel better. I run my hands through my hair and try to process.

“Okay, now that we’re in the clear, can you tell me what the fuck that was about?”

I shake my head. “I’d really rather not.”

“Would you like me to call the client and ask?” Liza asks.

I glare at her. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m an agent, honey,” she says dryly. “I’m capable of anything.”

“He wasn’t a real client, Liza,” I say. “He wasn’t actually asking about Her Voice. But I told him I couldn’t help him and he became… difficult.”

I know I’m bending the truth a lot here, but I really don’t want to have this conversation with Liza. There’s too much to divulge. Too many years of history to dig through.

She gives me a sweet smile. “Pot, kettle, black.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“It means you’re the only model I’ve ever signed who’s been more difficult than the clients who book you.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s not. Maybe a little innocent exaggeration at worst.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘innocent’ exaggeration. It’s either true or it’s not. In this case, not.”

“See?” she says, jabbing a manicured nail at me. “This is what I mean. You’re too black and white, Iris. Everything’s cut-and-dry with you.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because the world is not black and white. The more you try to make it that way, the more disappointed you’re going to be.”

I frown. “Is that how you see me? Just a bitter spinster with impossible expectations?”

“I mean, we’ve only ever worked together professionally, but as far as I can tell, you don’t seem to have very many friends.”

“I don’t have time for friends. I have a son to raise.”

“And if you raise him right, then one day, he’ll grow up and leave,” she says shortly. “And then what will you be left with? An empty house, a middling career, and no friends? Who wants that?”

“Maybe I do.”

She offers me a disbelieving glare over the top of her sunglasses. “I know you’ve got this whole ‘Miss Independent’ thing going on, Iris. But you can’t convince me you truly want that. Nobody—no matter how self-sufficient—nobody wants to be alone.”

I suppress a sigh. She’s right; I know that. I just don’t want to admit it.

“Anyway,” she continues, “from where I was standing, it looked like you were the one who was pissed. He was calm and cool as a glacier.”

I crinkle up my nose in annoyance. “He always is.”

“He always is?” Liza asks. “I knew you two had history.”

I curse myself internally for being so careless. “It’s… not what you think.”

“Like hell it is. You’ve—”

“Nope, no, no way. Stop it,” I lie straight out. “Can you drop me off at Wilshire and Westwood? I can walk to Max’s school from there. I need to burn some energy.”

Liza lets loose a long-suffering sigh. “Sure thing, hon.”

“Thanks.”

I’m hoping the silence will last, but of course ten seconds later, Liza breaks it. “Seriously, what’s the deal with you and Prince Charming?”

“You know what? You can just drop me off the side of the road here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Liza ignores me with a roll of her eyes and keeps driving. “If you haven’t already slept with him, you’ve thought about it. Is that why you’re getting so defensive?”

“No.”

“‘No,’ she said defensively,’” Liza laughs. “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What day?”

“The day you really felt something for another human being. A man, no less. An attractive man!”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ve felt stuff for other men before.”

“Name one.”

“Jake.”

She starts guffawing, way-over-the-top laughter, until there are tears in her eyes and I’m starting to doubt her ability to keep the car going straight down the road. “Oh, oh jeez…” she wheezes through more giggles. “Goodness gracious…”

“Weren’t you the one telling me to get back together with him?” I scowl.

“For your career, yeah. Not for your actual, like, romantic inclinations.”

“That’s despicable.”

“It’s the way of the world.”

“Not my world.”

Liza sighs, and I can tell she’s both amused and frustrated with me. “You know what, Iris? I tease, but I admire you. Of all the people I’ve met in this city, you are the only one who refuses to put a price on your dignity. But it’s costing you more than you realize. You refuse to grab opportunity when it’s right there for the taking. No pun intended.”

“Not when it means sacrificing a piece of my soul.”

“So long as it’s just a piece… why not?”

I shake my head and brood in silence for a few stoplights. “I did have feelings for Jake,” I say eventually. “I wasn’t just using him.”

“I didn’t say that at all. I just think you convinced yourself you loved him,” Liza explains. “Like I said, no one wants to be alone.”

She pulls off into a grocery store parking lot to let me out, but she doesn’t immediately unlock the doors. Instead, she twists in her seat to look at me with an almost maternal concern.

“How much do you know about this Aminoff guy?” she asks. “Like, actual information?”

“Next to nothing, if I’m being honest.”

“Want me to do a little digging for you?”

I’m touched that she would even offer. Maybe that’s the whole reason I nod. “Okay.”

She gives me a wink. “I’m on it like white on rice.”

I laugh tiredly. “Thanks, Liza. And thanks for the ride.” I get out of the car and wave her off. Then I start walking in the direction of Max’s school.

Right now, I just want to hold my son.

* * *

I get to the school with about twenty minutes to spare until dismissal, so I secure a shady spot under a tree outside the school gates and sit in the grass to find my Zen for a bit.

Slowly, other moms start arriving to pick their kids up. I say moms, but most of the women are actually nannies imported from abroad for cheap. Such is life in Hollywood, I guess. There’s nothing that can’t be outsourced on the cheap.

There are a few dads in the mix as well. I learned early on to keep a wide berth from them.

One not-so-subtle guy does a full double-take when he sees me sitting by the wall. He gives me a smile that’s too wide and a cheery little Joey-from-Friends-esque flirtatious nod that makes me want to curl up into a ball and disappear.

I don’t smile back. I just look away and pretend to be interested in my cuticles.

As pickup time approaches, more parents trickle around me to wait for their kiddos. Bits of conversation float past my ears.

“… Caleb’s doing well… Math can be tricky sometimes, but he loves his study dates with Connor…”

“… How about this Sunday for brunch? We can walk by the farmer’s market. The kids always enjoy that…”

“… Teagan’s birthday party is coming up. She’s so excited to have her friends over. We’re doing a carnival theme…”

Full lives—that’s what I hear. Friends and families and parties and gifts. Lives that aren’t lonely or desperate, lives that aren’t drenched in fear.

In other words, lives that are nothing like mine.

I think about what Kon said when I told him I did it all on my own. That was a choice. It pissed me off at first, to be honest. When you work so hard to build a happy home for your child, it’s easy to resent anyone who tells you there was an easier way to do things.

But it’s hard to watch kids come running up to embrace their parents—both of their parents, plural—and not wonder if I made everything harder for Max and me.

I could’ve said yes. I could’ve taken his hand. I could’ve stayed.

But I didn’t.

If that costs me something, then fine, I’ll pay the price. But my son shouldn’t have to. And I shouldn’t get to make that decision for him.

The bell dings and a flood of children bursts from the doors of the school, with barking teachers flocking them on all sides to direct the traffic in the right direction.

Max appears towards the end of the deluge. I’m relieved to see that he’s not alone. He walks down the stairs with his friend, a cute little boy with an Afro named Samson.

Max and Samson say goodbye at the foot of the stairs, fist bump like they’re ten years older than they really are, and part ways. Samson runs off towards a tall woman with the most wonderful white weave I’ve seen in a while, and Max comes running up to me.

“Hiya, Mom!”

“Hey there, kiddo,” I say, sweeping him up into a hug. “How was school?”

“Cool. We did some science experiments.”

“Nice. I wanna hear all about it. Spaghetti for dinner?”

“Yeah!” he says. “With the garlic toast?”

“Duh,” I laugh, ruffling his hair. I take his hand and we start the walk home.

“Mom?” Max asks.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is Kon coming to dinner?”

I groan inwardly. Little kids always know just which scabs to pick at, it seems. “I don’t think so, hon.”

“Well, when’s he coming back?”

“I don’t know, dear,” I reply. “He didn’t say.”

“He was really cool.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. His tattoos were really cool. I want one.”

“You have one, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “This is a fake one. It’s for little kids.”

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you are a little kid.”

He drops my hand, flexes both biceps like a bodybuilder, and roars, “No, I’m a man now!”

I have to stifle my laughter. “A man, huh?”

“Yeah. Big time.”

“Guess that means you’ll be moving out soon,” I say sadly.

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve decided I’m always going to live with you.”

“Yeah?” I ask happily.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I have to. Who else do you have?”

The smile dries up at once on my face. Has it gotten so bad that I’ve given my nine-year-old the burden of worrying about me?

“Max, sweetheart, I appreciate that, but I have people.”

“Like who?”

“Like… people.”

He smiles. “Okay, Mom.”

Oh God, now the nine-year-old is humoring me. Rock bottom feels especially rough today.

“Hey, what do you think about having Samson over one day?” I muse. “For a playdate, you know?”

“Sam’s parents don’t trust babysitters. His dad says they’re unreliable.”

I grimace. “Well, I’ll be there,” I say.

“But how? You’re always working.”

He doesn’t say it with any resentment at all, and somehow, that makes it worse. “Tell you what: pick a day and I will clear my schedule for you boys. How’s that?”

Max looks interested. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.” He bites his lip for a second—a gesture so like my own that it takes my breath away—then glances up at me and adds, “Maybe Kon will come over, too?”

I frown. “Why would you want that?”

“Because Kon is the coolest person I’ve ever met. Sam really wants to meet him. So can you call him?”

I think about the business card that’s still lying expectantly in my purse. Ten simple digits. A few thumbstrokes and I could hear his voice. I could change the course of our lives, all of our lives.

“No, honey,” I lie to my son. “I can’t.”

18

KON

I kick the door open. The two men in Stepan’s room jerk in my direction, their hands flitting automatically to their holsters. My father’s expression sours as soon as he sees me.

“Val, Romer,” I say, nodding to the two seasoned Vors who’ve been in my father’s service for almost two decades. They’re deferential and respectful, as they ought to be, but I’ve always considered them his men, not mine. “I need a word with my father. Get out.”

“I dismiss them, Konstantin,” Stepan says angrily. “Not you.”

I move forward and plant myself in the middle of their little triangle. “This is not the day, old man.”

My father’s eyes go wide. “Val, Romer,” he growls. “Leave us.”

Both men glance sideways at me as they leave. But they know better than to ask questions.

When the door closes and we’re alone, I drop into my father’s seat and put my feet up on his desk. It’s more than a challenge—it’s an insult.

I wait for what I know is coming: fury, spittle, vitriol.

But instead, he pales.

“You know,” he whispers.

I nod. “Why did I have to hear about it from Nestor?”

“I didn’t think he would—”

“Bull-fucking-shit,” I snarl. “You were a coward. You should’ve told me yourself.”

Stepan doesn’t dispute that. He folds his hands in front of him like a schoolboy sent to the principal’s office.

“How much debt?” I press. “Nestor played coy.”

“The accounts—”

“Were beefed up for my benefit,” I interrupt. “And I was foolish enough to trust your word. How long has that been going on? And I’d think very carefully before you lie to me.”

He’s silent for a long time. “I am still don, Konstantin,” he says at last.

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

I nod as I withdraw my feet from his desk and hunch forward so I can fix him with the full power of my stare.

“You’re done,” I snarl. “I’m the don of the Aminoff Bratva now. This evening, you’re going to gather your men and make the announcement. You’re retiring early. You’re passing the crown. Effective immediately.”

He shakes his head in dismay. As if that will change a damn thing. “You think that will get you out of this wedding?” he asks. “A marriage alliance with the Kuzmins—”

“Is no longer your problem,” I finish.

He eyes me warily. The ambition still burns in him, but his body is too weak to sustain the fire for much longer. It must be hell, to be a young warrior’s spirit trapped in a dying old man’s body.

“It won’t change anything,” Stepan says softly.

“Like I said, not your concern anymore.”

“What explanation will I give?” he asks.

“You’re old and ailing. You don’t have the drive or the will to continue running the Bratva in the same capacity as you once did. You want to retire and enjoy some peace and quiet. Maybe you’ll pick up golfing. I don’t give a shit.”

Stepan grimaces. “Nestor will see through that. He knows me.”

“Then he’ll know that I forced your hand,” I say. “And he’ll respect me more for it. You really think he’d want his daughter marrying a weak man?”

“Like the kind you’re trying to make me out to be?”

I laugh in his face. “Worried about your reputation, Otets?”

He doesn’t say anything, but it’s as good a confirmation as any. Plus, I’m not done yet. “And what happens when everyone finds out that you’ve buried this Bratva in reckless debt? What then?”

“How will they find out?” Stepan asks. “The debt was to be forgiven immediately the moment that you married Anika. No one would have found out. Clean slate.”

He knows as well as I do that this was a fool’s plan. But he convinced himself otherwise. Now that it’s gone up in smoke, though, he’s forced to stare into the flames and realize the extent of what he’s done.

“You offered me up like a sacrificial lamb to salvage your own pride,” I rasp. “But I won’t be used like that. Not now. Not ever.”

“I was bold—”

“You were stupid,” I cut in contemptuously. “You were blind.”

His breath rattles in his caved-in chest. “Being don won’t make you infallible, Konstantin,” he mumbles. “You may yet learn that one day. To your detriment.”

“I know what I’m capable of.”

“I thought that, too, once upon a time. It’s only the pride of youth.”

“Gather the men,” I tell him as I get back up on my feet. “Make the announcement. You can be the one to call Nestor and tell him, as well.”

My father eyes me cautiously. He knows I’m serious, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will do whatever needs to be done, old man. You taught me that.”

He takes a deep breath and his shoulders slacken with defeat. “Very well. I will handle it.”

“Good.” I turn and leave him. I’ve broken his spirit enough for one day.

But as I near the door, I hear his voice. It sounds shattered, limping. A mustang with no life left in its legs.

“Konstantin?”

I turn around slowly, fists clenched tight at my side. “This is the last time I will tell you, Otets: my name is Kon.”

He gulps and nods. “Kon,” he says, for perhaps the first time in his life. It feels like a bigger victory than the passing of the mantle. “You have to be here if I’m making the announcement.”

“No, I don’t,” I say. “I’m the don now. I’ll be wherever the fuck I want.”

“The men will need—”

“The men need a don who will keep the Bratva alive, even if it means sacrificing his own needs to do it,” I growl. “So while you make the announcement, I will be at the Kuzmin estate, making amends with my future bride.”

Then the conversation has truly reached its end. I turn and stride away. If he says anything else as I go, I don’t hear it. I don’t care, either.

It’s no longer his turn to speak.

It’s mine.

* * *

It doesn’t take me long to get to the Kuzmin estate. When I do, I’m ushered in by the same austere Russian butler who’d shown Yefim and me in the last time we were here.

His expression is fraught with concern as we retrace our steps to Nestor’s iron door.

Tonight, two armed guards are posted just outside. Neither one of them looks my way as they grab the doors and pull them open.

The office is as grim as I remember. Bone white and midnight black everywhere. Cold, too. Cold as the grave.

But there’s no sign of the girl.

The curtains are open today, just a sliver. I go over to the windows and check the view. It looks out over the west side of the garden. I see a swimming pool, a tennis court, miles of ornately trimmed hedges. The California sun burns over the distant horizon.

As I give the room a second once-over, I hear the door creak open again. I turn just in time to see her walk through.

She’s made an effort for this meeting. Her blonde hair has been styled in subtle waves. Her face is a smooth plane of foundation, cut through with dark slashes of eyeliner. She’s wearing a white dress with a low scooped neckline that serves up a glimpse of her cleavage. The dress is cinched in at the waist by a black sash.

Lesser men go to war for women like this.

And yet I feel… nothing. Not even the slightest flicker of attraction. Not even the faintest twinge of desire.

“Hello,” she purrs. “I was told you were coming by.”

“Anika,” I say coolly. “You look different than the last time we saw each other.”

“The last time you saw me, I was twelve.”

I smile politely. She answers with a demure blush, then sinks gracefully onto the high-backed sofa, her eyes never leaving mine.

“I owe you an apology,” I say stiffly. Words I’ve never spoken before and never intend to speak again. “I missed our dinner. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re a busy man.” She shrugs. “Besides, I like to think of it as you standing my father up, not me.”

I offer something between a grimace and a smile. She just laughs, soft and musical. But it’s such a polished sound that I can’t quite believe in it. Her posture, her speech—all of it says that she thinks of every move her body is making before she makes it. There is no “person” in there—just a beautiful exterior with a hollow core.

“You know, I remember seeing you the first time,” she confesses. “You looked like something out of a movie.”

I raise my eyebrows and she blushes again. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks quickly to paper over the awkwardness.

“Whiskey.”

Anika nods and gets to her feet. Again, it’s flawlessly executed. I wonder what she does when no one is looking. How she breaks, how she speaks. If she has thoughts of her own, or if she is nothing more than priceless decor for whatever room she’s shoved into.

She glides to the bar in the corner of the office, pours whiskey into a tumbler, and glides right back.

“Thank you,” I say as she hands me the glass. “Nothing for you?”

“Papa wouldn’t like that.”

“Our little secret, then.”

I hold out the whiskey to her. Her hand strays from her lap just a bit, but then it falls right back in place.

“Afraid of what Daddy will say?” I ask.

“I… I just don’t want to upset him,” she admits sheepishly. “Just like I don’t want to upset you.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” I tell her. I hold her gaze with force. “Nothing. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

She looks shocked as the truth of what I’m really saying sinks in. Her eyes are wide and blue. In another life, I might’ve found them enthralling. In this life, all I can think of is another pair of emerald green irises, as jagged and pure as untouched forest.

“This was always going to be my fate,” she whispers, to herself as much as me. “I accepted it a long time ago.”

“You don’t have to. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“But I do,” she says, a little breathlessly, as though she’s scared I’ll get the wrong impression. She flushes with embarrassment and looks at me through her eyelashes. “I mean, when Papa told me about the… the arrangement… I was happy.”

She turns bright pink. “I guess I just never dreamed I would have a husband… like you.”

The girl can barely look at me without giving herself away. She’s infatuated. For ten years, she’s been dreaming of this day.

But her dream has no relationship to reality. She wants something I can’t give her. Something I won’t give her.

“Whatever idealized version of me you have in your head, you’re going to be disappointed, Anika.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you’re more naïve than you look.”

She flinches, but otherwise stays still. She looks like she’d take harsh words and hard slaps without a single ounce of retaliation. It makes me sick to see someone so cowed by their world from the moment they were born. She’s been broken and molded and broken and molded again. She never had a fucking chance.

And now, I see something else: neither did I.

19

IRIS

“Jake—”

“Please, Iris,” he begs. His voice crackles in and out. “I need to see you. I need to speak to you.”

“Jake, I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not. I checked with Liza. She said you’ve got nothing booked today and Max is in school. So there’s no reason why you can’t meet me.”

“You called—you know what, never mind. I just don’t want to.”

He sighs. “It’s true what they say: the prettier the woman, the crueler she is.”

“Cut it out with the melodramatics, okay? I just don’t want to talk to you. It’s not the end of the world.”

“We need to talk, Iris. For closure’s sake.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My temples are throbbing with a headache already, and we’ve barely been on the phone for two minutes. I should’ve known better than to answer his call. I got all the closure I needed when I closed the door in his face. Apparently, he didn’t agree.

But if giving him that gets him out of my life, then fine. That’s a price I’m willing to pay.

“Okay. Fine.”

“Okay? As in yes?”

“Yes, we can talk.”

“Great!” he says at once. “I’m at The Black X Studio. I’ll tell security you’re coming.”

“You want me to come to—”

“I’ll send a car for you.”

“No, Jake, wait—”

“I insist. My guy will be there in fifteen. Gotta go. See you soon.”

I hang up, letting the phone clatter to the tabletop and my head fall into my hands. I can see the faint trace of purple marker on the baseboards in a dusty corner behind the couch. I’d come home one day to find a six-year-old Max coloring all over the walls, with the latest in a never-ending train of bad, pre-Rinna babysitters snoozing obliviously in the armchair.

I’d done the Good Mom thing—showed him what he did and explained why it was wrong, made him help me clean it up, told him I wasn’t mad at him, just to make better choices next time. I’d sent the babysitter packing for good and tucked my son into bed.

Then I’d come back and sat on the floor in the middle of the living room and made myself a promise. I promised that one day, I’d make enough money to buy a house of my own. In that house, I’d have a special room just for Max to paint on the walls to his heart’s content.

Three years later and we’re not any closer to that happening.

With that depressing thought out of the way, I change into high-waisted pants and a white crop top. I weave a quick, messy braid and sling it over my shoulder. By the time I’m ready, there’s the honk of a car out front.

The driver gives me a polite smile as I approach and get into the back seat. As soon as I’m buckled, we take off.

The Black X Studio is a motley collection of mismatched warehouses decorated with old school memorabilia, couches that smell like weed, and enough hangers-on and groupies to staff an army. The driver drops me off outside Warehouse Five. One of Jake’s assistants, a perky little blonde named Hannah, spots me coming in and veers right for me.

“Hey, babe,” she says as she gives me a hug I don’t really want. “Long time!”

“I know. Really long.”

“So glad that you and Jake are seeing each other again.”

I frown. “We’re not.”

“Oh,” she says, looking immediately awkward. “I just assumed that—well, because you’re here…”

“We’re not,” I say firmly. “Definitely not.”

“Right.” She fidgets in place.

“Is he around?” I ask.

“In here,” she says, grateful for the change of subject. “I’ll take you to him.”

“Thanks.”

She walks me to his booth in silence, but when we get there, the room’s empty. “Um… I don't know where he went,” she says, looking confused. “I swear I saw him retreat back here a few minutes ago.”

It’s so typical of Jake to drag me down here only to flake out on me at the last minute. Narcissists gonna do what narcissists are gonna do, I guess. It’s true, even if it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Hang tight right here,” she says. “I’ll go hunt him down.”

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” I say. “Then I’m outta here.”

All I want to do is bury myself under the covers and not come out for a month. Life doesn’t seem to want to let me do that, though.

Hannah whisks out of the room. I turn and study the wall filled with hundreds upon hundreds of signed electric guitars. They reach all the way up to the ceiling, row after row, a glistening tapestry of red and black.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous.”

My skin crawls the moment I hear that voice. I turn to find myself face-to-face with the second-to-last person on the planet I want to talk to.

Atelier Sorbonne.

His name is as fake as the rest of him. Fake pursed lips, fake sculpted cheekbones, fake hair and fake tan and fake, oozing voice. He’s got gold bangles on each wrist and a floral printed shirt with way too many buttons undone, tucked into flawless white jeans.

“Atelier,” I say, cringing away from him. “What are you doing here?”

Atelier just goads me with that sickly sweet smile of his. “You look delicious,” he says, eyeing me up and down.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to walk away.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he tuts, stepping right in front of me. “You can’t run and hide this time.”

“What do you want from me?” I demand. I’m mad and scared and every sense is on high alert.

“You know exactly what I want from you, sweetheart. It was a simple request.”

“Well, my answer hasn’t changed.”

“There is so much I could do for you, love,” he says. He reaches out to stroke my cheek with his knuckles, but I cringe away from his touch. “Help me help you.”

“I’m not for sale.”

“At the end of the day, everyone’s for sale.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’ve lived in this city too long, Atelier. You’ve forgotten when to quit.”

He smiles again. There’s some slimy quality to it I can’t put my finger on. Something about him that seems to melt around the edges and refuse to be bottled up out of sight where he belongs.

“How much did you donate to ‘Her Voice’ to get me kicked out?” I ask suddenly.

He grins. “Like I said, everyone and everything is for sale. It wasn’t so expensive. Half a million and you were mine.”

I swallow hard. To be honest, I didn’t begrudge the organization their choice. Half a million could help a lot of women in need. If they had to hurt one woman in need in order to do that, so be it.

“I knew how passionate you always were about women’s rights,” I drawl. “Like my right to suck your dick, for example. You seemed really keen on making sure that one was upheld.”

His grin falters for a moment before he regains control of it. “I offered you something and you refused it.”

“And so then you tried to blackball me. How noble of you, Atelier.”

He shrugs. “I was nice enough to leave you crumbs so you could feed your little brat. But that’s just the good Samaritan in me.”

“You are nuts,” I spit before swirling around and trying to put as much distance between us as I can.

But he just follows along, bobbing at my side, carefree and consequence-free, just like always. “Just give me one chance, beautiful,” he coaxes. “Once I’ve fucked the life out of you, you’ll wonder why you were fighting me all this time.”

“Leave me alone, Atelier,” I warn him.

He smiles, but I can see the twist of anger in his features. “Suit yourself. But I’m telling you now, I won’t be so nice next time.”

He turns and floats away, but I can’t find it in myself to be relieved. Just disgusted.

I march for the door just as Hannah appears on the threshold. “Oh, I found her,” she calls over her shoulder. “Here she is!”

“Don’t bother,” I spit. “I’m leaving.”

At least, that was the plan. Then Jake swoops in. He rushes forward to grab both my hands, not even noticing the sickened expression on my face.

“Hey, beautiful,” he croons. “Thanks for coming.”

“Why is Sorbonne here?” I demand.

He stops short and frowns like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Who? Oh, Atty. He’s styling the shoot, babe.”

I rip my hands out from his. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot… forgot what?” He looks back over his shoulder at Hannah, who’s standing there watching this exchange like she’s watching TMZ.

“Hannah, could you give us a moment?” I say sweetly.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

She slips away and closes the door behind her. Jake turns back to me and tries to take my hand again. “Baby, I don’t want you to be mad—”

I pull away from him yet again. “Don’t call me baby. And don’t touch me.”

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you!” he cries out, as though I’m being the unreasonable one. “Give me ten minutes in the dressing room. We’ll just talk through all this, and then if we have some time left over…”

“God!” I spit as I slap his hands away. “What did I just say?”

“I don’t get why you’re so upset,” he says, sounding genuinely confused. “I mean, this whole reconciliation was Atty’s idea! We were talking and I told him that I missed you and I fucked things up royally with you and he was totally cool. Like, the coolest. He told me to call you up and try and get you down here so we could mend fences and get back to our life together.”

I shake my head. I’m an idiot. I’m such an idiot, and every time I think I’ve reached the end of my rope of stupid, I find that there’s a few more feet left to go.

Just enough to hang myself with.

“… He was right,” Jake is still saying. “He is right. You’re worth fighting for, Iris.”

I take a deep breath to calm my thumping heart. “Jake, I’m leaving. Please don’t call me again.”

“Iris!”

He runs out after me and calls my name, but I don’t stop. I don’t even turn around. I’m done wasting time on men who don’t give a shit about me. I’m done spending energy on the men who can’t even bother to remember my pain if it comes at an inconvenient time for them.

I storm out of the studio and catch sight of Sorbonne across the lot. He’s standing outside, chatting up one of the models, who’s looking at him with Bambi eyes if Bambi was a sex worker. His crew twitters around him, ignoring the way his hands flit where they shouldn’t, the way his eyes roam where they aren’t supposed to.

He glances up and sees me observing. I don’t have to be close with him to understand: I’m done with him, yes…

But something says he’s not done with me.

20

KON

You’re playing with fire.

Yefim’s words keep flashing across my mind at the most inopportune moments. Like right now, while I’m parked outside Max’s school, waiting for an opportunity to catch another glimpse of my son.

It’s the most absurd stakeout of my entire life. Yefim had texted me with the details I’d asked for, and when I saw the name and location, I’d just driven straight here. Now, I’m camped out outside of an elementary school like a fucking pervert.

I have a hundred other tasks to complete. A Bratva to run, weapons and drugs to move, enemies to annihilate.

But Max is the priority right now.

The Bratva can wait.

Yefim calls as I get out of the car and walk around the perimeter of the school. I ignore my vibrating phone and keep walking until I hit a high fence around the back.

It looks like recess. Kids playing in the garden, dangling from jungle gyms, throwing balls around. It’s a chaotic landscape of screams and laughs and the intermittent shouts of scolding teachers.

I finally find Max in among the crowd. He’s tall for his age, but he stays away from the big cliques of other boys. It’s just him and another boy, quietly eating sandwiches in a shady corner away from the rest of the madness.

It’s still strange to see him. Like catching my own reflection from an angle I’ve never noticed before. It’s me but not me. It’s Iris but not Iris. It’s both of us, all jumbled up and melted together and set into a new mold.

I notice Max jerk upright suddenly. He’s spotted something he doesn’t like. His friend frowns and looks around in bewilderment. He asks Max for an explanation, but Max is already off, jogging towards the middle of the playground.

That’s when I realize there’s a kid wading through the sandbox looking for something, while a bunch of older kids laugh and jeer.

They’re clearly the oldest kids on the grounds. Max is several years younger, but he stands almost as tall when he strides right up to the ringleader of the bullies.

I move a little closer, my breath held captive in my chest.

“Leave him alone,” Max says with authority.

“You stay out of this, little shit,” the ringleader hisses.

Max doesn’t look around for a teacher. He maintains eye contact with the bully and takes another proud step forward.

“I’m serious,” Max says.

He doesn’t look angry. Just determined. He’s got the expression of a man who will not stand for injustice.

“Oh, you’re serious?” the older kid taunts. “Why don’t you go stick your head in the toilet before I do it for you?”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“Well, you should be.”

Max’s friend hovers in the background. Not brave enough to join, not scared enough to run. Max’s fists are tight little balls at his side. But they don’t shake—not even a little bit.

If seeing my son relaxed was strange, seeing him at war is even stranger. I recognize that gleam in his eye, that pride in his posture.

It’s the exact same as my own.

This feeling in my chest, though? I don’t recognize that at all. It’s tight and unrelenting, it’s hot and fierce, it’s bloodthirsty. I want to leap over this fence and rip this arrogant son of a bitch limb from limb for daring to threaten my son.

But the only way you can learn to fight your own battles is to fight them. So I stand where I am, even though it kills me to do so.

The ringleader’s features furrow with uncertainty. This is not the situation he anticipated. The gangly little fuck is used to being met with fear.

In the absence of others’ fear, all he has is his own.

“I…”

“What’s wrong?” Max presses. “Not as funny when it’s someone your size, is it?”

The two face off for another intense few moments. Then the ringleader shrugs. “Man, this is boring now,” he says to his idiot cronies. “Let’s go.”

Max’s friend runs up to him as soon as they’re gone, relief coloring his features.

“What were you thinking, Max? Craig punched Tommy Henderson in the face last week! He could’ve done that to you, too!”

Max just shrugs. There’s no air of smugness about him at all. He just turns to the sandbox and wades in with the other kid to help find the missing object.

As it turns out, it’s a pair of glasses. Max finds them, dusts them off, and hands them back with a soft smile. Just then, the bell sounds out and all the kids filter in towards the school.

I turn and drift back to my car. That tight heat in my chest hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s intensified.

When I’m back in the driver’s seat, I turn on the engine, but I don’t tear off like I’d planned to. I keep my parking spot and stare at the school’s façade.

For some reason, I can’t bring myself to leave.

I keep going back to that moment in the room of Hotel Carnegie. That time-standing-still moment when Iris had turned back to look at me as she stood in the threshold of my door.

The moment that everything hinged on. The moment where we stood at a crossroads, two paths in front of us.

And I chose wrong.

I should have stopped her from leaving. It’s what I wanted to do. Hell, it’s probably what I would have done had it not been for the threat of my impending marriage. A day that is ironically upon me now.

I spend two more hours sitting in my car, pondering life’s mysteries. When Yefim calls again, I hit ignore and put my phone on silent. Then I slide down in my seat and watch as parents start to gather at the entrance. I try to ignore how every tall woman with black hair makes my heart quicken, until she inevitably turns and reveals that she’s not Iris, just another mom, another nobody.

After the third false start, I growl and open up my glove compartment to retrieve a file from there. I’ve looked at it a dozen times already, but I want to see it again now.

It’s a bank statement. The name printed at the top is “Iris Keller.” Most of it is mundane—gas, electricity, cell phones, rent. Paychecks come in intermittently. Things are tight, that’s for certain.

What intrigues me the most is the recurring transfer. Every month, she sends the exact same amount to an account in the Midwest. It’s not a huge amount, almost enough to gloss right over, but it’s still money that she could use. For herself, for my son.

Something catches my eye out past the window. As soon as I see who it is, my cock jumps to half-mast.

She’s wearing a dress. Gray linen with thin straps and a hemline that swishes a few inches above her knees. White sneakers, no jewelry, the same satchel I’ve seen lying on the sofa in her home.

It looks wrong to see her like this, in a place so ordinary and banal. She’s too vibrant to be here, even when that’s the exact opposite of what she’s trying to be. She just can’t help it—she glows.

There’s a moment when I think she’s spotted me, but then she turns the corner at the school entrance and sits herself down beneath a tree with her back against a brick wall. It’s a practiced routine. She’s done this before, many times.

I notice some of the other parents sneaking glances at her. I idly contemplate wringing the throat of one dad who won’t stop gawking.

Iris notices none of it. She just tinkers on her phone until the bell sounds and the kids are released onto their already-weary parents.

Max comes bounding down the stairs, still side-by-side with his buddy from the playground. They say goodbye to each other and then Max runs up to Iris, who gives him an affectionate half-hug. She keeps her arm wrapped around his shoulders as they start walking away from the school.

They walk right past me. I crack the tinted window so I can catch a snippet of conversation.

“… School was good,” Max is saying. “We learned about Native Americans in Social Studies today. Did you know they used to hunt buffalo? Can I try that?”

“Keep scarfing down Cheez-Its like you’re doing and you’re gonna turn into a buffalo before long, buddy.”

He cackles and pushes her playfully. I roll the window down the rest of the way.

Max sees me first. His entire face lights up instantly. “Hey!” he exclaims. “Kon.”

Iris comes to a stop and the color drains from her cheeks . She looks pissed as hell, but I’m long past the point of caring.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say casually.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Iris stammers.

“I was in the neighborhood. Happened to cross paths. Need a lift home?”

“No!” she says, at the same time that Max says, “Yes, please!”

I pop the locks open. “Great. Get in.”

“Max,” Iris says, in a cautious voice. “We can’t impose.”

“My afternoon is wide open. Nothing for you to impose on.” As if to remind me of the lie, my phone lights up once more in the cupholder. Yefim again. And again, I ignore it.

Iris glares at me over Max’s head. “Fine.”

Max hops in the back, so Iris is forced to get into the passenger’s seat. She fastens her seatbelt stiffly, looking like she’s struggling hard to keep calm.

I glance in the mirror at Max. “Had a good day?”

He shrugs. “Same as usual.” He leans forward from the back seat. “Kon, can you show me your tattoos again when we get home?”

Iris intercedes at once. “Honey, I’m sure Kon has places to be. He’ll drop us off and then—”

“I’d be happy to.”

She clamps her mouth shut, but I hear the crunch of her teeth grinding together in frustration.

Max seems oblivious to the tension in the front of the car. He’s looking intently at my arms. I’m wearing a t-shirt that covers the top half of my arms, but there’s a tattoo peeking out of the sleeve.

“What is that? A sea monster?”

“A hydra.”

“What’s a hydra?”

“It’s a mythical water snake,” I explain. “With a bunch of heads. Like in the story of Hercules. I got it when I was sixteen.”

He turns to Iris instantly, eyes bright, but before he can even open his mouth, she speaks. “You are not getting a tattoo at sixteen.”

“But he did!”

“He’s not my son,” she snaps. “You are.”

Max sighs with disappointment before turning his attention back to me. “Did your parents get mad at you for getting a tattoo?”

The truth is that the only parent who was around to care didn’t give a flying fuck.

“No,” I answer coolly. “My dad didn’t mind.”

“He sounds cool.”

“He’s certainly something.”

Max grabs his mom’s arm. “Mom, can Kon stay and have lunch with us?”

“I’m sure he has better places to be, sweetheart.”

“Do you have better places to be, Kon?” Max asks.

I glance at my phone, knowing that I have at least ten missed calls on there. “Nope.”

“Awesome!” Max chirps.

We pull up to their house. But as we do, I frown.

There’s a scrawny man out front, knocking impatiently on the door.

“Shit,” Iris moans.

“Mom!”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

Iris’s expression falls flat. “My landlord.”

21

IRIS

My heart feels like it’s dropped right into my stomach.

Morley being here is Bad News Bears. He never shows up announced. If he needs something, he emails, and vice versa. Needless to say, his timing to shake things up couldn’t be worse.

The whole way over here, I’d be scheming ways to get Max inside before telling Kon to leave us alone. But Kon is the least of my problems now. I bounce out of the car as soon as Kon slows down enough and rush over to the doorstep.

“Morley, what are you doing here?”

“Lookin’ good, Iris,” he purrs.

I cringe. To call him “not quite a looker” might be the understatement of the year. He’s short and greasy, with hair that’s way too long and clothes that are way too tight.

“And the little man here has grown a foot, it seems,” Morley chuckles. He offers Max a low-five, which he returns reluctantly. Even my son is put off by the man’s slimy vibes.

Then Morley’s eyes flick up to Kon, who’s slowly emerging from the vehicle, one massive limb at a time.

“Morley,” I repeat sharply, drawing his attention. “Why are you here?”

“I have something I need to tell you. It’s, uh… kinda sensitive.”

I close my eyes and exhale to regain control over myself. I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but I don’t like it. Not one bit.

“Why don’t the two of you go inside?” I suggest to Kon and Max through gritted teeth. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Max shrugs and takes off into the house. Kon drifts slowly behind him, scrutinizing us both on his way in.

I shut the door on him and turn to my landlord. “So what is it?”

“That’s one big-ass dude,” he mumbles as he looks where Kon just went. “Who is he?”

I shake my head. “No one.”

“That man is a lot of things, but one thing he isn’t is a no one. Actor? Producer? Stunt man?”

“Neither,” I say. “Morley, for the love of God, what’s going on?”

He sighs. “Listen, girl, I gotta be straight with you. Time’s up. You’ll have to find another place to live.”

My jaw drops. “You’re joking.”

“You’re month-to-month, babe. You shoulda known this was a possibility.”

I’m flustered from Kon showing up already, so this news is landing like a ton of bricks. “I—you—I’ll sue!” I say, hating myself for saying it as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

Morley shuffles in place with a weary sigh. He knows splurging on a lawyer for a speculative lawsuit is the last thing I’m gonna do.

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here, doll.”

“I’m not making anyone out to be anything. You’re being the bad guy.”

“Listen, honey—”

That’s what makes me snap. In a lifetime of “honeys” and “sugars” and “babies,” in almost three decades of “sweet ass” and “nice tits” and “how much for a blowjob?” from skeezy men I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, I’ve finally had enough.

It’s a man’s world. Nothing I say or do will change that.

But my God, I’m going to start ramming my knee into the balls of every asshole who insists on perpetuating that wolf-whistling, cat-calling B.S.

“Don’t you dare fucking call me honey,” I hiss with pure venom laced in my voice.

He winces for a moment. Minor victory, but I’ll take it. Then he exhales again like I’m the one being unreasonable here. “You gotta be careful who you piss off, sweethe—Iris. That’s a friendly warning.”

I stop short. That blood-rushing sound in my ears is back with a vengeance, soundtracked by the bass beat of my heart.

I know damn well who I’ve pissed off. I just didn’t think he’d be so cruel. Or petty.

I certainly didn’t think he’d act so fast.

“Sorbonne called you.”

“Some dude with a stupid name I still can’t pronounce, yeah.”

My eyes float closed. “What did he tell you?”

“That he wanted to rent out this house and he’d pay me double what you’re paying me. Just business, baby.”

I shake my head. “Then you’ve been taken for a fool. Atelier Sorbonne can pay ten times the amount I’m paying you without batting an eyelid.”

“Aw, damn,” Morley says, snapping his fingers. “Knew I shoulda bargained higher.”

I want to scream. But I have a son in that house who can’t know just how deep in shit I am. He already worries about me way too much.

“Morley, please,” I whisper. “I’m a model tenant. I always pay on time.”

Morley sighs. “Listen, Iris, if I could then I would. But my hands are tied. This guy knows people, and the last thing I need is some asshole from the city office breathing down my neck. My taxes aren’t exactly ‘in line,’ you know what I’m sayin’?”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “How long?”

“Eh?”

“How long until you kick me and my nine-year-old son to the curb?”

“I can give you ‘til the end of the week.”

I have to reach out a hand to steady myself on the door. If not, I’m about to faceplant on what will very soon no longer be my front steps.

“If it helps, I’ve got a buddy who owns a condo complex over near Crenshaw. He’s got a couple units sittin’ empty right now.”

“Crenshaw? It’ll take me at least an hour to get Max to school in the mornings and evenings.”

“I’ll return the safety deposit you paid me when you moved in. The whole amount. My treat.” He reaches out to touch my arm, but I slap him away.

“Get off of my property, Morley,” I rasp. “For at least five days, it’s still mine.”

I storm into my house and slam the door in his face. Muffled from the other side, I hear him say, “Aw, come on, don’t be like that.”

I turn around and lean against the door, choking back tears. They always say bad things come in threes, and sure enough, I’ve got Kon, Sorbonne, and Morley all racing each other to see who can make my life a living hell the fastest.

Then I remember that I’m not alone in here and that this flimsy little door won’t keep my problems out. Not when one of those problems is already in the house.

I pull myself together and walk into the kitchen. Two empty plates with little smears of peanut butter and breadcrumbs sit in the sink. Through the window, I can see Max and Kon tossing a football back and forth. Their mouths move and Max laughs, though I can’t hear any of the sound.

So I just stand there and watch them. It’s baffling how Max looks so right next to him. The same quirks in their lopsided grins, the same proud, tall chests.

Maybe Kon was right.

Maybe I’ve hurt my son by keeping them apart.

As if he’s aware of being watched, Kon turns towards me. Our eyes lock and for a second, it feels like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.

Cheeks burning, I turn from the window to busy myself with scrubbing the plates and setting them in the dish rack to dry. I scoop out a spoonful of peanut butter for myself when I realize I haven’t eaten all day. Then I plop into a seat at the counter, close my eyes, and lick the spoon, letting the peanut butter soothe me for as long as it lasts.

I’m almost done with my Jiffy-inspired moment of nirvana when the door opens and Max rushes into the kitchen. Kon trails behind him.

“Hey, Mom, I’m gonna show Kon my room, okay?”

“I think Kon has to go soon, kiddo.”

“No, he said he was free all day. Right, Kon?”

Kon never takes his eyes off me. “That’s right.”

I feel so defeated right now that I don’t even care that he’s staying. I shrug my shoulders and nod. “Fine.”

“And I asked Kon to stay for dinner. Is that alright, Mom?”

I look at his eager little face, and I don’t have the heart to think of one more excuse. In five days, he’ll realize just how flimsy the foundations of our life really are. So if I can give him a little stability before then, just a small dose of happiness, then I owe him that.

Even if it tears me apart to do so.

“Sure, why not?”

“Sick! Thanks, Mom.”

He races off in the direction of his room. Kon stays rooted in place for a little longer, watching me.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” I snap, fully aware as I say it that it’s maybe the least original line in history.

“You’re already seared in my memory, kiska,” he murmurs. “No picture necessary.”

Then he turns and saunters down the hallway, as if every word that comes from his lips isn’t the most devastating thing I’ve ever heard.

I was starving two seconds ago, but now, I no longer have an appetite. I throw the half-eaten peanut butter spoon into the sink, then drop my head into my hands and try to breathe.

It takes longer than it ought to to get myself in working order. You’re a mom, I remind myself harshly. You’re a successful—well, sort of successful—model. You work—well, you used to work—with a charity that’s helped so many women in need. You are not a failure—well, not much of one. And if nothing else, at the very least, you aren’t back home.

That last thought is the only one that actually penetrates my self-pity party.

I sigh and get to my feet. Slipping down the hallway, I pause outside the door to Max’s room. I can hear them in there, talking about pirates and trains. I swear I can smell them, too. Max’s sweet, sweaty little boy aroma. Kon’s cologne, dark and minty.

“This is quite a collection,” Kon rumbles. “How many do you have?”

“Four trains,” Max brags. “And one train set that Mom bought me last Christmas. We couldn’t really afford it, but she didn’t want me to feel sad that we had no family to spend the holidays with.”

I clap my hand over my mouth so neither of them hears me sob. When the first tear slips silently down my cheek, I stop eavesdropping and retreat to my bedroom.

I change out of my clothes and pull on my favorite black tights and a tank top. The tears keep running no matter how hard I try to stop them.

An hour passes. Maybe two. I hear the soft hum of Max and Kon talking in his room. When I crack an eye open, I see that it’s almost six o’clock now. Failure of a mother though I may be, I need to feed my son.

And apparently, his father, too.

I slump my way into the kitchen and start heating up some pasta sauce. Even on a good day, I’m a mediocre cook. But when my head’s not in it, I’m a disaster. My attention keeps drifting out the window to the spindly tree in our backyard. There’s a bird there, sitting in the tree, and I feel myself slipping into a fantasy of sprouting wings and flying away from all of this shit that’s drowning me. It’s nice, honestly. A happy little daydream. How could any of my problems follow me into the sky? Impossible. For as long as it lasts, I’d be free.

That, of course, is when the smoke alarm starts to scream and I realize that the kitchen smells like a dog’s breakfast. I rush toward the stove to see what’s going on.

The marinara is bubbling violently and smoking. It belches up intermittent chunks. One catches the back of my wrist and burns so bad I hiss in pain. I drop the wooden spoon into the sauce, which throws up more chunks, which also land on my bare skin and singe there. Rinse and repeat.

“Need some help?”

I gasp and whirl around to find Kon standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looks calm as ever, unreadable as ever, unflappable as ever.

“I’m… I’ve got everything under control.”

“Doesn’t smell like it. Let me see your hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“It wasn’t a question, Iris.”

I grit my teeth. “I told you I’m fine.”

Kon rolls his eyes, weary of my attitude already. Honestly, same. “Fine. So be it. If you won’t let me take care of you, then you go take care of yourself and let me take care of this.” He gestures at the tomato-based disaster behind me.

“You… I… What?”

“You’ve got a growing boy in there. He needs a real meal. Real food.” He kills the burner, then turns and starts rummaging through the refrigerator, pulling out garlic, fennel, tomatoes, butter, and tossing it all on the counter with a practiced hand.

I stand there the whole time in shock. It’s like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs, to watch Kon move expertly around my kitchen. I realize my jaw has literally dropped when he chuckles, reaches over, and gently closes it for me.

“You’ll catch flies like that,” he advises with a subtle smirk.

“You can cook?” I say, still dumbstruck.

“I dabble.”

“You look like you do a lot more than dabble,” I reply as he deftly slices fennel and flicks it into the pot in one smooth motion. “Who taught you?”

“No one. I was left on my own a lot as a child. I liked to try new things. This was one of them.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

He smiles, and I feel my heart do that weird little flippy thing that I haven’t experienced in… well, a decade.

I remember being awestruck by his forearms back then, when he was doing nothing more than holding onto whiskey glasses at some stupid party in the Hills. Now, to see those same forearms chopping and cutting and stirring and honest-to-God cooking…

Some things should require more than a license to carry.

I exhale slowly, trying to figure out how to rein in my flaring desire for him. I decide that the only way to curb some of this excess energy is to put as much distance between us as possible.

“I’ll go check on Max,” I announce.

“He’s fine,” Kon says. “You don’t have to run.”

I put my fists on my hips. “I’m not running.”

“Mhmm,” he says. “Sure you’re not.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. I stay planted in place as he grates parmesan and pecorino into the sauce, then adds a dollop of heavy cream to take it all from crimson red to a delicious spicy bronze.

“How’s your wrist?” he asks without looking up.

I forgot all about my burnt skin. I glance down to see the skin red and puckered. “It’ll heal,” I mumble.

He sighs, rests the spoon on the edge of the pot, and goes to search through the freezer. When he turns back around, I see he’s got a trio of ice cubes in his fist.

“Come here,” he says.

“I’m good right here, thanks.”

“Once again, it was not a question.”

When I still don’t budge, he exhales irritably, steps forward, and snatches up my wrist. His face is a furrowed frown as he presses the ice where the sauce burned me. I hiss at first, but a moment after, the coolness spreads through the burnt patches, and the hiss turns into a contented sigh.

We stand like that, him cupping my wrist in his huge hands, until the ice starts to melt. A thin rivulet of droplets trickles through Kon’s fingers and descends to the floor.

It’s… sexy, in a strange way. But more than that, it’s comforting. I feel a part of myself that’s been bound up tight for a long, long time starting to unclench. Just the tiniest bit.

“Better?” he rumbles quietly after a minute or two has passed. The only sound is the happily bubbling sauce behind us.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Thank you.”

He nods back curtly, tosses the remnants of the ice into the sink, and goes back to what he was doing.

I watch him for a while longer. “You can really cook,” I murmur.

“You might wanna hold your applause until after you’ve tasted it.”

I don’t have to wait for that, though. The smell of garlic in olive oil is borderline orgasmic. As if I wasn’t keyed up enough already from Kon’s presence in my house.

He still looks absurdly wrong in here, amongst my things.

And also… absurdly right.

Max scampers into the kitchen. “Whoa! What smells so good?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. “Go and wash up for dinner. We’re about to sit down.”

He doesn’t budge from the threshold. “You made dinner that smells like that?”

Kon snorts with laughter.

“Well, no,” I admit sheepishly. “Kon cooked.”

“Oh, duh. That explains it. Kon can do everything.”

I grab a dish rag and fling it at Max. “Get outta here, you cheeky brat.”

With a little giggle, he skips to the hallway bathroom we share to clean up. I avoid Kon’s gaze and decide to set the table for dinner.

But I can feel his eyes on me the whole time.

“Did you hear that?” he teases softly. “I can do everything.”

“If being a huge pain in my ass is ‘everything,’ then yeah, I’d say you can.”

He just laughs again. “It’s going to take a while to get the tomato sauce stains out of the rug,” he informs me. “Maybe you should just throw it out when you move.”

My face freezes. I swallow past the knot in my throat. “You heard Morley.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You were supposed to be hanging out with Max. How did you manage to eavesdrop?”

“I’m quite the multitasker when I put my mind to it, princess.”

I turn and occupy myself with grabbing stuff to set the table so he doesn’t see the angry tears studding my eyes.

“I’ll find another place,” I scoff, trying to sound all la-di-da about it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I square my jaw and turn to face him pointedly. Leave it to Kon to redirect all my anger in his direction with a few simple words.

“This is really none of your business, as a matter of fact,” I snap. “Just because you manipulated your way into my home somehow doesn’t give you the right to get involved in my life.”

“It’s not your life I’m concerned about,” he growls. “It’s my son’s.”

22

KON

Goddamn, she’s a hellcat.

“I have taken care of Max for nine freaking years,” Iris snaps, lowering her voice and glancing towards the opening of the kitchen to make sure he hasn’t returned yet. “Look at him. He’s an amazing kid. And that’s because of me. I raised him right. By myself. I have kept us afloat this long, and I will continue to do exactly that. So you don’t need to trouble yourself worrying about him. He doesn’t need you. Neither of us do.”

I shake my head. “Why are you insisting on making things harder for yourself?”

“I’m not. I just like when things stay simple.”

“So being kicked out of your home is ‘simple’?”

She shrugs. “Max and I have always been nomads. We’ve never lived in one place for more than a couple years.”

“Have you asked him how he feels about that?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “He’s a resilient kid.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She walks around the island and plants herself right in front of me. Her eyes flare like she’s preparing for battle. It wouldn’t take much effort on my part to lift her onto the island, spread her legs, and fuck the fight right out of her.

Before I can act on my caveman desire, Max comes back into the kitchen, smacking his lips. “I’m so hungry.”

“Perfect timing, little man,” I say, turning abruptly to the stove and leaving Iris standing there, trying to control her emotions.

I serve some pasta onto three plates and then hand them to Iris and Max. “Whoa,” Max breathes, taking a look at the plate. “This is like something you’d get at a fancy restaurant.”

He takes a fork and shovels some of the pasta into his mouth. It’s hot, but he doesn’t seem to care. “This is so yummy. Try it, Mom.”

She nods stiffly. “I’m about to.”

She grudgingly skewers some pasta onto her fork and tries some. I see the war raging on her face as she tries to contain how much she’s enjoying it.

I smile. That struggle is more satisfying than a thousand meek thank yous. “Bon appetit,” I say.

“Now, I can pretend we’re at a restaurant,” Max announces with a cackle. “We haven’t been to one in a while.”

Iris swallows with effort. “No, we went to Agassi’s recently, remember?”

“That was last year!” he argues. Then he catches himself and blushes like he spoke out of turn. “It’s okay though, Mom. I understand. You’re always busy.” He looks up at me. “I have a babysitter a lot. Rinna isn’t here anymore, though.”

“Rinna?” I ask.

“My babysitter,” Max says. “But she left L.A., so now, I don’t have a babysitter. Hey! Maybe you can be my babysitter.”

“Max!” Iris says, balking at Max. “That’s entirely inappropriate.”

“What?” he asks, looking genuinely confused. “Kon said he doesn’t have a job.”

“I’m sure he has a job, Max.”

“No, he told me that he dabbles in a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

She throws me a glare that just makes me chuckle. “Well,” she says carefully, “I still don’t think he has the time for something like that.”

I shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. I can move some things around.”

“See, Mom? Kon can—”

“Max,” she snaps, turning to him and giving him a stern look. “That’s enough. Eat your dinner.”

The kid goes back to his plate, but he’s clearly disappointed, and she knows that.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, she looks up at me. “This really is delicious. Thank you.”

I nod and say nothing.

“Can you show me how to cook this?” Max chirps. “Or better yet, could you teach Mom?”

Iris feigns indignation. “Are you saying I’m not a good cook, you little rascal?”

He smiles. “No, you make the best cereal. You always put the right amount of milk.”

He’s dead serious, but I can’t help laughing. Iris grimaces for a second before she too breaks out into a soft laugh.

Max joins in last of all, though I’m pretty sure he has no idea what he’s laughing about. And as he does, I feel the tension melt away slowly. We’re finding our rhythm. The hard edges between us sanding down into something smooth, something soft, something real.

Iris starts asking Max questions about school, and he tells her about his day. I mostly just sit and listen, chiming in only when one of them looks my way. But I prefer to observe silently. It’s a window into a world I never imagined I’d be a part of.

More to the point, it’s a world I never wanted to imagine.

But now that I’m here, it seems to fit perfectly.

“My sneakers ripped during gym class today,” he informs Iris when we’re wrapping up dinner and bringing our plates back into the kitchen. “I think I can tape them shut and still use them, though.”

“You don’t have to,” Iris says. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

He frowns. “They’re expensive, Mom.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “You need shoes without holes in them.”

But I don’t miss the way her jaw thrums with tension. She’s barely holding it together.

“Hey, Max,” I say. “How about we give your mom a break and you and I whip up some dessert?”

“Really?” He turns to Iris. “Can we, Mom?”

She gives him a stern Mom look. “Fine. But you’ve got an hour before bed and not a minute more, got that?”

“Roger that!”

She sighs, gives me one last inscrutable look, then glides into the living room with a cup of tea. Max and I both watch her go.

“Alright,” I say when she’s gone. “This is what we’re doing…”

For the next few minutes, Max and I concoct a chocolate mousse. He’s patient and attentive, though being nine, he peppers me with endless questions.

Normally, that would be the kind of thing that would irritate the hell out of me. I am the don now. No one asks me question after question. But I’m finding patience in places I never knew it existed. In the simplicity of showing my son how to cook, how to stir, how to turn a flame up and down.

When he spills something on the floor, he blanches immediately and looks up at me with worried tears already budding in his eyes. Not because I yelled at him, and I get the feeling that it’s not because Iris would yell at him for this, either.

It’s because of the guilt he bears. He knows his life is held together by duct tape and prayers. He knows that his mother works hard and worries enough for both of them, and he does all that he can to carry some of the weight for her.

“I’m—I’m—I’m sorry,” he whimpers in a broken voice.

I drop to one knee and put my hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, Max.”

He sniffles and keeps his chin dropped to his chest.

“Max, look at me.”

Finally, he raises his gaze to mine. His lower lip is trembling and his eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“What do we do when we mess up?” I ask him quietly.

He shrugs like he doesn’t trust himself to speak without sobbing.

“We clean it up and we keep going,” I say firmly. “Life is one mess after another, and there’s nothing you or I or anyone else on this planet can do to change that. So when messes happen, like they always will, there’s only one thing to do: you clean it up. And you keep going. Say that to me.”

He swallows and mumbles a string of indistinguishable words.

“Not like that,” I correct. “Chin up. Chest proud. Say it like a man.”

He swallows again and straightens up tall. “We clean it up and keep going.”

I grin at him. “Thatta boy. Now, here—let me help.”

We make quick work of the mess. When Max glances at me again, I see a new fire in his eyes. A pride that was there before, yes, but just needed a little coaxing out.

I don’t let him see that my own hands are shaking for reasons I can’t explain.

“Thanks for inviting me for dinner, buddy,” I say when we’re almost done.

Max smiles. “I like having you around. Jake was nice, but…” He trails off, looking nervous even saying the man’s name.

“But?”

“I mean, he was actually really cool,” Max clarifies hurriedly, which only makes me want to punch the fucker more. “But he was… all over the place.”

“All over the place?”

“He’d just show up outta nowhere,” Max continues. “And at first, Mom didn’t mind, but then she started to get annoyed. I think she was worried about me.”

I’ll be damned. The kid really is smart.

“Why do you think that is?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. I was happy to have Jake around, though. In the beginning, at least.”

“Why was that?”

“Well, for a little while there, Mom seemed less… lonely.”

I look at him sideways. “She may be lonely sometimes,” I say. “But she’s lucky she has you.”

He flushes with pleasure, and tries to focus on the clean-up to hide his blush. I let the conversation fade out for a little while as we spoon the mousse into serving cups and rinse off the cooking equipment.

When it’s all done and put away, he looks up at me. “Are you really an old friend of Mom’s?” he asks carefully.

I feel that pulsating connection between us. That elusive, intangible feeling of knowing when a person belongs to you in a way that exists beyond words.

I wonder if he feels the same way.

“Something like that.”

“There’s more to the story, though, isn’t there?”

I’m not about to lie to the boy. He deserves the truth and he deserves respect for asking the right questions. “Yes.”

“Will you tell me one day?”

I smile. “I promise.”

That’s good enough for him. He picks up two of the mousse cups, I grab the third, and we go into the living room.

“Look, Mom! We made dessert.”

She stands up from the couch and turns to face us with a weary smile. I nearly do a double take when I see that she’s changed into a white slip dress with tiny little bowties at the shoulders. It floats around her, ethereal and romantic. Her hair does the same, black and silky.

Everyone eats their dessert in relative silence. Max breaks it every now and again with some odd comment, a joke, a hum of contentment. But Iris mostly just sits there with her feet kicked up on the sofa, eating her mousse and throwing curious little glances my way when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

I can feel the tension between us grow the longer we stick to our corners of the sofa. Maybe Max senses it, too, because he practically inhales his dessert.

“I’m done,” he announces. “And I’m tired. So I’m going to bed.”

Iris frowns. “You’re voluntarily going to bed?”

He nods gravely like a man ten times his age and turns to me. “But you should feel free to stay, Kon.”

Then he’s gone. Cheeky little bastard. Iris seems to be thinking the same thing, because she stares at her son’s retreating back with her jaw hanging open.

“I guess he approves of me,” I drawl when the door to his room shuts.

“He’d got the wrong impression then,” she says firmly, putting her glass down on the table as if the harsh clink of it is supposed to signal her opinion of me. “There’s nothing to approve of.”

“Right,” I say with an inward smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

23

IRIS

He’s toying with me.

He’s a snake charmer and I’m the snake. No matter how much I try, I can’t seem to break away from his hypnotic gaze and the crooked half-smile that plays on his face.

“Kon…”

I don’t know why I say his name. Once it slips out, I feel obligated to finish the thought. Except every thought in my head has somehow been wiped dry.

All the reservations that have been tumbling around my head most of the day have been erased by the last few hours. He cooked us dinner. Made dessert from scratch. Hung out with Max in his room like he’s been doing it since the boy was born.

The two of them have a connection; there’s no doubt about that. Max has always been a polite kid, and it’s more than just about the way I raised him. He’s just naturally good. It’s in his bones, his essence.

He had gotten along with Jake, but he was the one who’d made the attempt. More than once, Jake got bored and just up and left in the middle of one of Max’s games. I was the one who had to wipe the tears away and reassure my son that yes, Jake really did like him, he just got busy and distracted sometimes.

With Kon, the love comes real and natural.

It makes me happy.

It makes me terrified.

And it also makes me feel this connection between Kon and myself all the more. The problem is, I need it to stop. ASAP. Or else I’m going to do something really stupid.

“I… I forgot… I need to check on something in my room,” I mumble, getting off the sofa.

Kon arches an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”

“Um… just something.”

It’s history’s worst excuse, but I really need five minutes to get my head on straight. I can’t do that in his presence. Not with his gorgeous diamond eyes boring into mine, seeing things in me that I refuse to see in myself.

I rush down the hallway. I’ve just passed Max’s room when his door opens and he pokes his head out.

“I thought you were going to bed, kiddo,” I say, trying to look normal. Whatever that looks like.

“I was about to,” he says. “Is Kon still here?”

“Mhmm.”

He frowns. “Mom, you should be out there talking to him.”

I almost bark out a crazed laugh. When did my sweet baby turn into this budding relationship guru? This little man who thinks he knows what’s best for his mother’s heart?

Better question: how is he so damn right?

“Honey,” I say, glancing towards the living room where Kon is sitting. I gesture for him to get back into his room and then I follow him inside and close the door behind me.

“Listen, Max, I’m not sure what you think is going on here, but Kon and I are not dating or anything.”

“Well, then… maybe you should.”

I take a deep breath. “Max, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why?” he demands. “He likes you. And you obviously like him.”

It’s hard to take him seriously in his Spiderman pajama shorts and that bare, little boy chest of his stuck up with so much pride.

He must notice me biting back a giggle because his frown intensifies. “You realize you stare at him when he’s not looking, right? And every time he laughs or smiles, you smile, too, but it’s like you don’t even know it!”

The laughter dies on my lips. I’d been so busy watching Kon that I hadn’t factored in another pair of eyes that were on me the whole time.

The most I can do is deny, deny, and then deny some more. Somehow, I don’t see that going well.

“We met once, a very long time ago. We had… a moment,” I admit, cringing at the way this is all coming out. “But then it was over and we never saw each other again.”

“Until now.”

“Right, until now. But, honey, listen, that man out there, he’s a passing ship—”

“He’s a what?”

I run a hand over my face. “Max, sweetheart, there’s a lot you don’t understand.”

His nose wrinkles up. “Grown-ups love saying that to kids. Most of the time, it’s not true.”

“In this case, it is.”

“I doubt it,” he says resentfully. He spins away from me, stomps into bed, and yanks the covers up over him.

It strikes me how tall he’s gotten, how perceptive and independent. Maybe I owe him the respect of the truth. But once he knows who Kon really is, I’ll lose all control.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that next step.

I stand, sighing mournfully for all the tiny fragments of my son’s life that I’ll never get back. The nights tucking the blankets in around him just so. Bedtimes and bathtimes shrieking with laughter.

I go to turn the lights out and leave, but just when my finger touches the switch, Max rustles around in bed to look at me.

“I know you’re lonely, Mama,” he whispers, his voice half-choked with sleep. “And sometimes… so am I.”

My heart trembles in my ribcage. That is a lot of big feeling churning around inside me, and I have no idea how to process it right now.

So instead, I do what I always do.

Bury it.

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Max. You’re the kid. I’m the mom.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind worrying about you.”

I smile and go sit on the edge of his bed. To my surprise, he nuzzles up against my lap. A thought occurs to me: when was the last time I carried him? It was years ago now and it breaks my heart a little that I can’t remember the exact moment.

Because there was a single point at which I was carrying Max, then I’d put him down, and that was the very last time I ever picked him up.

I push back the tears that are threatening to spill over yet again tonight and pull back so that I can see his face.

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” I tell him. “We’re gonna fix that, okay?”

He nods. “What about you, Mom?”

“How can I be lonely when I have you?” I kiss the top of his head. “Goodnight, Max-a-million. I love you.”

“G’night, Mom.” The fragile, tender Mama from a moment ago is gone. He sounds like a little boy again, not a baby. Mom. So gruff and serious.

But then that face smooths out as sleep steals over him, and for at least one more night, I can pretend that time isn’t whipping by us so fast that I can’t even catch my breath in the face of the storm.

I step out and shut the door, feeling a little off-center. I had hoped for a few moments alone to pull myself together. Instead, I let my son pull me apart. I slink back to the living room, feeling more lost than ever.

Kon is sitting in the same place on the edge of the sofa, but the dessert dishes are gone. He notices me looking. “I cleared up,” he explains.

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

I wish he hadn’t. I need something to do with my hands, to keep my mind occupied. But the house is clean, the kitchen is tidied, and there’s nothing obvious to do. So I sit down on the opposite end of the sofa and try to not look so awkward.

“Is he sleeping?”

“He will be soon.”

“He’s a good kid, Iris.”

I look up and meet his gaze. “Yeah… He kinda is, isn’t he?”

Kon nods. “You must be proud.”

“He’s the one thing right I did with my life.”

“There’s still time for another.”

I look down and pick at the bed of my nails for a silent, uncomfortable minute. “You weren’t just driving by, were you?” I ask without raising my eyes. “You were waiting outside Max’s school.”

“Yes.”

Well, at least he’s not a liar.

“What was the goal?”

“This was the goal,” he says. “I wanted to get to know my son.”

More silence. More discomfort. More picking at my nails.

“How long do you have before you need to move out?” Kon asks quietly.

“Not long,” I admit. “End of the week.”

“I have room.”

I jerk my gaze up to match his. “Absolutely not. We can’t move in with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not necessary. I’ll find another place to stay.”

“You’re in Los Angeles, Iris,” he points out. “There are ten applicants to every new listing in the first minute it gets posted. You’re not finding anything by the end of this week, and whatever you might be able to scrounge up would cost you dearly. But staying with me would be free.”

“It’s far from Max’s school.”

“If you’re walking, sure. But I would have a car available for your own personal use whenever you need it, including school drop-off and pick-up.”

I stammer dumbly over my own doubts. “No. No. No…”

“Why not?” He stands up, looming over me like something out of a dream or a nightmare, I can’t decide which. “Like I said, you can’t keep this secret forever. Nor should you. I am his father. He has a right to know that.”

“Why does it feel like my whole life is being hijacked?” I fire back as I leap to my own feet. “In a matter of days, I’ve lost my home and my autonomy. Now, you’re trying to take my son, too.”

“Our son,” he barks. “You still have your freedom, Iris. I’m not trying to control you.”

“Isn’t that how the Bratva works?”

“I’m not your don,” he growls. “I’m the father of your child.”

I retreat around the coffee table so that there’s some tangible object between us. Not that it would stop him, if he chose to come after me. He’d splinter this cheap junk like matchsticks.

“Is there even a difference?” I whisper.

“You’re being stubborn,” Kon says scornfully. “And proud.”

“Pride is all I have left!”

He looks like he’s about to smile, but thankfully, he reins himself in. “Max deserves more than this. He deserves to have a nice house and a better school—”

“I am doing the best I can, goddammit! You have no idea what it’s like!”

His eyes flash dangerously. “This is not a criticism.”

“No?” I press. “Because if I’m following this conversation right, you just told me I live in a shithole and I’ve put Max in an equally shitty school.”

Kon shakes his head in dismay. “Why are you insisting on doing all this alone?”

“Because I’m the only person I can rely on.”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to rely on you?” I exclaim. “Get real. I don’t even know you!”

He stops short and stares at me. His expression is unreadable. His eyes are hooded over. Dark. Wild.

How does he make me feel this way? Like I’m lurching around on shaky ground, and he’s the only one who can steady me?

“I don’t know you,” I repeat in a quieter rasp. “We may have made a baby together, but we’re strangers. I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you.”

He walks around the coffee table and I lose my pitiful little protection. It was nothing more than a paper shield, and I realize just how insubstantial it really was when Kon comes to a stop, inches from me. His scent hits my nose. His bulk fills my vision from side to side.

“That’s a lie,” he murmurs. “You can pretend all you like. You can put up your walls and justify your feelings. But you can’t fool me, Iris. You know me. You know me.”

I shake my head, stubbornly going down with the ship of my denial. “I don’t know anything. I’m not special to you. Let’s face it—I was just another name on your list. A conquest that you bragged about to your friends and then promptly forgot.”

He regards me coldly, still inscrutable. I’m starting to get frustrated with just how much he keeps hidden.

“What would you have wanted me to do?” he asks quietly. “That day we met. What did you want from me?”

“I… I’m not answering that question.”

“Why?” he asks. “Don’t want to give yourself away?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know what? I think you should leave now.”

“Sure, I can leave,” he offers. “It’s not gonna make you feel any better when I do.”

“How would you know?” I snap.

“Because I know you, Iris. You may not want to admit that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

He reaches out and although I think he’s going to grab me by the arm and shake me like a ragdoll the way David did the moment we met, he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, he winds his fingers tenderly through mine.

“Don’t let your pride get in the way of what’s good for that kid. He deserves the chance to get to know me. And I deserve the chance to get to know him.”

I shake my head, unable to correctly articulate my sense of fear. But he must be able to see it, smell it, taste it in me, because he squeezes my hand just enough to reassure me.

“You won’t lose him,” Kon adds.

I actually feel the shiver making its way down my spine. One vertebra at a time.

“How can you be sure?” I croak.

“Because he loves you. And he will never abandon you. But if you aren’t honest with me now, you’re giving him a reason to.”

I wince as if he slapped me. His free hand comes up under my chin. It’s soft, too, softer than I thought he could ever possibly be. He coaxes it upwards until I’m reluctantly meeting his eyes.

It’s shameful and humiliating how quickly I’m melting. If he kisses me now, I won’t resist. I won’t fight him.

I need this kiss like I’ve needed it my whole entire life.

His lips part.

He leans forward.

And then…

His phone rings.

He looks as annoyed as I feel when he pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“What is it?”

“Business,” he says shortly. “I have to go.”

He looks at me, holds my gaze for a moment, but he doesn’t offer me any more explanation. “Think about what I said,” he instructs. “I’ll be in touch.”

Then he leaves.

And I’m left wondering if I’m repeating old mistakes all over again.

24

KON

I sit in the car and stare at Iris’s silhouette behind the curtains. The irony that I’m dialing another woman’s number as I do is not lost on me. Her dress flows behind her, taking on the contours of her body when she pivots fast. She’s pacing. I wonder if she knows I’m watching.

“Hello?” a voice on the phone answers.

“Anika,” I say. “You called?”

“Have I caught you at a bad time?” she says in that giggly schoolgirl voice of hers.

“You could say that.” It comes out harsher than I intend.

“Oh, I… I’m sorry.”

“What do you need?”

“I just… I wanted to ask you out to dinner.”

Iris snuffs out the lights in the living room and disappears. It takes me a minute to process what Anika just said.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, dinner. I wanna get to… to know you. Like, better.”

I close my eyes and exhale. “Where would you like to meet?”

“Oh, um, how about Chavez?” she asks. “Unless you’d rather go somewhere else…?”

“No,” I say, trying to pull myself together. My anger with Anika is unjustified. She’s as much a pawn in this farcical marriage as I am. “Chavez is fine. I’ll send a car for you.”

Immediately, her tone brightens. “That’s kind of you. Thank you so much, Kon. See you soon.”

I hang up and punch in Yefim’s number. He picks up immediately. “Where the Kentucky Fried fuck have you been all day?”

“Out.”

“Oh, you mean with Iris and Max?”

“I need you to go pick Anika up.”

“You introducing the future wife to your future mistress?”

My silence is exactly as violent as I intended it to be.

“Jesus,” Yefim mutters after a beat passes. “I was only joking.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” I growl. “I didn’t call for a lot of inane banter. Just pick Anika up or delegate someone else to do it. We’re meeting for dinner at Chavez.”

“Ooh, been meaning to try that place out. You’ll have to let me know how it is. I hear the barbacoa tacos kick ass.”

I respond to that by hanging up on him. Then I start driving towards the restaurant. I force myself to keep my eyes on the road until I turn the corner so that I don’t stare back at Iris’s house in the rearview mirror as it disappears.

I arrive at five past nine. I toss the keys over to the valet and head into the restaurant.

It’s got that boho chic vibe that people love to believe makes them seem like free thinkers. Lots of lantern lights and living plant walls. Neon signs that say the kind of shit fifteen-year-old girls would put as an Instagram caption.

The hostess looks up at me with a bright smile plastered on her heavily painted face. “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?”

“I’m meeting someone tonight. Miss Anika Kuzmin.”

She checks the tablet resting on the counter. “Yes, I have the reservation right here. Miss Kuzmin still hasn’t arrived, but I’d be happy to show you to your table.”

“After you.”

She leads me into the main restaurant. The chairs are padded white linen, the tables a pale bamboo wicker. A wall-inset aquarium glows behind where she seats me.

“Here you go, sir.”

I drop into a seat and do my normal routine: count the people in the room, identify the exits, note windows and distances. It’s rote, automatic. Drilled into me from the time I was a boy.

Always be ready.

Always be on guard.

But it’s hard to focus on that sort of shit when my mind is still churning with thoughts of Iris. How close her lips were to mine, how sweet she smelled, the uncertainty and the hope melting and reforming and melting together again and again.

She wanted what was coming, same as I did.

She knew it was a bad idea, same as I did.

It takes ten minutes before Anika shows up. I notice her enter the restaurant through the filigree latticework partition that separates the main restaurant from the foyer.

She’s dressed to the nines in a strapless, skintight red mini. Tall black heels. Glistening diamond jewelry. Her blonde hair flows down her shoulders in styled waves, and her makeup has dark, dominatrix vibes in direct contrast to her delicate features.

She’s trying so goddamn hard.

She looks good, yes, but it’s screaming of effort. Look at me. Look how beautiful I am. Look how grown I am.

I can’t find it in me to let my gaze linger.

I stand up as she approaches. When she leans in, I give her a small, reluctant peck on the cheek.

“It’s nice to see you, Kon,” she says in a husky whisper that sounds way too practiced to be real.

“Likewise,” I grunt.

We both sit. The waitress appears almost instantly, so I’m saved for the time being from small talk. I order a bottle of wine to share. The waitress offers us menus, but I wave them off.

“I’ll take the gnocchi with lamb ragout.”

“Of course, sir. And for you, ma’am?”

“The seafood salad looks good,” Anika says, glancing at me through her eyelashes. “But so do the barbacoa tacos… Umm, what seafood does that salad come with?”

“Tiger prawns, cuttlefish, and tuna.”

“And the dressing?”

“A white sauce dressing.”

“Does that have eggs in it?”

Jesus Christ.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s aioli-based.”

“Could you leave the dressing on the side?” she asks.

“Of course, ma’am. Is that all?”

“How are the prawns prepared?”

I ignore her before I gouge my eyes out . It takes another ten rounds of questions and answers volleyed back and forth, but eventually, Anika makes up her mind and the waitress departs.

When she’s gone, Anika looks at me through fluttering eyelashes. “You look so handsome,” she whispers.

I’d be an asshole if I didn’t return the compliment in some way, so I do, though the words taste like a lie as they leave my lips. “And you look very pretty.”

She blushes like it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever been told. “Thank you.”

A sommelier brings the wine over and pours us each a glass. I sip at it, thoughts elsewhere, while Anika sits there, looking awkward and pretty and useless.

“So I’m sorry about the last-minute invite,” she says nervously. “I just had to work up the courage.”

“Does your father know about this?”

She bristles. “I don’t ask his permission for everything.”

“Is that right?” I ask, liking her a little better because of it.

She nods. “I have a tattoo on my hip. I got it the same week he forbade me from ever getting one.” She takes a sip of her wine and looks around the restaurant. “How do you like the place?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Anika’s cheeks redden as she takes another sip to hide it. To be fair to her, I’m not exactly giving her much to work with. To be fair to me, I never asked for any of this shit in the first place.

“I wanted to get to know you a little bit before we get married,” she blurts abruptly.

“You said that already.”

“Right. It’s just… Papa’s putting pressure on me—on us—to set a date.”

“That feels like rushing things.”

She frowns. “Considering we’ve been engaged for about a decade, I wouldn’t say so.”

“It’s not an engagement,” I snarl before I can stop myself. The wine glass feels suddenly fragile in my hands.

“Oh. What is it then?” she says tentatively.

“An… arrangement.”

She bites her bottom lip. An action that I’ve always found to be extremely sexy. Iris does the exact same thing when she’s thinking, and it never fails to make my dick hard.

But on Anika, it does nothing to me.

“An arrangement?” she mouths. “You make it sound like a business deal.”

“Isn’t it?”

Her eyes go wide. I find myself becoming less and less patient. “Well, I mean, yes, in that our fathers arranged it for us. But…”

“But?”

She stumbles over her words and doesn’t quite finish her thought. I pick that moment to check the time on my watch. Her face falls, and it’s almost enough to squeeze out a twinge of sympathy from my blackened heart.

“Can I ask you a question, Anika?”

“Of course.”

“What do you want to do with your life?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are your goals, your dreams. What’s your vision of a perfect future?”

She considers the question for a moment. “I just want to make my father—and you—proud. I want to be the best Bratva wife there is. I want to raise your children and make sure that—”

“No,” I say, cutting her off. “Take me out of the equation. Say you don’t know I exist. Say this arrangement was just a bad daydream. What would you want for your life then?”

“Oh.” She thinks about it. I respect her for actually giving the question some consideration, even if she’s about ten years too late in doing so. “I… I don’t honestly know. I always knew what my life was going to look like, so I never had to imagine. I guess what I want is… what I’ve always expected is… a marriage and children.”

“With whom?” I ask.

“If you weren’t in the picture?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Well, I assume I’d have met someone and fallen in love and—”

“Why give that up then?” I ask, leaning forward to plant my elbows on the table.

She stops short with a puzzled expression on her face. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re giving up an awful lot to satisfy your father’s vision of your future, rather than your own.”

She leans back in her chair, brow furrowed, mind contorting itself in ways she never thought it would have to do.

“Kon, do you not want to get married?”

“I’m not the marrying kind,” I tell her straight. “I never was. This whole thing was my father’s idea. Not mine.”

Her bottom lip actually trembles, but she manages to pick it back up again fast. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not personal, Anika.”

“No, of course not. I know that.”

I don’t believe her for a second. If we weren’t sitting in a crowded restaurant, I’m fairly sure she’d be sobbing hysterically by now.

But just like me, she’s been trained. Just like I count the exits, she counts the number of eyes watching us. She knows what it means to see and be seen, to be a trophy, an icon, a doll with her strings tugged on by powerful men in the shadows.

It’s almost enough to make me feel some iota of sympathy for her.

“I’m just being honest with you.”

She nods. “And I appreciate that.”

“Our fathers didn’t give any thought to what we wanted when they made this little arrangement. But I’m the don now, and I want to make sure you’re not being forced into a life you don’t really want.”

I’m feeding her enough to allow her to wriggle out of this joke of an engagement—of an arrangement—while keeping her pride intact. But I can already tell from the clutch of her lips that she’s not going to take it.

“I… I’m not being forced into anything, Kon,” she says quietly. “This is what I want.”

“This isn’t… Fuck, this isn’t normal,” I growl as my frustration gets the better of me.

“But we’re not normal, Kon,” she replies. “Right? We’re Bratva.”

My head is pounding with an oncoming migraine. In my opinion, there’s nothing remotely Bratva about this frightened, docile little girl apart from her last name. When it comes to the things that matter—grit, nerve, courage, independence—Iris is the one who has all those qualities in spades.

Being Bratva is not about the blood in your veins or the name on your license.

Being Bratva is about who you are beyond all of that. It’s about the tint of your soul.

“Anika, I want you to do me a favor.”

“Anything, Kon.”

“Take some time,” I tell her. “Think about what you want. Think about what you really want. Not what you’re expected to want and certainly not what you’re told to want.”

She looks alarmed at first, and then she gives me a soft, almost tender smile. “Thank you, Kon,” she murmurs. “I never expected you to be the kind of man who would consider my feelings this much.”

I’m not sure my plan is working quite the way I intended it to. She’s supposed to be considering options other than me, not falling deeper into infatuation with me.

Goddammit.

The food arrives a minute later. I watch, not hungry in the least, as Anika picks at her salad. It’s the best food in the city, the best food money can buy. But she eats delicately, in dainty little bites that have me wondering if she can even taste anything.

And all I can think of is a green-eyed she-devil, licking peanut butter off a spoon like it’s her last meal on earth.

25

IRIS

“Miss?”

I look up and realize that the cashier is looking right at me. He’s a lanky guy with spiked hair dyed deep red and crusted with way too much gel.

“Huh?”

“Miss, you’re next.”

“Oh, shoot,” I mumble as I step up and place my basket on the counter. “Sorry, I spaced out for a second.”

“What were you thinking about?” he asks, flashing me a leering smile I know all too well. One that I also want no part of right now.

“Nothing interesting.”

He rings up the contents of my basket. Granola bars, Vaseline, toothpaste, Band-Aids.

“You a model or an actress or something?”

“It’s L.A. Isn’t everyone an actress or model or something?”

He doesn’t smile at my lame joke. He just looks at me with a squinty expression as he tries to place where he’s seen me before. Then his eyes widen—and my heart sinks.

Why of all days does it have to be today?

“Fucking hell… No way!”

“Sorry, I hate to be rude,” I say as politely as I can, “but I kinda have somewhere to be.”

He ignores my protests completely. “I knew it!” he says again. “You’re the girl from the Jake Nox music video. My Girl.”

I blush and shake my head, knowing even as I say it that he’s never gonna buy this lie. “No, I’m not. I just look like her.”

He shakes his head and jabs a fat finger right in my face. “I watched that video last week. It’s definitely you.”

“Yeah, okay, you got me. Could you ring me up, please?”

“You wanna go out sometime, baby?”

I roll my eyes. Men never stop. I’m on the verge of a nuclear-level meltdown as life pulls me in a thousand different directions at once, but this red-haired Backstreet Boy retread thinks throwing cheeseball pickup lines at me is gonna have me swooning?

No. Not any day, but not today in particular.

“Ring up my damn groceries, asshole,” I snap.

His face falls. He looks down, grumbling under his breath while he swipes my stuff through the scanner and chucks it into the plastic bag.

“Thirty-seven twenty,” he grunts.

I check my change and realize that leaves me with a little under ten dollars in my wallet once I’ve paid for everything. Fuck me.

“Hey, so… whaddya say?”

I look up. “What?”

“Can I get your number?”

“Can I just have my change, please?”

He slides over my change reluctantly. I snatch it up, along with my bag, and storm out of the store.

“You know, you don’t have to be such a bitch!” the cashier calls after me.

On another day, I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. Being called a bitch is not something I waste my time feeling bad about, especially because I’d normally have already forgotten about it by the time I stepped foot outside.

But something about today has me all turned around. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s my crumbling finances, maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t seen or heard from Kon in more than twenty-four hours and that feels like a lifetime.

I take a deep breath. Pull yourself together, girl.

Then I walk to the closest ATM I can find and withdraw a hundred bucks. I check my bank balance while I’m at it to see that I’m down to my last thousand dollars.

“Oh, God,” I breathe before the screen cuts back to the home page.

I start walking to Liza’s office. I would have taken a cab, but that’ll cost me at least another ten dollars, and I decide that the twenty-five minute walk is worth it.

By the time I arrive, though, I’m sweaty, smelly, and bitterly regretting my decision to walk. Liza’s assistant is sitting at the stainless steel front desk. Over her shoulder is the door to Liza’s office. It’s frosted glass like a 1950s detective. Silhouettes move behind it.

“Hey, Iris,” Brianna drones, fixing me with her bored eyes and her equally bored expression. “Liza will be with you in a moment.”

“Sure, thanks.”

The door opens almost immediately and Liza pokes her head through. “Ah, Iris, you’re here. Come on in.”

I walk into the office and shut the door behind me. Liza’s office is one of the most depressing places I’ve ever been in. I wouldn’t have room to lie down on the floor if I wanted to, and the only light comes in through a window jammed right up in the corner where the wall meets the ceiling.

“Sit down,” Liza says, pointing at the rickety metal folding chair across from her desk.

“Do you have a job for me?” I ask hopefully.

“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about.”

I already know this is not gonna be good. “Okay?”

“I got another call.”

I raise an eyebrow. “From…?”

“I think you know who it’s from, Iris.”

“Sorbonne.” My heart plummets. “Liza—”

“Before you say no, hear me out. You have no options left, Iris. If you say no to Sorbonne at this stage, you’re saying goodbye to your career. He has that power and he is not afraid to use it.”

It’s hard to do, but I do it anyway. “It’s still a no, Liza.”

“Jesus Christ!” she says, throwing up her hands. “I thought for once in your life you’d be reasonable—”

“I’m sorry—”

She holds up one manicured nail and I fall silent. “Okay, fine. It’s your grave, although you’re killing me, too, just for the record. Here’s our last option.”

“I thought you said I had no more options?”

“Quiet. Listen. Don’t interrupt ‘til I’m finished.” She steeples her fingers together and sighs. “Jake wants you for another one of his music videos. Battlefield, it’s called. He’s thinking it’s gonna be a sequel of some kind to My Girl. So it makes sense why he would want to put you in the second—”

“Absolutely not.”

She tightens her jaw. “You’re really gonna say no to this.”

“Times a thousand.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I repeat in disbelief. “He’s my ex-boyfriend, Liza. He cheated on me—twice. And he’s still nursing some kind of delusional hope that we can get back together.”

“Then get back together with him!” she yells. “You don’t have to sleep with him if you don’t want to. Just play nice for the cameras. Kiss and make up. Tabloids love that shit.”

“Liza…”

“We need to get your name back out there, Iris. And right now, it’s sinking into the black pit where stars go to die.”

But I’m already shaking my head. “I’m sorry, no. I’m not willing to work with Jake again.”

Instead of going off and screaming at me, Liza just sits there, with both elbows on the table and her fingers interlaced.

“You got nerve, hon,” she says. “I admire that about you as much as I hate it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she says. “You’re not gonna like what I say next. I think we’ve come to the end of the road, you and I.”

I’ve been expecting this for some time, but it still comes as a disappointment. One more blow on top of way too many to count.

I exhale quietly. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Liza says. To her credit, she looks like she genuinely means it. “But I can’t book a model who has no interest in modeling. You’ve got the look, honey. You were touched by the angels. But it takes more than a pretty face to make it in this business. You have to really want it.”

I nod mournfully. “I know. I know.”

“You’ll land on your feet.”

I give her a nonchalant shrug. “Always do.”

She sighs and then stands, signaling that it’s time for me to leave. I get up and offer her my hand. “It was nice working with you, Liza.”

“You coulda been something great, honey.”

“There’s still time.”

I’m halfway out the door when she calls to me. “Iris?”

“Yeah?”

“That dude whose house we went to, Konstantin something or the other…”

“What about him?”

“I did some checking around,” she says. “Not sure if you wanna get involved with this guy. He’s into some pretty shady stuff. The word ‘mob’ kept coming up a lot.”

If Kon had been here, he would have corrected her. Not mob. Bratva. I’m almost on the verge of doing it myself before I clamp my limps closed.

“Gotcha.”

“What were the names again…? Urgh, my memory has turned to dogshit with age, I swear… Ah, that’s right. Konstantin Aminoff. And he’s in deep with some other family. The Kuzmans or Kuzmins. Strong ties to your boy.”

“He’s not mine,” I say quickly.

And he’s definitely no boy, either.

Liza gives me a knowing smile. “Listen to me, honey. Some men are so beautiful that it seems worth it to let them drink your blood. It might even feel good when they’re doing it. But afterwards, you’re lying there drained and lifeless. Take it from me.”

I grimace and shudder. “Thanks for the visual.”

“I like to paint a picture. Sue me.” Liza walks around and opens the door for me. “Good luck, Iris. You’ll need it.”

I give her a final wave and walk out of Liza Cartwright’s office for the last time. I’m not an overly sentimental person, but I feel a little tug of sadness as I leave behind yet another piece of my bedrock.

I’ve got an hour before I have to pick Max up from school, so I walk slowly and munch on a granola bar on my way there.

Not only do I have to find us a new apartment by, like, yesterday, I also have to find a job and pack up our stuff and buy Max a new pair of sneakers and, and, and… The list goes on. The problem is, I can only afford to do one of those things right now.

I end up sitting outside Max’s school with forty-three minutes to spare, scrolling through apartment listings on my phone while I wait. I see rat-infested studios, shared rooms with creepy old men, basement dungeons and “six months’ rent up front” and “proof of income required.”

No, no, and no.

So in other words, Max and I are just a hair’s breadth away from being homeless.

I still have Kon’s number folded up and tucked away in my satchel. It’s burning there like it’s literally on fire. I just don’t know if I’ve arrived at the appropriate level of desperation to actually use it.

Sighing, I drop my phone into my lap and let my eyes wander. The wall next to the main doors of the school is plastered with graffiti and posters. One catches my eye.

Max had handed me an identical copy a few weeks ago, announcing the Elementary School Science Fair. I frown. I haven’t heard anything more about it since he first told me it was coming up.

That’s odd. He’s usually good about keeping me in the loop. But lately, I feel like he’s holding back. Maybe that’s what makes a person age, though—keeping secrets, hiding scars.

God knows it made me grow up long before I should’ve had to do it.

I hear the sound of footsteps and look up to see an amazing white weave and a bohemian dress as colorful as a rainbow.

“Hey,” I say, without thinking about it. I might just be that desperate for human connection.

The woman stops short like she’s shocked that I’ve spoken to her. “Hey,” she says, uncertainly at first. Then she smiles. “You’re Max’s mom, right?”

I nod. “And you’re Sam’s mom?”

“Sure am. Looks like we’re the early birds.” She moves under the tree next to me. “I’m Lynette.”

“Iris.”

“Nice to meet you, Iris. Sammy talks a lot about Max.”

“Same! I was thinking maybe we could organize a playdate together or something. Take them to the aquarium or the science museum?”

“That’s a great idea,” Lynette says brightly. “Let me give you my number.”

We exchange numbers, and I marvel at how smooth this whole interaction is going. But once I’ve got her number saved, I feel my social awkwardness start to set in.

“You’re gonna think I’m a total dork for this,” she says kind of anxiously, “but I’ve watched the My Girl video.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure how to respond to that. “Right.”

“You were amazing in it. Total queen of the screen.”

“The director was good,” I mumble. “Um, can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

Lynette grins mischievously. “That’s my favorite kind.”

“Do you think that’s why people, like… steer clear of me when I’m here?” I ask.

She raises her eyebrows. “No, I don’t think that’s why.”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

Lynette hesitates, then adds, “If I’m being completely honest…”

“Please.”

“Well, before now, you just didn’t seem all that approachable.”

It stings, but it’s the sting of something true. I don’t make eye contact, I don’t wave, I don’t say hi or how are you. I just sit here by myself, hoping no one tries to start up a conversation, because if they do, I’m afraid they’ll see just how broken I really am.

“Thanks for saying hi to me today,” she says while she scrutinizes me with lovely green eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t before now.”

She waves away the apology. “Better late than never. And anyway, I knew you were cool. Had a good feeling about you.”

“Because of the music video?”

“No,” she says, sounding surprised that I would even suggest that. “Because of Max. Sam always tells me what a champion he is for everyone else.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if he sees anyone getting bullied or picked on, Max is always the first one to stand up to the bullies. Even if they’re a few years older.” She must see my blank expression, because she asks, “You didn’t know that?”

“He, uh… I guess he didn’t tell me.”

Lynette smiles, so warm and friendly that I want to curl up in her arms and bawl like a little baby. “He’s probably as modest as his mama.”

I shake my head. “He’s better than I am. In every way.”

“We always think that about our kids. I’ve got a daughter who’s thirteen. She’s just like me, except better and brighter and funnier.” She rests a hand on my shoulder. “Max is a good kid, Iris. It takes a lot for a nine-year-old to stand up for himself, let alone someone else.”

“He’s brave,” I say. “Like his father.”

The words slip out of my mouth unheeded. Even I’m shocked by them. Lynette gives me a curious smile. “I really haven’t heard much about Max’s father. I assumed you were a single parent.”

“Oh, well… I am,” I assure. “It’s… It’s a long story.”

She lets her hand linger on my shoulder for a little longer. “Well, I’d love to hear it one day. If you’re ever in the storytelling mood.”

I smile gratefully. When was the last time I made a friend? A real one?

Not since…

I push the thought away. Why dwell on the past when I’m never going back to it? What I need to be focused on is our future, mine and my son’s. A future I have yet to figure out.

Lynette’s phone starts to ring. She pulls it out and checks the screen. “This is my husband. Excuse me for a moment.”

She answers the call and walks off to the side. I take my own phone back out and then pull out the white piece of paper with Kon’s number on it.

I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do or not. But I’m out of options, and right now, it feels almost like I don’t even have a choice. Like this was always inevitable and he knew it and that’s why he put that number there in the first place.

He doesn’t answer immediately. I’ve never realized how interminably long and lonely a dial tone can sound.

Then…

“Hello?”

“Kon,” I murmur like a prayer.

“Iris,” he says. He doesn’t sound surprised to hear me.

My eyes veer up and land on the science fair flyer pinned up on the bulletin board. “Max’s science fair is coming up. He’s putting in an entry and… I was wondering if you’d be interested in… in coming.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other line.

“I’d be honored.”

I bite down on my tongue to temper my reaction. “Okay, great. I’ll, uh… I’ll text you the details.”

It makes no sense why I want to jump up and down like a schoolgirl who’s just been asked out by her long-time crush. But that is exactly how I feel.

Like an idiot.

A stupid, happy idiot.

26

KON

Here’s a question I never thought I’d be asking: how the fuck does a man like me dress to attend an elementary school science fair?

I dressed as neutrally as I could. But considering the looks I’m getting as I pull into the school parking lot, though, I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter. These people were going to gawk regardless.

In a shadowy corner, a group of dads stands around smoking cigarettes with a distinct “hiding from the wives” vibe. Snippets of their conversation float past as I make for the entrance.

“… Sophia’s here, too… Chad’s mom. Always appreciate her style.”

“Which one is she?”

“The one with the huge tits and the short skirts.”

“Oh, fuck yeah…”

Calling the conversation “cringeworthy” is an insult to cringe. But before I can tune them out, I catch something that makes me slow down.

“… The model’s here, too. She was standing out front when Tanya and I came in. I’d do horrible things to that girl.”

“Iris Keller, hell yeah. Fuck, that woman is a hot piece of ass.”

I whip around so fast and make a beeline towards the pathetic group of morons. There’s four of them, all dressed in different versions of the same thing. Checkered shirts, plain khaki slacks, sneakers that people stopped wearing five years ago.

They’re a bunch of bored, discontented men who hang out with idiots just like they are, to try and reclaim the freedom of their youth.

“Gotta be honest: sometimes when Margie and I are fuckin’, I picture the Keller broad instead. She doesn’t even—”

I grab the unfortunate fuckwit mid-sentence and slam him right up against the brick wall at this back. He lets out a strangled cry and drops the cigarette in his hand.

“What the fuck, man?” one of his idiot friends cries out. “Who are you?”

“I’ll speak slowly so that all you idiots can understand,” I enunciate. “You are never to mention her name ever again. You are never to look her way again.”

“I… w… who?”

He’s shaking underneath my hands, his feet dangling an easy two feet from the ground. I memorize his face—mousy brown hair and a gap between his teeth—because if I ever see him in her vicinity, I’ll kill him.

“Iris Keller,” I growl. “If I hear her name on your repulsive lips again, I’ll put your head through this wall. Clear?”

I turn my gaze to the other three idiots, who are staring at me now with dumbfounded horror. “That goes for all three of you. Nod if you understand.”

All three of them bob their heads like trained poodles. I turn to the coward in my hands. “What about you, asshole?”

He nods, too, but it’s considerably more enthusiastic considering how close he is to death. I hold him up there for another few seconds and then I let go all at once.

He tumbles to the floor in a clumsy heap. No one moves forward to help him.

“I’ll see you gentlemen inside.”

Then I saunter away, leaving them staring after me like the mute dumbasses they are. A text comes in from Iris just as I’m nearing the entrance of the school.

IRIS: Hey, I’m standing out front. Are you close?

KON: Be there in a second.

She looks up as she receives the text and smiles. That’s a change—she actually looks happy to see me. It may be the first time we’ve come face to face and she hasn’t been shocked or nervous or just plain pissed off.

She also looks amazing.

She’s wearing an azure, off-shoulder dress that sweeps to her ankles with a pattern of abstract birds stitched across the floaty fabric. Her hair is a latticework of intricate braids. Bound up, pent up, begging to be set free.

“Hi,” she calls as I walk up the steps towards her.

“Am I late?”

“Right on time, actually. I just like to be early.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy noticing the way that everyone is watching us. Iris seems to notice the same thing, because her shoulders tense and she gestures towards the entrance.

“They’ve set up the fair in the playground at the back,” she says.

“Lead the way.”

It’s a strange place for me to be. Bulletin boards plastered with hand-sketched posters on kids’ favorite celebrities, on the layers of the atmosphere, on how to count to one hundred in Spanish. Inspirational slogans are splashed with bright paint on the cinderblock walls. Practice Makes Perfect! If You Can Dream It, You Can Do It! Go Tigers!

It’s so bizarrely wholesome. The people who walk these halls, teachers and students alike, don’t share the same kinds of concerns I do. Death is an afterthought for them. It consumes every waking second for me. Dealing it, facing it, defying it.

“Does he know I’m coming?” I ask.

“Well, no. I didn’t mention it to him,” Iris admits.

“Why not?”

She pauses at my side and looks up at me. “I guess I didn’t want him to be disappointed if you didn’t show.”

Frowning, I turn to face her. “Did you think that was likely?”

She sighs and sets to chewing at her lower lip, as per usual. That didn’t take long. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of disappointment. I suppose I was just going off personal experience.”

I growl wordlessly. The demons of her past have nothing to do with me. But I remind myself to breathe, to focus on what matters.

“Well, I’m here,” I grimace. “So show me the science.”

She laughs nervously, then we resume walking through the back doors and out onto the field beyond.

A U-shape of long tables is arranged around the grass, each festooned with trifold poster boards and homemade volcanoes. Children scramble in every direction, laughing and screaming. But whenever anyone gets close enough to see me, they freeze.

Iris sees that, too. “Is it always like this wherever you go?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Do people stare at you?”

I shrug. “I don’t notice.”

“Sure,” she scoffs. “You ‘don’t notice’ that you’re like a foot taller than a normal person. You ‘don’t notice’ that you’re stupidly good-looking. You ‘don’t notice’ that you tried to dress to blend in with the hoi polloi and you still look like you stepped off the front cover of GQ. I bet all that just slipped your attention.”

I arch a playful eyebrow. “Stupidly good-looking, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, like you don’t know.”

“Oh, I do. I just wasn’t sure you did.”

“I can be aware of it and still unaffected by it,” she sniffles. “The sky is blue, the grass is green, Kon is handsome. Doesn’t mean a thing.”

I’m chuckling as the sound of staticky feedback ripples across the field. On the raised platform past the tables, a teacher is tapping on a microphone until her voice comes in.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, moms and dads,” she says. “Welcome to Riverton Elementary’s annual Science Fair. We’ve got so many amazing projects on display today, so please feel free to walk and enjoy your kiddos’ hard work and creativity.”

A smattering of polite applause follows. Iris looks up at me, then to the ring of tables. “Max’s project should be somewhere over there with the rest of the fourth graders’.”

She leads the way through the throng of families. As we weave amongst them, more kids stop at my feet and gawk up at me. Some parents scold their children on how to behave in public. Others just gawk right along with them.

“You do kinda stand out,” Iris says with an amused smile. “Maybe I should step away and let you have the spotlight.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like being the center of attention.”

I roll my eyes. “Why am I not surprised? Only you can be such a complete contradiction.”

“Are you referring to my choice of profession?”

“Most models aren’t exactly camera-shy.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m being honest, I haven’t been a real model in a long time. The only thing I’ve done in the last five years that I’ve been really passionate about was my work with Her Voice. And we all know how that story ends. Or ended, rather.”

She sounds sad, yes, but also bitter. And in a strange way, hardened. I admire that about Iris—she doesn’t let herself wallow.

Another trait that I find to be very Bratva.

“There he is!” Iris says, pointing to a long, narrow table. Max is standing right behind it, hands folded behind his back, messing around with what looks like a car.

“He made it himself,” Iris says. “It’s supposed to be balloon-powered, I think. Or maybe mouse-trap-powered? I’m not sure which he ended up deciding on.”

Max looks up and catches sight of Iris and me. He freezes for a second and then his face erupts into a delighted smile.

“Kon!” he calls, sprinting around his table towards us. He barrels into me, wrapping me around the waist in a hug.

“Hey, kid,” I say as he releases me and steps back. I kneel down to tousle his hair and give him a fist bump. “How’s it going?”

“You came!”

“Yeah, your mom invited me. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Wanna see my project?”

“Of course. It’s the whole reason I’m here. That, and the free snacks.”

Laughing, Max hurries back around his table and starts breathlessly explaining his science project to us.

He gives us a demonstration and Iris and I applaud him like he just won a Nobel Prize. Other people look over curiously and he goes beet red, but I can see how much this means to him. He may be my son and I may see so much of myself in him, but he’s still a boy. The love we show him matters.

There is a different path for him than the one I was forced to walk. I intend to make sure it stays open.

Another kid comes running up to him. Max turns to us excitedly.

“Mom, Kon, this is Samson! He’s my best friend.”

“Samson, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” Iris croons. “Is your mom here?”

“Yeah, my mom and dad are both here,” Sam says, though his eyes keep flickering back to me in awe. “They’re coming over now.”

Iris waves to the couple walking towards us in their son’s wake. The woman is wearing the most colorful pants I’ve ever seen, a rainbow tapestry paired with a sober white blouse. The man is dressed in Bermuda shorts and a pale pink polo shirt.

“Iris!” the woman says with a pleasant wave. “How are you, hon? And who is this tall drink of water?”

She laughs so merrily that even Iris relaxes. Her husband chuckles. “How about introducing the tall drink of water standing beside you?” he teases with an elbow to his wife’s ribs.

The woman rolls her eyes, but the affection between them is damn near tangible. “This is my ball and chain, Leon,” she says with mock annoyance. “And I’m Lynette,” she adds for my benefit.

“Kon. Pleasure to meet you both.”

“Kon,” Lynette repeats, her smile getting a little wider as her gaze flits between Iris and me. “It’s so nice to meet you. Honestly, I feel like if I look at the two of you long enough, I might just go blind.”

Leon chuckles. “It’s a little too much, isn’t it? Some people have all the luck.”

“You can say that again, sweetheart.”

Iris laughs awkwardly. “You two are too much. Have you checked out the other projects yet?”

“Nope, not yet. We’re gonna make the rounds now. Pay our dues and pretend that we love all children equally.” She winks and touches Iris on the elbow. “We’ll catch up with you lovebirds in a bit.”

They meander off hand-in-hand, chatting happily. The judges are coming to quiz the boys on their work, so I offer my elbow to Iris. She looks up at me curiously for a moment before she takes it. The weight of her fingertips on my forearm is feather-light, but it feels like it weighs tons. Ten points of heat burning holes through my sleeve.

“I’d like to ask you a question,” I rumble.

She frowns. “Um… okay. Should I be concerned?”

“Do you have any friends?”

She stiffens at once from head to toe. That reaction alone is answer aplenty. She seems to realize that her expression has given her away, because she sighs in defeat.

“I’ve been busy. Between trying to find work and raising Max, it’s been hard to have much of a social life.”

“Jake?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“He saw me at this club. Liza had insisted on taking me to ‘network.’ He came up, started flirting, and when I refused to give him my number, he got his agent to get Liza’s contact info instead. He booked me for the music video, and I guess one thing led to another.”

“I see.” I can’t hide my disgusted expression.

“He can be charming when he wants to be,” she insists.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d fall for something as superficial as charm.”

Her shoulders sag forward. “Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I wanted to feel… something.” Then she looks at me again from the corner of her eye. “You’re not… are you… jealous?”

“Hardly,” I scoff. “It was a beautifully performed charade, but a charade nonetheless.”

She frowns. “So I didn’t even fool you a little bit?”

“I know a lie when I see one.”

Iris exhales slowly. “I really was lonely. Still am, if I’m being honest, since I know that’s what you think anyway so I might as well tell you the truth. But in hindsight, it was more about self-preservation. I knew I wasn’t risking anything with him. I knew I didn’t stand a chance of really getting hurt. He did cheat on me—”

“So I was right in my initial assumption.”

“Which was…?”

“That he’s a fucking fool.”

She smiles inwardly, one of those beatific expressions of hers that makes it seem like she comes from a different plane of existence. “It should have hurt me, but I accepted his explanations, justified it to myself, and gave him another chance.”

“Which you came to regret.”

“Once a cheater, always a cheater, no matter what he may tell himself.”

“He still wants you back, though.”

She waves a hand as if she couldn’t care less. “Yeah, well, men only want what they can’t have.” The implication in her voice is scathing and obvious.

“I’m nothing like that limp-wristed fuck,” I snarl. “He’s a talentless drunk and a pitiful addict.”

“And what are you, Kon?” she whispers, coming to a stop in front of me.

“I’m the don.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that I’m in charge,” I say carefully. “It means I call the shots.”

“Should I be worried?”

“About what?”

“About your potential involvement in Max’s life. I may not know much about… about what you do. But I know enough to know it’s dangerous.”

“I will never let anything happen to Max,” I tell her firmly. I make sure to maintain eye contact so that she knows just how serious I am right now. “I will never let a single thing touch him. He’s under my protection now, Iris. So are you.”

She takes that in, nodding slowly. It’s an odd choice of venue for this long-overdue conversation. But it’s easy to ignore the rubberneckers when I’m looking at Iris. Everything else seems to fade away, until I’m left with only her.

“He’s going to want to know why I invited you,” she says quietly.

“What are you going to tell him?”

She looks around the fair, but her eyes never focus on any one thing. She’s conflicted, I can see that much. Torn between the desire to keep Max safe in the little bubble she’s created for them, and the desire to let me into it.

“If I lie to him now, he’ll see through it.”

“Then don’t lie.”

“Some lies are easier than the truth.”

I think about everything I haven’t told her. I think about everything I’ve struggled to achieve and everything yet to come.

But somehow, none of it matters here.

The only thing that matters right now is my son and his mother.

27

IRIS

I get so many smiles as I walk over to the refreshment stand that it starts feeling creepy. Why are the other moms suddenly so interested in making eye contact? I fall into place in line and try not to meet anyone’s gaze.

That is, until I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see Lynette standing right behind me. “Hey, hon.”

“Lynette! Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

She waves away my apology. “Having a good time?”

“It’s really good,” I say. “Hot, but good.”

“Tell me about it,” Lynette says, fanning her face with her hand. “My man’s getting cranky, so I came to get him something cold and sugary. I swear I have two boys to raise sometimes. Not sure which one is more of a handful.”

I smile. “Placating them with sweets, I see. Good call.”

“It ain’t my first rodeo. Where’s your man?”

I give her a sharp little double take that’s probably entirely too obvious. “Oh, uh, Max is still at his table.”

Lynette gives me a knowing smile. “No, girl, I’m talking about your other man. The tall, handsome one who looks like he can bench press me ‘til the cows come home.”

“Oh, um, well, he’s not actually—”

The woman standing just in front of me turns around and seamlessly inserts herself into the conversation. “You’re Max Keller’s mom,” she says. “Iris, right?”

“That’s right.”

“My daughter, Louisa, is in his class.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I say awkwardly. I couldn’t pick Louisa out of a two-person lineup. I’m fairly certain that Max has never mentioned her.

“It’s nice to see Max’s father come by,” she says bluntly. “We just assumed you were a single parent.”

Lynette shoots the woman an annoyed glance. “Oh, come on, Marie, you know what they say about what happens when you assume.” Her voice is as jovial as ever, but with an undercurrent of reproach.

I stand there without any clue as to how to handle this situation. For one thing, admitting to these women that Kon is in fact Max’s father feels like a betrayal to Max. Shouldn’t he know before anyone else does?

But denying it feels strange, too, because that would be an outright lie. I settle for keeping my mouth shut.

Luckily, Lynette takes the reins of the conversation. “How did Louisa manage with her science project this year?”

Maria doesn’t even pretend to take the bait before pivoting right back to the only topic she seems interested in. “Well, you can’t blame everyone for being curious,” she says, offering up an insincere smile. “The man is a looker, to say the least. You’re a lucky woman, Iris.”

“I… it’s not—”

“Stop embarrassing the girl,” Lynette says, stepping in, harsher this time.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself, Lynette,” Marie scoffs.

I smile placidly and look at the mom volunteering at the refreshment table. “Can I get four orange slushies, please?” I turn to Lynette. “This is on me.”

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“Please,” I say.

She must catch the note of desperation in my voice—the need for me to do something on my own for God’s sake, instead of relying on Kon to protect me and Liza to get me hired and Max to console me and Lynette to rescue me from prying conversations—because she shrugs and says, “I won’t say no to a sugar mama. Ha! No pun intended. That’s a good one, though.”

Marie is twisting in the wind behind us. I leave her there with a parting nod as I fork over the cash and take our slushies. “I’ll see you around,” I tell her. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Cold-blooded, girl,” Lynette whispers out of the side of her mouth with an infectious, girlish giggle. “I love it.”

“You think she got the message?” I ask, feeling a little deliriously giggly myself.

“Oh, she got the message,” Lynette assures me. “But it’s not gonna stop her from digging. She’s a notorious gossip.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

Lynette smiles. “You never did answer my question, though. Where is he?”

I don’t play dumb this time. “Kon’s with Max, at his booth. I told them I’d be back with drinks. Shouldn’t the winner be announced soon?”

“Another ten minutes tops, I’d guess,” Lynette says. “Don’t let the other parents ruin your family outing, honey. Just enjoy yourself.”

I take a deep breath. “We’re not a family, Lynette,” I hear myself saying. It’s cringe-inducing as soon as the words pass my lips, but there’s no taking them back now.

I guess I’m just sick of lying. Of lying to myself, to my friends, to Kon, to my son. The truth may heal, but God, it sure hurts while it’s doing it.

She raises one eyebrow. “You don’t have to explain your situation to me, Iris. It’s really none of my business. It’s none of anyone’s business, actually.”

“How likely do you think it is that the kids in Max’s class will ask about Kon on Monday morning?”

Lynette gives me the exact look I’m expecting. A look that says it would be naïve to think that no one’s going to grill Max about the giant man in the ghost-white button-down the moment they see an opportunity to pry.

“I mean, it is kinda your fault,” Lynette teases. “Did you have to find the most perfect specimen of manly beauty and bring him here to rub in our faces?”

We both laugh, although it wasn’t actually much of a joke, seeing as how it’s a more or less factual assessment. The only less-than-true part is that I “brought him here.” You only have to spend two seconds with Kon to know that no one “brings him” anywhere—he goes wherever the hell he wants.

“Lynette?” I venture.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you sort of a… weird question?”

“As I told you once, that is my favorite kind. Shoot.”

“What was your initial assumption when you met Kon? Like, what’d you think he was?”

She looks amused by the question. “Well, I assumed he was Max’s dad or your boyfriend. Something tells me that he could possibly be… both?”

I give her an amazed look and she grins maniacally.

“So I’m right?” she says, gaping at me like she hardly believed her own theory. “Hot damn, I love when I’m right.”

“Well, sort of. It’s… it’s actually way more complicated than that. I can’t really do the story justice right now.”

She gives me a fervent nod. “Totally get it. Like I also said, you can share the story with me when you’re good and ready to. And if that’s never, then that’s fine, too.”

I touch her awkwardly on the elbow. Just a brief bridge of human contact I didn’t know I needed. “Thank you. I really do appreciate that.”

“Just for the record,” she adds, “as a casual, third-party observer with no skin in the game… the two of you have amazing chemistry. And it’s not just because you look great together. There’s a sizzle in the way he looks at you. And there’s damn sure one in the way you look at him.”

I wince at how obvious I’ve been. Lynette sees it and laughs. “You don’t get to the ripe old age of forty-four without figuring out a few things.”

I give her a playful push in the shoulder. “You’re not a day over twenty-five, Lynette.”

She laughs again, as musical as ever. “I’m every day of forty-four, I can promise you that, sweetheart. Credit goes to my mama, though. She gave me the flawless skin.” She sobers up and sighs. “You know, Leon and I were high school sweethearts.”

“Oh, that’s so cute,” I say with a grin.

“It wasn’t always. We were together for two years and then we turned eighteen and we broke up. It felt like the mature thing to do because we had chosen colleges on either side of the country. We kept in touch for the first year, and then we kinda lost contact over the second. I met someone. He did, too. Life moved on.”

“Oh,” I murmur. “How did you two wind up together?”

“We both ended up in Los Angeles for work,” she says. “We met again at a mutual friend’s party. This was, gosh, ten years after we broke up.”

“And it clicked instantly again?”

“Again, not so cute as that. He had a girlfriend and I didn’t want to get in the way of that. I’m not a homewrecker. We exchanged numbers, strictly as friends, but I never texted or called, and neither did he. Then, six months later, he called me out of the blue. He’d just broken up with his girlfriend. We got drinks that night. And then one thing led to another, and boom, a baby entered the picture.”

I smile. “Kismet.”

She shrugs. “Kismet, fate, maybe just plain old carelessness. I just think we made a series of decisions. I chose Leon and he chose me. We chose to commit to each other and have the baby. It was the best decision we ever made.”

“That’s a beautiful story. You know, it’s funny, actually—I first met Kon about ten years ago.”

“You don’t say? And Max is nine, so…”

“Yeah.”

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, dear. Time puts things in perspective.”

“Or it makes them worse.”

Lynette gives me a reassuring smile. “I think that depends on you.”

“Mom!”

I turn towards Max, who’s waving me over excitedly.

“Go ahead,” Lynette says. “We’ll catch up soon.” Before I go, though, she pulls me into a quick hug. She smells like lavender and cinnamon and her dress is silky smooth under my hands.

“Thanks, Lynette,” I whisper into her ear.

She lets me go, winks, and then sashays over to her husband. I go to Max and Kon and hand over the slushies. Max starts slurping his down right away, but Kon holds it at arms’ length like it might bite him.

I roll my eyes. “Give it to me, you big baby. I suppose your abs won’t allow you to consume this junk.”

He seems amused by that. “Have you been checking out my abs?”

I hide my blush and turn to Max, pointedly ignoring Kon. “I think they’re gonna announce the winner soon.”

“It’s gonna be Isaiah,” Max says immediately. “He’s so smart.” He doesn’t look in the least bit disappointed, though. Just proud of another one of his friends. My heart melts all over again.

He’s a good kid, Kon said. He deserves the best.

“You never know.”

“Nah, we checked the kid’s project,” Kon chuckles. “It’s definitely gonna be Isaiah. Pretty sure he built a time machine.”

They’re both right. A few minutes later, Isaiah Adebo is crowned the winner of the Science Fair, and everyone gives him a generous round of applause. Max’s car gets an Honorable Mention.

“You did good, kiddo,” Kon says, turning to Max. “How about we go out for a celebratory dinner?”

“Really?” Max says, before turning to me. “Can we, Mom? Please?”

I force myself not to glance at Kon. Do this because you want to. Because it feels right. Don’t run from it just because you think that’s what you’re supposed to do. Fear may want to take the steering wheel, but it’s a shit driver.

For once, the voice in my head has some decent advice to offer.

I nod once. “Sure. Dinner.”

Max races off to say goodbye to Samson. Kon and I stand opposite one another. “Thanks for inviting me today,” he rumbles.

“You weren’t bored?” I tease.

“Not for a single second.”

When Max comes running back to us, we head out of the school and towards the parking lot where Kon’s car is. As we walk down the steps, I notice two men at the foot of the stairs. I notice them only because they catch sight of Kon and double back as though they don’t want to be seen.

Kon gives a little snort of laughter. I turn to him curiously. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “The dads in this school are a little skittish.”

“They look like they’re scared of you,” Max points out.

“Most people are,” Kon replies.

Max smiles. “I wish I were as scary as you!”

“One day, I’ll teach you all my tricks. Tell you what, though, I’ll give you a sneak preview right now. All you gotta do is…”

I let the two of them walk ahead of me and chatter back and forth, just so I can watch them together. It’s nothing short of incredible how well they get along. Like old friends who haven’t seen each other in decades, but fit back into their roles without any effort at all.

Kismet.

“Whoa!” Max cries suddenly. “Is that your car?”

“That’s it.”

Max runs up to the amazing convertible. It’s a sleek silver that catches the light and gives it back tenfold. It just looks mean, agile, hungry. A jungle cat at the ready.

Max jumps into the back of the convertible, while Kon opens the passenger side door. “Iris?” he says when I fidget in place.

I glance up at him and realize he’s holding the door open for me. “Oh! Sorry. Thanks.” I rush in and take my seat.

We roll the top down and take off. It feels good to have the wind in my hair as we drive through the streets of Los Angeles. A little slice of freedom that I haven’t experienced in quite some time.

Max is in the back, looking up at the sky, a huge smile plastered across his face. Every time I glance at Kon, he glances back at me with this strange look in his eye that I can’t quite decipher.

He doesn’t ask us where we want to eat. Instead, he takes us straight to one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, L’Acqua.

I frown. “Kon, I’m not sure you’re aware, but this restaurant has a six-month waiting list.”

“Not for me,” he says casually as he parks right outside the restaurant’s grandiose wooden doors.

While the valet eagerly jumps into Kon’s convertible, we’re led into the restaurant by the maître d’, a portly man in a full suit and an eager smile.

“Welcome back, Mr. Aminoff. Always a pleasure to have you dining with us.”

“Edgar, I’ve bought two very special guests today.”

“Then you will have the best table in the house,” he promises, leading us inside.

The place is amazing. Every wall, every floor, every ceiling is an aquarium encased in glass. An honest-to-goodness shark swims beneath my feet and I nearly scream.

I turn to Max to see his reaction. He just stands there gawking as a school of manta rays frolics past us.

“Mom,” he breathes, looking up at me. “I can’t believe we’re here.” I reach for his hand at the same time he reaches for mine.

When I finally look back down again, I notice that Kon is watching both of us with amusement. But there’s a touch of tenderness in his eyes, too.

“Shall we sit?” he asks.

Kon and I sit down at the table Edgar takes us to, but Max just keeps walking around, following fish.

“Max,” I call to him. “Come—”

“Let him be,” Kon interrupts. “We can order for him.”

“That might be hard. I assume they don’t serve chicken fingers here.”

Kon laughs. “Edgar, I’ll order for all of us. We’ll have the lobster medallion, the seafood platter, and the scallop scampi with white wine risotto and caviar.”

“Perfect, sir. Anything to drink?”

“A bottle of Dom Perignon, the same one I had last time. And some sparkling grape juice for the young man.”

Edgar gives Kon a deep bow and heads off to place our order, which I’m fairly certain is not even in his job description.

Meanwhile, I’m burying myself low in my chair, cheeks aflame. “Kon,” I mumble, “this is gonna cost a fortune.”

“Luckily, that’s exactly how much I have.”

When they first opened this place up, I saw a feature in a magazine while waiting for a shoot to start. I knew Max would love the fishes and it was right around the time I did the My Girl music video with Jake, so I had a little money. I called to make a reservation, but they told me they’d have to put me on the waitlist. Seven months later, they got back to me to say we could come for a prix fixe lunch at 10:30 A.M. the next day for three hundred and twenty five dollars per person. Needless to say, we never made it.

I glance at my son now. His face is plastered against the glass, eye to eye with a curious little clownfish.

“I’ve never seen him look happier,” I murmur.

“Then we’re in the right place.”

He smiles and I feel my heart flutter dangerously. His eyes are intensely silver. I can see the contradicting clash of both ice and fire in them.

“I can give you the life you deserve, Iris,” he adds softly. “All you have to do is say yes.”

28

KON

She wants to say yes; she’s just fighting it. Because apparently, a lifetime of independence is hard to shake off just because I asked nicely.

I could press her. She’s fragile, she’s vulnerable, and even though she thinks she’s a spitfire, she’s a candle to my inferno.

But I don’t. Call it mercy or call it foolishness, I’m not sure. I just give her the space to breathe.

“Have you found a place to live yet?” I ask, sparing her from the harder question for now.

She hesitates, her eyes drifting towards Max, who’s tracing lines against the glass while a stingray watches him with interest. Both are in a happy trance.

“No,” she sighs. “Not yet.”

“You’re running out of time.”

“I’m aware, thanks,” she says sharply, but she’s not meeting my eyes.

“Is this pride then?” I ask.

She bites down on her bottom lip. It’s like the cue to someone who’s been hypnotized. As soon as she does it, I remember everything about our night together. I remember the way her skin felt against mine, cool and velvet. I remember the way she had moaned when I’d pushed inside her. I remember the salty tang of her when I licked her taste off my fingers.

“Pride is what got me here in the first place,” she says. “I could have made a name for myself. I could have been on billboards and runways. But I chose not to be. Because my pride mattered more to me than money. As long as I managed to keep Max comfortable and healthy, then it didn’t matter that we weren’t rich. Just as long as we survived.”

“And now what?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. For the first time, I really don’t know.”

“I do.”

She glances at me through her eyelashes. When Anika had done that, I’d found it annoying and insipid. But on Iris… fuck. I can feel the blood rush to my cock so fast that it is painfully distracting.

“What are you afraid of, Iris?”

“Everything.”

She says it so somberly, so earnestly, that I just regard her for a moment. I’ve never been scared a day in my life. Not because I haven’t been in situations that might call for it, but because it was trained out of me long before I ever even knew fear was a choice.

But her? Fear has fueled every step she’s ever taken. I wonder if she even knows what life could be like if she was free of it.

“Sometimes, you have to take a leap,” I say.

She laughs bitterly. “The last time I did that, I ended up pregnant.”

We both glance over at Max at the same time. “And how did that work out for you?”

She frowns with concentration, letting that sink in for a moment. “Pretty amazing, actually.”

I turn back to her. The heat between us feels like it’s building rapidly. Ten years… How did I get through ten years without having this woman beside me?

“Kon?”

“Yes?”

“What have you been up to in the last decade?”

I give her a skeptical look. “That’s a long story.”

She shrugs. “We’ve got time. I think Max could spend the whole weekend here and not get bored.”

“Fair enough.” I lean back in my seat and fold my hands together. “I’ve been helping my father run the Bratva. He’s relied on me more and more over the years. Doesn’t have the stamina anymore.”

“He’s sick?”

“Pancreatic cancer.”

Iris winces as if she feels his pain like it’s her own. What is it like, to be so vulnerable, so open? My world is a closed castle. It’s always been that way. It always will be.

“That must be hard.”

“For whom?”

She looks at me in shock. “You’re kidding, right?”

I just smile at her as the waiter comes by with the champagne. Once he pours and walks away, I pick up my glass and Iris does the same.

“To new beginnings,” I say, raising my glass.

“Is that what this is?”

“Only one way to find out.”

The clink of our glasses feels like the turning of a page.

Iris takes a sip and sinks back in her seat with a contented sigh. Her eyes roam up to the fish-strewn ceiling above us. “Feels like I’ve entered some sort of alternate dimension where anything is possible.”

“Is that the champagne talking?”

“Might be,” she admits. “I’m a lightweight.”

“Don’t tell me that. I might use it against you,” I say as I top up her champagne flute.

She laughs a little, and I wonder when I last heard that laugh, if ever. It’s soft and shy and musical, and it makes me want to play the court jester just so I can hear it again and again and again.

“You’ve done a great job with him, you know.”

Her eyes soften instantly. “He’s the one job I knew I couldn’t screw up.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

Her smile falters a little. “Sometimes, I do worry that I am screwing up, though. We live such an isolated life. I’m not the friendliest person. I tend to stay in my bubble and keep everyone else out.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I say sarcastically.

She glares playfully. “It’s just, in my experience, people only ever hurt or betray you. I didn’t want to give anyone else that power ever again.”

“Ever again?” I repeat.

She flushes and looks away from me. “It’s not important.”

“You’ve got demons in your past, Iris,” I say. “Guess what? So does everyone.”

She nods hesitantly. “I know that. I don’t consider myself special. And I don’t consider myself a victim, either. I’ve made as many mistakes as the next person. Maybe more.”

“Is that why you left your hometown?”

She tenses hard. The same instinctive flinch that soldiers who return from war get when they hear a noise that reminds them of the horrors they saw.

“I left home because… because it didn’t feel like home anymore,” she whispers. I can barely hear her through the sound of trickling water and the hubbub of conversation from the other diners. “It felt like a prison of my own making.” Then she stops short and corrects herself. “You know what? No. I didn’t make that prison all on my own. I had help.”

I stay quiet. She needs the space to let herself unfold. Even if she won’t accept anything else from me, she’ll accept that.

“My mother… She was this gorgeous, ethereal woman. A dream in human form.”

“So that’s who you get it from.”

She almost smiles. So damn close. “But depression had her bad. She was clinical, in my opinion, but what do I know? She never went to a therapist. Said she couldn’t afford it.”

“And your father?”

“He was a gambler and an occasional drunk. He wasn’t horrible to my mother, but he wasn’t good to her, either. From what I can remember of their last few years together, he was always out with his friends, and she was always holed up in her room.”

“Her suicide must have been hard on you.”

She opens her mouth, but snaps it shut suddenly, like she’s afraid to speak.

“Iris,” I prompt softly, “you can tell me anything.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to judge me.”

I tilt my head and regard her. I don’t have to say the words aloud for her to understand them: there is no judgment here. There is just the room she needs. A drink of water after a decade alone in the desert.

She takes a deep breath and meets my eye. Whatever she sees there seems to give her some measure of reassurance, because she starts talking.

“It was a shock at first. Once the shock wore off, I was incredibly sad for a long time. And then, once the sadness started to fade, I felt… relief.” She says the word so softly that I almost miss it. “God, that’s a horrible thing to say. I’ve never admitted it out loud before, and honestly, I don’t know why I just—”

“I understand.”

Her eyes go wide. “You do?”

“Sometimes, I think my life would have been simpler if my father had died a decade ago.”

“Do you love your father?”

I raise my eyebrows. “‘Love’ isn’t a word that we use in my family.”

“Mine either. But I still know that I loved my mother.”

I toy with my knife. “It’s different for me. He was my father, but he was also my don, my teacher. My harshest critic and my unwanted mentor. It’s hard to separate him from those roles.”

“Is that what it would be like for Max?”

“No. I don’t intend to be anything other than Max’s father.”

She nods as if that simple promise is actually enough for her. “Max has never met my dad,” she admits. “I gave him a call when I was pregnant to let him know. He told me that if the father was out of the picture, I should just abort.”

Anger rips through me, but I clamp it down. This isn’t about me. “What did you say to that?”

“I hung up and didn’t speak to him for two years.”

“You never considered it?”

I can see her falling back into her past, trying to leaf through memories with so much distance between now and then. “From the second I knew I was pregnant, I knew I’d keep him,” she murmurs. “I guess, knowing he existed… It made me feel less alone.”

“How did you manage back then?”

“I worked as a waitress in this fancy restaurant in WeHo. The tips were good, so I saved up a lot that first year. Enough to pay my rent and take a month off when Max was born. I kept working there ‘til he was three. Did a couple of random modeling gigs on the side and that earned me a bit of cash, so I took a couple of night classes during that time and earned enough credits to put myself through college.”

“That’s impressive.”

“It was stupid,” she corrects harshly. “I should never have tried to get a degree. It was a waste of time and money. But at the time, I think I just thought it was the smart thing to do. Like, I’ll have proved something to myself if I wasn’t just another uneducated single mother scouting for work. I wanted people to look at me and see more than just a pretty face. I wanted them to know I was smart, too. As it turns out, people don’t really care either way.”

“I thought the Nox motherfucker kickstarted your career?”

“It didn’t feel right taking opportunities from him. I felt like… well, a prostitute. Like I was being rewarded for services rendered. In any case, the music video gave me enough cash to put a dent in my debt, but I still have several thousand dollars to pay off, and since I’m living hand to mouth, I haven’t been able to make my monthly payments.”

“You need help.”

She laughs humorlessly. “You can say that again.”

Then it seems to strike her how this conversation can be misconstrued, because she raises her head and looks at me nervously. “I… I didn’t mean… I’m not asking for your help.”

“Right. You said that. Your pride.”

She frowns. “I just don’t want to be… beholden to anyone.”

Before we can unpack that, Max comes running up to the table. “Kon,” he breathes, “this place is amazing!”

“Glad you like it. Sit down and have something to drink.”

Max does just that, but his eyes flit around the room distractedly. “Mom, did you see the stingrays over there?”

“Nope, must’ve missed ‘em.”

“What?! Come on!” he says, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of her seat. “I’ll show you.”

She flashes him a tired smile and follows behind him without putting up a fight. I watch them walk away together, hand in hand.

I feel damn near voyeuristic as I watch them admire the fish. But I’m not content to watch from afar any longer. I’ve let too much of my life be dictated by the Bratva.

The whole point of being don is that I get to make the rules now.

I pull out my phone to make sure the world isn’t melting down. A barrage of texts from Yefim sits at the top of my notifications.

YEFIM: playing hooky again? Because now that ur the don, it’s not so cute.

YEFIM: its been an hour since I texted you and still no reply. ur making me feel like the jealous girlfriend.

YEFIM: yo seriously, ur starting to worry me. u cant just drop off the face of the planet for a pair of big green eyes.

YEFIM: im not judging though… she really is hot.

YEFIM: Kon?

His last text was forty minutes ago. I might have been annoyed, if the fucker weren’t so damn pathetic.

I text back. I’ll be around tomorrow. Until then, the don is off-duty.

He fires something back before I can even tuck my phone away. You got a delivery.

KON: ?

YEFIM: i didnt open it. im not an idiot. but the card was open so I took a gander. its from Nestor. A congratulatory gift.

KON: So he knows I’m don now. Wonder if that’ll make a difference.

YEFIM: if ur thinking you can get out of this engagement now, ur delusional.

KON: One of my best qualities.

I tuck my phone away just as Iris and Max walk back to the table. “Did you make some new friends?” I ask.

Iris smiles. “We met a very outgoing pufferfish. But we couldn’t make him puff up.”

“You weren’t threatening enough, Mom.”

“Are you kidding?” I fire back. “Your mom is super threatening. I quake in my boots every time I see her.”

“No way! I’ll bet you’re not scared of anyone.” Max shakes his head. “I wish I were like that,” he adds, glancing at me awkwardly. “But… I get scared a lot.”

“It’s normal, honey,” Iris says, running her hand through his hair. “Being scared is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you scared of?” I ask Max.

“Spiders, tornados, quicksand, and heights,” he says solemnly, ticking each one off on his fingers.

I nod, every bit as serious as he is. “Those are all reasonable things to be scared of, Max. Like your mother said, nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re the bravest kid I know.”

He smiles. As he does, I notice how Iris’s entire face softens every time she sees Max smile or laugh. He really is her whole world.

A few minutes later, the waiter arrives with our dinner. Max and Iris ooh and aah at every single thing they try. The whole time, I just watch them.

“This has been the best day ever,” Max says as he chews on a huge piece of lobster. “Right, Mom?”

Iris glances at me when she answers. “Yes,” she says quietly. “It has.”

And all I can think is, Fuck the rules—mine included. Fuck Nestor Kuzmin and his demands. Fuck Stepan Aminoff and his debt. Fuck Anika Kuzmin and her pitiful, pining eyes.

Before the night is over, I’m going to kiss the woman sitting across from me.

I’m going to do what I want from now on.

29

IRIS

“Max, straight to bed, honey,” I say as we walk through the door. “You have basketball practice tomorrow.”

Max nods as he turns to the door, where Kon is standing at the threshold. “Thanks for today, Kon. It was awesome.”

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“You know, you don’t have to go, right?” he says, looking at me sideways like I won’t notice. “I have to go to bed, but you can stay and keep Mom company.”

“Max!” I say, fighting the blush on my cheeks. “Bed. Right now.”

He scurries off to his room, leaving me fidgeting awkwardly in place with a red face that won’t go away.

“Sorry about that,” I mumble. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He doesn’t do that with everyone. He just… likes you.”

Kon smiles, as devastating as ever. “And you?”

My tongue suddenly feels three times as big as normal. “I don’t have to like you,” I say lamely. “You’re his father.”

“Masterfully evaded.”

“I’m not—”

“Can I get a glass of water?”

I nod and sigh. “Come in.”

We walk into the kitchen and I pour him a glass of water, feeling a tingle of electricity dancing over my skin. I take longer than I need to before I turn back around and hand him the glass.

He takes it wordlessly and drinks fast. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and marvel at how strangely sexy that is. I’ve never actually noticed that on another man. But something about Kon is so virile, so alive, in a way I didn’t know was possible.

I live my life like I’m drifting through a half-remembered dream. Kon lives his like he’s painting every second of it with his own two hands.

“You’re staring.”

I blink fast and look down.

“What were you thinking about?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He takes another sip of water and then sets the glass down. “You’ll let me know if you need anything.”

It’s more of an order than a question. I can feel the imminent goodbye hanging between us, and the words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You’re leaving?”

His expression doesn’t change. “I don’t have to.”

I glance towards the door and shake my head. “You want some wine? I think I have a bottle of red in the cabinet above the fridge. Can’t guarantee it won’t give you a wicked hangover, though. It’s pretty cheap.”

“I don’t need wine,” he says. “Let’s sit.”

He leads the way into the living room without waiting for me to answer. Dropping himself up onto one end of the sofa with a contented sigh, he looks up at me. Wondering if I’ll join him and where. Every inch between us says something. A little closer, a little farther—it’s all communication.

I choose to sit close enough to touch if I wanted to.

He looks around, noticing that I’ve got a couple of boxes pushed into the corner of the living room. One box is marked “Essentials.” The second scrap of tape reads “Max.”

I feel a tug when I look at that one, because I know what’s inside it. I get up wordlessly and drift over there.

The lids aren’t yet sealed, so I pull the flaps aside and pull out the folded fabric on top. It’s a blanket. Faded blue, with a little gray elephant knitted into one corner. I pivot slowly back around and hold it out to Kon.

He frowns at first. Then he reaches out to take it. It’s wild to see those powerful, violent hands moving so tenderly. He holds the blanket like it’ll crumble to dust if he’s even the tiniest bit rough with it. His eyes are just as gentle.

“I brought him home from the hospital in this blanket,” I explain in a soft murmur, though my voice sounds jarringly loud to my own ears. The heat in my cheeks is sticking around, stubbornly enough.

He doesn’t respond. Just stares down at the baby blanket like he’s watching a movie on the surface of it. When his eyes finally move to mine, I can tell that in his own way, he’s moved by it.

“He used to cry when he didn’t have it at night. But when the day came where he told me he didn’t need it anymore, I was the one who cried.”

Kon places it reverently on the coffee table, though his eyes flit back to it now and then. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I don’t keep everything,” I say. “I’ve had to choose what to take with me every time we move. But there are some things that make the cut no matter what. I’ll probably be buried with them.”

“You need a proper home, Iris,” he says. “One that you can settle in without worrying about having to leave as soon as you’ve gotten comfortable. A place where you can collect every single little sentimental thing you want because you know you have the space for it. Where you don’t have to make choices.”

I wince. “Kon—”

“Why don’t you want to accept help when it’s offered?”

“Because it always comes with a catch,” I blurt out. “And I don’t want to be indebted to anyone.”

“I’m not anyone,” he says softly. “I’m only myself.”

“What about your life?”

“What about it?”

“You… you’re a single man. What if you meet someone one day? What if you want to get married? Will your future wife be happy with the fact that your son and his mother live with you? And before you say what I know you’re gonna say, it’s not a hypothetical—it’s a very real possibility. One day, you’ll have a partner. And who knows? I might have a partner, too.”

He stiffens instantly. That should set off alarm bells in my head, right? Possessive men are dangerous men. Jealous men are violent men. God knows I’ve met more than my fair share of both.

But he wears that danger in a way that just makes my stomach pirouette.

“You need to think about this,” I add gently.

He leans forward. “I have thought about it, Iris,” he growls at me. “I’m done thinking. You should try it sometime.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t turn my brain off.”

“Try.”

“No. Because I’ll make a mistake if I do.”

“That’s a cop-out.”

“No, it’s not,” I snap, getting defensive. “I’m scared.”

“No, you’re being a coward.”

I rail back like he’s slapped me. “I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but never that.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Screw you,” I spit. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I know you better than you know yourself,” he says as he unfolds himself to his full height and steps forward to swallow up my whole field of vision. “And I think that you’re pushing things away before they can push you away first.”

I open my mouth to retort, then let it fall closed. Sometimes in life, people feed you the truth delicately. One hard-to-swallow little morsel at a time.

And other times, they ram it down your throat, and it’s bitter, and you choke on it, and you hate them for it, and you’d do anything to make it quick—and then it melts and runs all through you and you realize how badly you needed it all along.

Some truths are just necessary like that. It doesn’t make them hurt any less.

“Anything to say, Iris?”

“You need to leave.”

“Spoken like a true coward.”

“Get. Out.”

He steps forward, right into my space. “Do you really want me to leave, Iris?” he asks. “Because if you do, I will. Say it and mean it and I’m gone.”

I gulp, trying to swallow my fear, trying to battle my own sense of doubt and insecurity. But it’s too much to handle all at once. And when his lips get closer and closer to mine, the will to resist him flies out the window. Along with all the thoughts swirling around in my head.

So when he kisses me, the broken pieces of my life fall into place. The world seems to go from black and white to pure, shocking color. His lips press down against mine, but they’re not demanding or intense.

It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt.

My hands shiver upwards and land on his arms. I want to memorize the touch of him, the taste of him, the heft and warmth of him. Because I can’t have this, I know I can’t, it’ll only end badly—but my God, I’ll need these memories to survive on once the days get dark again.

Right now is a point of blinding light in the midst of a life that’s been way too full-up with shadow.

So I’ll take it.

I’ll take it.

I’ll take it.

He bites down on my bottom lip, and I gasp into his kiss, shocked by the sudden burst of pain that intermingles with the pleasure. He slides his tongue across the skin he just bit, soothing what hurts, mending what stings.

“Kon…”

His hand cups my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. Then he steps away and I miss his touch like I miss air between breaths.

“Goodnight, Iris,” he says, turning for the door.

“Wait!”

I don’t even think about it. I just act on instinct. For the first time in a while, I listen to what my body wants. And I forget about the consequences.

“Stay with me,” I whisper. “Please.”

He holds out his hand for me and I slip my fingers through his. All it takes is one gentle tug and I fall right back into his arms. His lips find mine and a shiver steals over the nape of my neck. He coaxes my hand softly to his chest, then leaves it there as he makes slow work of undressing me. He does it like a man for whom time means nothing. He has as much of it as he could ever want.

But the longer he takes, the more impatient I get. He catches my eyes, sees it, and smiles. “All good things come to those who wait,” he taunts ruthlessly.

Then he undoes the final button of my dress and it puddles to the floor around my feet.

The fact that he’s standing there fully clothed while I’m as naked as the day I was born strikes me as completely unfair. But before I can reach for him, he grabs hold of me and pushes me onto the sofa. He gets on his knees in front of me and pushes my legs apart.

My pussy throbs with anticipation as his face disappears between my thighs. Then I feel his tongue against my slit and I gasp, my nipples going rock solid as he starts exploring my body.

I feel myself boiling over with new sensations, and it takes me back ten years. Back to the last time I allowed myself to lose control. It’s like not a single second has passed.

I comb my fingers through his dark auburn hair. It’s soft and flush with the colors of autumn. I see whole forests’ worth of amber-golden leaves when I close my eyes and arch my back, fighting to keep my desperate whimpers muffled.

I feel his tongue slide into me, scissoring and licking, sliding and sucking, until I lose all semblance of what he’s doing. It’s just enough that he’s the one doing it.

As the orgasm finally breaks over me, every muscle in my body tightens. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the cry from escaping.

Even when my blood runs, I don’t let go.

Even when he fills my body up with the exact heat I’ve been missing the last ten years, I don’t let go.

I only start returning to my senses when I catch a glimpse of him standing over me. I watch weakly as he removes his shirt and casts it aside. But when he goes for his pants, I can’t stop myself—I sit up greedily and reach for him.

To my surprise, he lets me. Kon watches me unbutton and unzip him with a hunger in his eyes that matches mine. I tug his pants and boxers down, already salivating at the thought of him.

His cock nearly hits me in the face. He’s fully erect and I feel my pussy throb harder at the sight. The fatigue in my bones seems to wash away almost immediately.

Instantly, I open my mouth and take him deep inside my throat. I had meant to take my time. I had meant to go as slow as he had. You’d think that after waiting ten years, I could wait just a little bit more.

You’d think wrong.

He groans as I lick up and down his length. The sound makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If I could only get another moan out of him, I’d be happy. It’s enough to live my life on just that one sound alone.

“Fuck,” he growls.

This is what I wanted, right? I wanted to know that he wants me like I want him. I wanted to know that I can do to him what he can do to me.

So why do I feel my heart drop?

The answer is obvious: because that second moan, the one I’ve been waiting for… it makes me realize that it doesn’t matter how many sighs of pleasure I get out of him.

It’ll never be enough.

I pull away, sucking in air desperately. Kon takes over. He places one knee on the sofa between my legs and rubs his cock along my slit. Teasing me or preparing me, I can’t tell which.

I run my fingers from his chest, right down along his abs. There’s a glistening layer of sweat that clings to his muscles. I want to lick him dry.

As my hand lands on his tattooed right pec, he thrusts into me so hard that I jerk upright, biting back on a scream loud enough to bring the roof down.

He pushes me back down and starts pumping into me. Hard, fast, everything I’ve dreamed of since I walked out the door of that hotel room.

It doesn’t take long. Eight pumps, maybe ten, and I feel my body rise again, ready for a second orgasm. I keep my eyes on his face, the tension in his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, and I let it consume me.

I let him consume me.

Just as it breaks through my body, he drops his mouth down and takes my right nipple into his mouth. He sucks hard, sending the orgasm into new spirals.

“Oh God, Kon… Kon…”

My fingers dig into his back. I’m aware that I’m leaving marks even as I plunge my nails into his taut skin, but I can’t help myself. It’s hard enough to keep myself from screaming. If I don’t cling to him like this, I’ll come apart completely.

He growls low and I feel his cum spurt inside me. When there’s nothing left, his face falls into the crook of my neck and he lies there for a moment.

I notice something flash on the coffee table. When I look over his shoulder, I see that it’s Kon’s phone.

“The outside world is calling,” I whisper.

“Fuck the outside world,” he says harshly.

His eyes linger on mine, and then he pulls himself away from me. He sits up, grabs a tissue, and wipes the mess dripping down my inner thighs.

I don’t know why, but that gesture alone makes me want to cry.

“Thank you,” I say. I’m proud of the fact that my voice doesn’t shake.

He pulls on his boxers and pants and when he stands, I realize that I’ve left claw marks down his back. “Oh God,” I gasp, jerking upright.

“What?” he asks, turning to me.

“You’re—I—I’ve left a mark…”

He laughs. “Good. I want it.”

30

KON

This is an ache I don’t mind enduring. Every time I feel the familiar twinge, the paths she carved into my back reigniting, I remember the way her face twisted with pleasure.

“Kon? Brother, you in there?”

I turn to Yefim. “What?”

“You’ve been spaced out all day. You concerned about this deal?”

“Of course,” I lie seamlessly.

The less Yefim knows, the better. He’s a worrier on his best day. There’s no need to give him more fuel.

“Have you talked it over with your father?”

“Why should I?” I demand. “He’s no longer in charge.”

“He’s still, y’know, around, though.”

I shoot Yefim a glare. He has the forethought to break eye contact and drop the subject.

We’re being tailed by two jeep loads full of my men. The drive to the private airplane hangar takes almost two hours, but it’ll be worth it. I won’t have to make the trip every time once we have a contract in place.

Not that I believe in contracts in the underworld anyway. It’s a paper shield. But a paper shield is better than no shield at all.

“Remind me again how we made this contact?” he prompts.

“I know people.”

“You realize you have an established ring of allies, right?” Yefim reminds me.

“They’re my father’s allies, not mine. My father’s friends, not mine. My father’s mistakes. Not mine.”

“Very intimidating,” he drawls. “Anyway, maybe organizing a meeting with the old guard would be wise. To re-introduce yourself as the new don. A little debutante ball, you know?”

“It would be a hollow gesture. And this work would have to be done regardless. I need my own ring of allies, men who will answer to me, and be loyal to me.”

“This is not about that, though,” Yefim infers shrewdly. “You’re planning something. I know that devilish little gleam in your eye. Matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a gnarly scar and a bad tattoo from the last time I saw it.”

He’s not wrong, but I’m not about to spell things out for him. Especially when I know he’s going to have serious reservations about it.

“You’re a smart man,” I say. “You’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

Yefim sighs. “Should I be worried, Kon?”

“Not about me. Never about me.”

He drops the line of questioning and sits tight until we reach the private hangar, thank the fucking Lord. We’re let in through massive steel gates and directed to park in the lot, along with the other two jeeps that follow me inside.

I’ve brought a total of twenty men with me, including Yefim. My contact and I had agreed on the entourage number beforehand. We’ve come too far to fuck things up now, though it all still hangs by a single precarious thread.

Sticking to the procedure, we leave our weapons in the front guardhouse. I can see the private plane idling in the mouth of the hangar as we approach.

“Let me do the talking,” I tell Yefim out of the side of my mouth.

Yefim snorts. “I wouldn’t know what to say in the first place. I don’t even know what the hell is going on.”

I smirk at his obvious annoyance, but I make no apologies for it. I wasn’t interested in being talked out of a lucrative opportunity like this. And if it helps me get out of another situation I don’t want to be in… all the more reason to do it.

The men standing on the tarmac outside the plane are all dressed smartly in dark suits. “They look Russian,” Yefim points out with a frown.

“Well,” I reply, “seeing as how they are Russian, that checks out.”

A young-looking man steps out ahead of the pack. I do a quick count as I step up to meet him. Twenty-one of them in total, just like us. So far, so good.

“Konstantin,” he says with an easy sense of familiarity. “How wonderful that we finally meet.”

“Khariton,” I say. “It’s good to meet you as well.” We clasp hands.

Khariton clears his throat. “I am here speaking with the voice of my cousin, Tikhon Kusnetsov.”

Yefim’s eyes pop open a little wider at the sound of the notorious drug lord’s name, but his body language remains impassive.

“Please accept his apologies for not being here in person, as well as a token of his friendship.” Khariton snaps his fingers and two of his men walk over a small chest carried between them, though they’re struggling and grunting like it’s strangely heavy.

They set it in front of me and open the lid to reveal a plush red lining, in the middle of which sits an intricate vase painted with cantering horses.

“This piece is two centuries old. It’s been in the Qadir dynasty for generations.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” I say. “But I still want to read the contract.”

Khariton gives me an appreciative laugh. “I knew I would like you, Konstantin. A businessman, through and through.” Then he snaps his fingers again, and a skinny suit behind him produces a file folder.

I take it and scan through it. Kusnetsov’s signature is splashed self-importantly across the entire bottom half of the final page.

“My men have unloaded your goods already. Everything is waiting for you in the hangar. All that’s left for you to do is sign,” Khariton tells me pointedly.

“Everything seems to be in order,” I say, once I’m satisfied the contract has been drawn up the way I stipulated. “Gorvic, Oleg, Hans.”

Each man I call comes forward with a large black briefcase and sets it down in front of Khariton and his men.

“You don’t mind if I…?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

He waves once again. Three men separate themselves from the line and kneel in front of each briefcase. Moving in sync like robots, they open the cases at the exact same time to reveal the boatload of cash sitting prettily in the evening sun.

“Wonderful, Konstantin,” Khariton says with a leering smile. “Now, there’s only one thing left to do.”

I glance at Yefim, but he stares back at me blankly. “I need a pen, Yefim,” I say through gritted teeth.

He blinks once, then pulls out a pen and hands it to me. He never hesitates, not even now, but I can see the uncertainty in every movement he makes. He knows these men, if not by appearance then by reputation. He knows what they’ve done, what they’re capable of.

And he sure as fuck doesn’t like it.

I take the pen and scrawl my signature across the primary page. Once I’m done, I sign the duplicate, hand one to Yefim, and the other back to Khariton.

“Wonderful,” Khariton says. “Simply wonderful. I think this will be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“I’d like it to be.”

“I will be in touch, Don Konstantin,” Khariton says, bowing respectfully.

I nod once more and the Russian delegation turns back towards the private plane. I wait until they’ve all boarded before I turn and march back to our waiting vehicles.

Never turn your back on dangerous men. That’s one lesson of my father’s I haven’t forgotten.

Yefim stays silent the entire time. While my men retrieve their weapons, he looks at the hangar and eyes the boxes being ferried into the backs of the waiting jeeps.

“What’s in the containers?” he asks.

I spare him a glance. “Something that will make us a lot of fucking money.”

“What’s wrong with our usual fare? Guns have paid the bills for a long time, Kon.”

“I’m not interested in the ‘usual fare.’ I want to make a name for myself. One that has nothing to do with my father’s.”

“Bullshit,” Yefim spits flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“You have never cared about ‘making a name for yourself,’” he scoffs. “You don’t give a shit what people think about you. So spare me the bullshit. No legacy talk, no lies about reputation. What is this really about, Kon?”

“I thought you were the smart one.”

He nods as it all starts to click. “You’re trying to establish connections separate from Nestor Kuzmin.”

“Bingo. Do you know what’s in those boxes?”

“I’m guessing it’s not a fucking Happy Meal,” he grumbles.

“Fourteen hundred kilos of black tar heroin. How much do you think we’ll make off that?”

Yefim rolls his eyes. “I’m not playing this game,” he says.

“Fifty million at a bare minimum,” I say. “And that’s just the first shipment. A few more deals, a few more shipments, and that debt my father racked up? Poof, it’s gone just like that.”

“Jesus,” Yefim breathes. “All this… for her?”

I clench my jaw tight. “I was never on board with this arrangement.”

“That’s not true. You got on board years ago. Iris is the one who threw a spanner in the works.”

I tamp down my desire to overreact, to flame and rage and remind him of what the pecking order is here. But that serves no purpose. He’s my closest friend, and I need to remember that.

“What happened is what happened. I am don now. I dance to my own tune.”

Yefim runs a frustrated hand through his hair. At the rate he’s going, he’ll be bald by years’ end. “You may be able to clear the debt to the Kuzmins. But a broken engagement is going to be a hard insult for Nestor to swallow. Especially if what I’m hearing about the girl’s infatuation with you is accurate.”

“I’m supposed to imprison myself in a miserable marriage just to spare her feelings? Fuck that. She’ll get over it.”

“She’s a Bratva princess,” Yefim hisses. “She’s not going to ‘get over’ anything. She’s going to get even.”

“I’d like to see her try.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yefim swears under his breath. “Brother, I say this with the best intentions: I think you’re being short-sighted. Anika Kuzmin was bred to be your wife. She’ll make a good one.”

“She’s not what I want.”

“And Iris is?”

I hesitate for a moment. “I… need to give myself room to figure it out.”

It might be the first time I’ve ever faltered in front of him. His eyes go cartoonishly wide. “This thing between you and Iris… It’s more serious than I thought, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I bark out a few orders to my men. The shipments will be transferred to a special warehouse before it’s distributed to our dealers. Then the money will begin to flow.

Once I’m done with my instructions, I head back to the vehicle. Yefim trails behind me silently. We get into the jeep together and start the engine. He doesn’t say a word as we pull out, simply staring through the window like there are answers written somewhere on the horizon.

After a while with no sound but the churning of the jeep’s engine, he turns to me. “Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“Don’t play stupid, Kon; it doesn’t suit you. Does Iris know about Anika?”

“There’s nothing to know.”

“Somehow, I don’t think she’ll agree,” he drawls.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a true engagement,” I snap. “It was a reckless business decision that was decided on by two old men.”

“Try convincing her—no, try convincing anyone of that.”

“I don’t have to convince anyone of anything, sobrat.”

“Right, because you’re the don now,” Yefim spits viciously. “So much so that you don’t need my advice now.”

“Don’t play the victim, Yefim; it doesn’t suit you,” I retort, throwing his own words back in his face. “I didn’t ask for this shit, and I’ve decided that I won’t tolerate it anymore. That is the end of that. I don’t want a doormat; I want a partner. I want a woman who’s not afraid to talk back or punch back. Anika Kuzmin will never be that to me.”

He just sighs. “For what it’s worth—not much anymore, apparently—I think you’re making a mistake.”

“You’re right,” I murmur. “That’s not worth anything.”

31

IRIS

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” I ask, as I spread some hummus onto a slice of toast.

Max sits across from me on the wooden island. He’s got his own slice of hummus toast, topped with roasted almonds. These are the kind of meals we’ve always had. Stuff that doesn’t involve a lot of moving parts or expensive ingredients.

Pretend cooking. That’s what Max used to call it when he was younger. I always just called it surviving.

“Are we gonna see Kon again?”

I glance at him, trying to be casual about it. “I think so, yeah.”

He looks me in the eye, and I feel a twinge of something. Probably my instincts just trying to warn me about what’s coming.

“Is that because he’s my dad?”

The piece of toast in my hand topples onto the counter, causing hummus to splatter everywhere. I ignore it completely and gawk at my son.

“What?”

Max just looks sheepishly at me. “Well, is he?”

“Max!”

“You’re not saying he isn’t.”

I stare at him for five seconds longer, trying to wrap my head around the sheer perceptive abilities of a human being that I, in theory, birthed. I should have known he was too smart to be completely oblivious to the truth.

I swallow hard. “Did you ever believe it? The stuff I told you about your dad.”

“At first,” he admits. “Then as I got older, I figured it out.”

“You never said anything to me.”

“It seemed like it made you sad to talk about,” Max tells me matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want you to be sad.”

I kiss the top of his head and take a deep breath. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know, Mom. I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

“You had your reasons.”

I shake my head at him. “You amaze me every day, Maximillian.”

He scrunches up his nose in distaste. “It’s Max,” he insists. I can’t help but burst out laughing, remembering that Kon doesn’t like the use of his whole name, either.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I ask.

He nods. I can see him release a breath as he does it. A breath that he’s been holding for a long, long time. “Thanks for admitting it,” he mumbles.

I nod back, sad in a way I can’t explain. “You deserve the truth, Max. You deserve all the love in the world. I just want to keep you safe.”

He shakes his head as he gazes blankly into the middle distance. “I just kept thinking that he seems familiar. And I kinda think he looks like me sometimes.” He blinks the daze away and looks up at me. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

I reach over and stroke the back of his hand. “It’s always been you and me, Max. All your life, it’s been the two of us. And I’ve loved that.”

“But now, it can be the three of us,” he protests softly.

As if it’s that simple. As if anything is ever that simple.

“Honey, you know that Kon and I aren’t together, right?”

But even as I say it, I feel guilty. We crossed a line the day before yesterday. We let our desires get the better of us.

It feels weird that we have only those two physical experiences tying us together, considering we share a son. A lonely pair of moments, strung together like a rickety bridge across a gaping chasm.

I want more. In a deep, achy way that throbs with every heartbeat, I want more. But sleeping with Kon will cause problems. I’m not the kind of woman who can have sex with a man without defining things between us. Casual dating has never been my thing. Casual sex, even less so.

I just don’t know how to give my heart away in pieces. It’s all or nothing with me. It always has been.

“But… but… why not?” he asks.

What I want to say is, It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you’re older.

But I told him he deserves the truth, and I meant that. He’s brave and he’s kind and he’s loving and he deserves the truth, if nothing else. It’s all I can give him right now, anyway.

So I take his hand and sit down beside him. “You remember I told you that I came to Los Angeles when I was very young?”

He nods uncertainly. “Yeah.”

“I was eighteen years old. I came here and started looking for work. I got some odd jobs here and there, and then I found an agent who said he was going to help me start my modeling career. We were at an event—kinda like a party—and that’s where I met Kon for the first time.”

“Oh. And then you had me?”

I hesitate, annoyed that I have to do it alone, even though I always expected to. “Yes, but Kon didn’t know I was going to have you. He only found out about you recently. That’s why he came looking for us.”

Max smiles. “So he wants to know me.”

“Very much so.”

He looks intensely relieved, and I feel the guilt twist in my gut. Guilt that has to do with Kon just as much as it has to do with Max.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Can we see him today?”

I breathe to cool my racing heart. “If that’s what you want, honey, then yeah.”

He grins so wildly that my heart goes stampeding away all over again. “Cool.” Then he jumps right off the stool and goes skipping off to his room.

I bury my face in my hands for several seconds, trying to breathe through the sudden anxiety that’s holding my body hostage.

It’s out there now. And there’s no turning back.

If Kon decides he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me and Max now, it’s going to hurt all the more. Maybe that’s why my thumb shakes as I pull out my phone and the business card and dial his number.

“Iris?” he says as soon as he answers. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, Kon,” I say tentatively. “Nothing’s wrong. Are… are you busy right now?”

“I’m always busy.” My stomach starts to sink before he adds, “But I can make time.”

I close my eyes and rub them with the heel of my hand. I’m shaky and achy from head to toe, like I’m burning up with a fever, though my forehead is still cool to the touch.

“Max knows,” I blurt.

Kon is silent for a moment. Only his breath, slow and steady, in and out. “You told him?”

“He asked.”

“Kid’s smart.”

“A lot smarter than I’ve given him credit for,” I say with a sigh. “In any case, once he asked me point blank, I didn’t want to lie. So… he knows. He asked to see you today.”

“I’ll send a car.”

I raise my eyebrows and grip the phone a little tighter. “Now?”

“Now,” he confirms. “See you both soon.”

He hangs up, and I stand there feeling… strange, I guess is the only word for it. The life I’ve spent a decade building for Max and me is peeling away like dead skin. A quote comes to mind, though I couldn’t tell you where I heard it for all the tea in China.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

I shiver involuntarily.

As I do, I bring my fingers up to my lips and brush up against the tender spot on my lower lip. The exact spot where Kon bit me. It doesn’t hurt, exactly. More like a painless throb. A reminder. A little note he’s left on my body that says, I’m part of you now.

When I told him I’d left marks on his back, he laughed and said, Good. As though scars were the exact souvenirs he was hoping for.

It didn’t make sense to me at the time. Now, I get it.

I nearly jump a foot when my phone starts ringing again. When I see who’s calling, I grimace. But I can only run from the world for so long. Sooner or later, my demons will demand an answer.

“Hey, Morley.”

“Iris, why the eff haven’t you been answering my calls? You know what—whatever, I don’t care. I need you out by the weekend.”

“You gave me five freaking days!” I snap. “I will move out, but I’m gonna need some time to find a new place.”

“I’m gettin’ pressure, Iris.”

I grit my teeth furiously, but a part of me knows that Morley is no match for Sorbonne. I can’t exactly blame the man for trying to survive. He’s a cockroach—survival is all he knows how to do.

“So am I,” I tell him. “The internal pressure of knowing you’re going to be homeless soon and you have a child to support.”

“Two more days,” he says. “Not a second more.”

“Morley—”

“Two more days.” He hangs up in a fury.

“Coward,” I snarl at the phone.

I’m still breathing hard when I hear a car pull up outside the house. “Shit,” I curse under my breath. I duck into my room and quickly shrug on high-waisted white pants and a black bandeau top. I keep my hair loose and flowing around my shoulders and I dab on just the faintest hint of nude lipstick.

“Max!” I call as I head out towards the front door with my satchel slung over one shoulder.

“I’m ready,” Max says, appearing from his room with his backpack in tow.

We walk out of the house hand-in-hand towards the black Wrangler waiting for us outside. I recognize the man sitting behind the wheel immediately. He’s short, but there’s a presence about him that belies his size.

“Iris,” he greets.

“Yefim, right?”

“You remember. I’m flattered.” He turns his attention to Max. “Nice to meet you, little man.”

Max shakes his hand and looks up at the massive Wrangler in awe. “That’s a big car.”

“Wanna drive it?”

“No!” I blurt at the same time that Max cries out, “Yeah!”

Yefim looks at me with a guilty, sheepish smile. “I was just teasing. Sorry, bud. Gotta be able to reach the pedals first. But maybe your mom will let you sit up front…?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. That feverish, shivery feeling from earlier is back with a vengeance.

“Please, Mom?” Max begs. “Please?”

“Fine,” I concede. “Just this once.”

He grins from ear to ear and punches the air with excitement. “Oh, man, Samson’s gonna be so jealous.”

I have to suppress a smile as I climb into the back seat of the Wrangler. Yefim makes sure we’re both buckled in—probably more for my benefit than anything else—and then he starts driving.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Max,” he says as we cruise down the highway. “I’ve heard so much about you from Kon.”

“He’s my dad, you know,” Max blurts out.

I can see Yefim’s eyes flit to me in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he says carefully, “I did know that.”

“Oh. I only found out just now,” says Max. “Are you Kon’s driver?”

Yefim laughs. “I guess you’d call me Kon’s right-hand man. I do whatever he asks of me. Big jobs, small jobs, important jobs. You, of course, are the latter.”

“Where is Kon right now?” I ask, mildly curious.

“Seeing to business,” Yefim says vaguely. “But I’m sure he’ll be done by the time we get to the estate.”

“Estate?” Max asks.

“Oh right, you haven’t been there before. Trust me, it’s gonna knock your little socks off.”

Max frowns. “My socks aren’t little.”

* * *

We arrive at Kon’s estate about twenty minutes later. Max is literally vibrating on the edge of his seat, waving impatiently at the slowly parting gates.

“Mom! Mom! Can you see this?”

“I can see it, honey. Pretty cool, huh?”

“This place is like a castle,” he announces. “Just without the moat and drawbridge.”

“But they’re both very good suggestions,” Yefim says. “Don’t give your dad any ideas, though.”

He parks in front of the house and comes around to help Max down from the front seat. As soon as his feet touch the gravel, he sprints right up to the house’s façade and cranes his neck upward.

“This. Is. So. Cool,” he breathes.

He’s only known the truth about Kon for an hour, give or take, and I can already see the impact that information is having on Max. He seems to stand a little taller, move a little faster. And the smile never leaves his face.

“Mom, can I go explore?”

I glance at Yefim, feeling like we’re intruders who don’t belong. “Of course,” Yefim encourages him. “Go find us some buried treasure.” He looks at me and stage-whispers, “There’s security everywhere. He’ll be fine.”

Max takes off running, cackling maniacally the whole way. I stay twisting in place, not sure what to do with myself or with the unnamable emotions tearing through my veins.

“You okay?” Yefim asks quietly.

I nod, trying to push away the fears flapping inside me like bats. “I’m fine.”

“Where’s Kon?”

“Handling some—”

“Bratva business?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, Bratva business.”

“Should I be worried?”

I know immediately that he understands exactly what I’m asking him. To his everlasting credit, he doesn’t bother to lie—he just answers honestly, his tone low and filled with all the anxiety that he kept locked away for my benefit up until now.

“Yes,” he sighs. “You should.”

32

KON

When I return home, she’s standing by the French doors with her arms crossed casually across her chest. Her skin glows in the sun coming through the glass, but her hair repels the light altogether.

Her face is somber. Contemplative. All this despite the fact that she’s watching Max, who’s running around the garden as though it’s his first trip to Disneyland.

She doesn’t notice me until I’m standing right next to her. When she does, she gasps and jumps about a foot in the air.

“Jesus!” she exclaims, grabbing her heart. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“What were you thinking about?”

She bites her bottom lip, and I notice that it’s swollen from when I bit her the other night. That realization alone has my dick perking up immediately. If Max weren’t running around in the garden right now, I might have done something about it.

“I was thinking that… I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she says. She sounds like a woman searching for reassurance.

“You’re here because our son found out that I’m his father,” I remind her.

She jerks a little when I say “our son.” It’s the first time I’ve ever used those words, and it feels… right. Surreal, but right.

“He figured out that the story I told him about his ‘father’ was a lie.”

“I told you he was smart.”

“You didn’t need to tell me anything,” she retorts. “I’m his mother; I know just how smart he is.”

“Clearly not, or you wouldn’t be so surprised to be here right now.”

She grits her teeth and stares daggers at me. “Today is not the day to be an ass, Kon.”

“I wasn’t aware I was being one.”

“Maybe it just comes naturally.”

I have to try very hard to suppress my smile. Her voice is prickly with misdirected anger and aimless resentment. She’s doing a piss-poor job of keeping herself under control.

I’m not sure if it’s because Max figured out who I was, or if it’s because it’s been more than twenty-four hours since I fucked her senseless and we haven’t exchanged a text or a call since she contacted me today.

“Listen,” she sighs, “Max came here because he wanted to see you. You should talk to him.”

“I will. But I’m talking to you first.”

I reach out and touch her arm. She pulls back as though I just tried to strike her. Her gorgeous green eyes find mine and I see the electric desire in them. Shot through with burning fear.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “Please, just… don’t. The other night was a mistake. We should… we should never have crossed that line.”

“Whose line was it? Not mine.”

She moves away from me fast, like she’s scared I’m going to try and touch her again. I could follow her, pin her to a wall, and make her listen. I could breathe the words right into that pretty little mouth so she’d have no choice but to swallow them down.

But I have an ulterior motive today. Especially now that Max knows who I really am.

“There’s always a line,” she insists. “And we need to establish a few more.”

I roll my eyes and start walking away from her.

I can feel her anger follow me like a shadow. “Where the hell are you going?” she demands.

“To talk to my son. Like you suggested.”

I step out onto the grass and Max spots me. “Kon!” he cries. He runs straight for me and I offer him my fist, which he bumps with gusto.

Then I take a knee in front of him so that we’re at eye level. “So… I hear you know the big secret.”

Max looks self-conscious for a moment. “You’re my dad.” Then he raises his eyes to mine and grins. “I guessed it, you know.”

I smile back. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Max raises his eyebrows. “A lot.”

“Good. Then let’s sit down over there and we can talk.”

I take his hand and we go find seats on the patio. Iris lingers nearby, close enough to eavesdrop, her face wrought with concern that she can’t even find the words to express. She goes back and forth between biting her lip and picking at her nails.

“The floor is yours, Max,” I say once we’re settled onto the couch.

He sits on the edge of the seat, almost tall enough for his feet to touch the floor. “Where did you meet my mom?”

I almost glance at her, wondering what she’s told him, wondering how much I’m supposed to tell him. But if the kid was smart enough to realize part of the truth, then he’s old enough for the rest of it.

“At a party,” I tell him. “She was yelling at her agent, as a matter of fact.”

I can feel Iris’s nervous tension reach me from where she’s standing, but I ignore it pointedly.

“Mom!” Max says in surprise, looking over at her. “You were yelling at someone?”

“For a very good reason,” she says sourly. “He was being a jerk and I was calling him out on it.”

“And that’s how you met?” Max asks, sounding confused.

“No, the agent was getting really loud and obnoxious and I stepped in to help your mother.”

“Even though I didn’t need help,” Iris adds.

I roll my eyes. “She did need my help; she just doesn’t like admitting it. Anyway, we reconnected later in the night, and we… had a conversation.”

“And that was it,” Iris blurts.

“What was it?” Max asks.

“We went our separate ways,” Iris says, going red in the face.

“But you got pregnant with me?” Max’s nose is wrinkled in confusion.

Her cheeks are full-on raging red now. “Well, yes. I… It was poor judgment on my part, honey. I was very young and… It wasn’t a mistake, I won’t say that because I have you because of it, but it was just… too soon.”

“I know about sex, Mom,” Max says cockily.

“Oh good God,” Iris mutters, covering her face with her hands.

Max turns to me, hoping I’ll fill him in. “Your mother and I… We weren’t meant to be together right then,” I tell him. “But that night meant something.”

To my surprise, that answer seems to satisfy him. “Did you ever try to find her?” he asks.

I nod, still feeling Iris’s gaze burning a hole in the side of my face. “I did.”

In the corner of my eye, I see her jaw drop.

“I did try to find her,” I continue, “but all I had was her first name. And it’s a big world, buddy. So the search came up empty. Until I saw her on TV not too long ago. Everything happened pretty fast after that.”

Max tilts his head to the side like a forlorn puppy. “When you found out about me… were you happy?”

I smile and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’ve never been happier, Max.”

He blushes, just like his mother. Then he swallows and steels himself, just like his father. My chest feels like it’s inflating from within, a hot cloud of a dozen different emotions that lightens my weight on my feet.

My son is a fucking miracle.

“Any more questions?” I ask hoarsely.

“Probably, but I can’t think of any right now.”

“Well, when you do, I’ll be right here.”

He jumps to his feet. “Can I go look at the rest of the garden?”

“It’s all yours.”

Max jumps off the patio and starts running across the grass. Iris and I both watch him go, and for a long time, neither one of us says anything.

“Is it true?” Iris asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Which part?”

“That you looked for me.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“I don’t know. To make him feel loved. To make me feel like you cared.”

I rise and look down at her. “I told Max that because it’s the truth. I called the host of the party, the catering crew, the agency you worked at. You were a ghost.”

Her eyes go wide as she realizes that I’m telling the truth. “I… I left the agency a few weeks after the party.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t thought about that period of my life in a long time.” She sighs and lets her eyes fall to the ground. “I was terrified, you know. Pregnant and alone? I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to stick with it.”

I look at her with disbelief. “Don’t you know by now?”

“Know what?” she asks.

“You have the strength to do anything.”

Stunned silence follows.

I reach down and cup her hands in mine. “You’ve had to do everything on your own for nine years, Iris. Probably long before that, too. But you don’t have to do it anymore. Accepting help doesn’t make you weak.”

She sighs and keeps gnawing at that lip. A tiny drop of ruby blood emerges. I swipe it away with my thumb.

“Do you have a place to go?” I press.

She doesn’t want to admit it, but she has no choice. “No.”

“Then I think you know what you need to do.”

She nods slowly, her eyes lowering with disappointment. “It won’t be forever.”

“It won’t matter if it is.”

“Yes, it will,” she argues. “I don’t want to disrupt your life. Or mine, for that matter.” She closes her eyes for a moment and exhales slowly. “But Kon,” she says, opening her eyes again, “we need to establish some real boundaries. No more… no more you and me. I can’t do casual.”

I tilt her chin up until she’s forced to look into my eyes. “It’s never been casual to me, Iris,” I rasp softly. “Not from the very first moment.”

Iris sobs softly and squeezes her eyes shut. “Alright, that’s enough,” she hisses, though there’s no force in it. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… like you did ten years ago.”

“Would that be so bad?” I whisper. “Going back to then?”

She nods. A thin, crystalline river of tears runs down her cheek. “Yes. Yes, it would, Kon. We’re not those two people anymore. I have Max and a whole lot of trust issues. And you have… well, you have this.”

She gestures around at the house like she’s just talking about my worldly possessions, but I have a feeling she’s including the Bratva in the gesture as well.

“We don’t fit together,” she continues softly. “We never did. Even ten years ago, all we were doing was playing pretend. Taking a break from reality. If it weren’t for Max, we would never have crossed paths again.”

I don’t argue with her. And when she walks away, I let her. Because I don’t have a counter-argument—I just know she’s wrong.

And deep down, I think she knows it, too.

33

IRIS

Most of a mother’s life is drudgery. That’s not complaining or pessimism, it’s just a fact. We wash clothes and cook dinners and ferry our children to and from school. When you’re a single mother, it’s twice as hard and ten times as lonely.

But there are moments that make it worth it, and you cling to them like precious jewels tucked away in a drawer that only you can reach into. No one can take them from you, and you can’t really share them with another soul even if you wanted to. They’re yours. More than that, they are you.

The first step and the first word and the first carefree laugh—of course you remember your child doing all of those things.

But it’s the in-between ones that I cherish the most. The way Max sticks his tongue out of his mouth when he’s working hard on a coloring book. The smell of his hair when I carry him into the house, fast asleep in my arms.

This is another one like those. He’s standing on the threshold of his new room in Kon’s house. His jaw is hanging open, one lock of dark hair swooping down over his forehead. He turns to me, eyes bright, and breaks out into the biggest grin I’ve seen from him in a long, long time.

I tuck that moment into my secret drawer along with the rest of them.

“Mom, this room is awesome!” he announces.

I laugh, follow him into the bedroom, and ogle right along with him. It’s the same size as the entire house we were living in. A queen bed, a grownup-looking desk, room enough to do a cartwheel if he wanted to. The boxes with his name printed on the side have been unpacked by the house staff and neatly disposed of. All his things are hanging in the closet or folded in the drawer. A little picture of us from his first day of kindergarten stands in its macaroni frame on the nightstand.

“It feels surreal, doesn’t it?” I ask with a laugh.

He frowns with concentration. “Surreal is when things are real, but they don’t feel real, right?”

I boop him on the nose. “Bingo, my little Einstein.”

Then, out of nowhere, a specter of sadness steals over me. That’s the problem with those precious little moments—they’re framed by sadness. Sadness before and sadness after, because you know that they can’t last. You as the adult in the room know that the world has a cruel way of rusting happiness away at the edges, whether by time passing or luck withering.

So when I see my son smile, my heart sings. But it always crashes in the seconds that follow, knowing that that perfect little smile can’t last forever.

“Come here, sweetheart. Sit with me for a second.” I sink onto the edge of his bed and tap the spot next to me. He comes over obediently and sits at my side.

“Listen, Max… I need you to know that we won’t be living here forever.”

His face drops immediately. “Why not? This house is huge!”

“I know, I know. It’s just… well, this is Kon’s house. It’s not ours.”

His brow scrunches up with confusion. “But Kon’s my dad.”

“He is, and he’ll be your dad whether we live with him or not,” I agree.

Max looks around his room and I can tell he’s already anticipating the pain of leaving it one day. I see that pain in his eyes and I feel it along with him.

Then he looks back at me. “But aren’t you two going to get married now?” he asks timidly.

I open my mouth to answer, but no sound comes out, because what can I even say to that? Whether he senses my hesitation or just doesn’t care to continue this conversation, I’m not sure, but Max shrugs, hops off the bed, and scurries into the closet.

“I gotta get ready for school,” he calls as he goes.

“I’m pretty sure this will always be your room, though,” I tell him.

I tuck my feet up under me and press my face into the heels of my hands. “Oh God…” I breathe. I thought I had a handle on that whole conversation, and then whoosh, it gets snatched away from me in the blink of an eye.

I’ve never been one to dream of marriage. White dresses and floral arrangements and stilted “I do’s”? Not for me.

So why is it that the moment Max had mentioned Kon and me getting married, I’d seen it? I’d seen Kon’s ring on my finger and felt his hand in mine. I’d heard his voice promising things that the real Kon would never, ever promise.

It’s another fantasy I don’t need and can’t afford.

So I let it go.

Max comes back into the room, dressed and with his backpack slung over his shoulder, one strap only like the “cool kids” do, apparently.

“After you,” I say with a false, forced laugh. I don’t want him to know I’m on the verge of tears. He’s seen too much of my frailty as it is lately. I’m supposed to be the mom; I’m supposed to be the strong one.

I will be those things.

We make our way down the stairs to find a black sedan waiting for us in the driveway. The driver bows as we approach and holds open the doors, then we go zipping off towards the school.

When we arrive at Riverton Elementary, I kiss him on the head—despite his wriggles and protests—and hand over the lunchbox that the chef gave me this morning.

“Make good choices,” I tell him sternly, just like I’ve done every day for as long as I can remember. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom!” he calls. But he’s already gone, disappearing down the hall with a renewed pep in his step.

Sighing, I get back in the car and direct the driver to my next stop.

Morley is standing in the yard when we pull up.

“Iris?” he asks, looking in surprise at me and then the car, the car and then me.

“Morley,” I greet with a cool nod.

Honestly, it’s worth all the anguish I’ve felt this morning just to see the shocked expression on his face. I’m hoping he’ll report back to Sorbonne. He doesn’t need to know the details of what’s going on. Just the sting of knowing he failed will be enough for me, even if I don’t get to see it.

Because I know for a fact that Sorbonne won’t be able to intimidate Kon. Not the way he’s bullied everyone else for the last several years.

Kon will crush him like a cockroach if he even tries.

“You find somewhere to stay?” he grunts.

“Do you care?”

He frowns. “Hey, c’mon, I’m not a monster.”

“Yeah, I got a place,” I say, glancing towards the waiting car. “And it comes with a few extra perks.”

I turn to the driver and he rolls down the window. “Roscoe, I’m gonna get the last of my stuff organized. I’ll call you in when I’m ready to load.”

“Got it, ma’am,” he says. He gives Morley a glare over the rim of his sunglasses and rolls up the window without ever looking away.

Morley looks like he’s about to shit himself. Pity—couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

I smile pleasantly. “I’ll be inside,” I tell him. “You’ll have the keys soon.”

“Take your time,” he blurts, flushing oddly. The reaction confuses me a little. “I’mma walk down to the corner store. I’m all out of cigarettes.”

He ambles off. I stare after him for a moment, wondering why he’s acting so weird. Then, with a shrug, I head towards the house and open the door.

But when I do, I hardly recognize it.

Mostly because the entire place has been filled with roses.

Pink and red and white blossoms fill every available surface. Counter, cabinet, floor—all of it bursting with color.

“What the hell?” I breathe as I wiggle inside and look around.

Is it possible that Kon did this? It’s the first thought that pops into my head, but I dismiss it almost immediately. He would never.

It actually smells more like…

“Jake,” I gasp when I turn the corner and see him standing there with a single long-stemmed red rose in hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Guess what?”

I frown. “I don’t have time for this, Jake.”

“You were right, Iris. You were right about everything. I went to rehab.”

That genuinely blunts my annoyance at this moment. “You what?”

“Graduated from it and everything.”

I frown, feeling my excitement dwindle immediately. “We saw each other like a month ago,” I remind him.

“I know. Shortly after you tore my heart out and spit on the ashes, I went on a massive bender. Andy staged this intervention for me. It forced me to take stock of my life.”

He sounds like he’s reading from a pre-written script. Even if I was inclined to believe him or forgive him—neither of which are high on my list—I’d be a little creeped out by how insincere it all feels. My skin crawls.

“So I checked myself into a rehab right here in the Hills and I spent a month there reassessing my life. And it led me to the only conclusion I knew was true. The only path to a happy ending.”

“Jake…”

“It’s you, Iris. It’s always been you.”

I take a deep breath, my eyes turning towards the window. I can see the black sedan, but I can’t see Roscoe’s silhouette through the tinted glass.

While I’m distracted, Jake manages to walk right up to me and grab my hands. I turn to him with a gasp. He’s got a new tattoo near his neck. It reads LOVE, in big capital letters. Short of getting my name inked on him, it’s the next worst option.

He smiles when he sees me looking. “I knew you would notice. You notice everything.”

“Including the fact that it’s gonna take a lot longer than a month to fix what’s broken in you, Jake.”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t touched anything in a month,” he tells me. “Clean as a whistle, I swear.”

“Well, that’s great—”

“And it’s all because of you.”

“Jake, I can’t take credit for that.”

“But you should. After you broke up with me, it made me realize how much you meant to me. How much I love you.”

He practically punches the air with bright-eyed exuberance and I find myself taking a step back. I have to admit, this is the first time in forever that he hasn’t reeked of alcohol or smoke. Otherwise, I would have sworn he was high right now.

“Listen Jake, I am… surprised by all this,” I tell him gently. “And the roses really are lovely… But you realize I’m moving out of this house, right? I have to hand the keys over to Morley today.”

“I already spoke to him,” Jake says. “How do you think I got in here in the first place?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you broke in somewhere.”

“I was messed-up then,” he points out. “I’m sober now.”

“And again, I’m really thrilled about that, but—”

“Don’t worry about the roses,” he says, cutting me off. “I’ll just have them delivered to wherever you’re moving to. Where is that, exactly?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I can’t take the roses with me.”

“Of course you can.”

“Jake,” I say firmly, “you’re not listening to me. I appreciate what you’ve tried to do here, but… this doesn’t change anything. We’re not getting back together.”

His face falls. “But I’m sober now.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on.”

“There’s another guy?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. This isn’t about another guy; it’s about where I am in my life. And I’ve moved past this relationship.”

His mouth drops open. I feel guilt stirring in my stomach. But I’m not going to be swayed from this decision. The mistake was never breaking up with Jake—it was getting involved with him in the first place.

“You’re really not going to give me a second chance?”

“I gave you a second chance, remember?” I remind him. “You took that chance and threw it at a stripper’s bare ass.”

He tenses. “That’s not fair, Iris.”

“The cornerstone of rehab is honesty, right, Jake?”

He nods.

“Then tell me honestly: did you or did you not sleep with someone else while we were together?”

He purses up his lips. It’s obvious that he’s trying to figure out how best to play this. He finally settles on the truth. “It didn’t mean anything, Iris,” he mumbles. “I was so out of my mind on alcohol and drugs. I barely knew what I was doing.”

I sigh. “I’m not even mad, Jake. I always knew that, deep down.”

“Everything will be different this time,” he swears. “I’m sober now.”

“You’ve been sober for a month,” I point out. “The entirety of which you’ve been in a controlled location being monitored and taken care of. You need to live a sober life in the real world. On tour. At parties. With other people.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I think you’re capable of anything,” I say firmly. “But I also think it’s gonna take a lot more work. And I have enough on my plate without having to take care of you, too.”

“Iris—”

He reaches for me, but I jerk back and leave him in the sitting room. I go to my bedroom and hoist up the last of the boxes. I walk them to the door, where Jake is still standing in the same position I left him.

“I’m heading off, Jake,” I tell him gently. “Good—”

Before I can finish my sentence, he lunges forward, seizes my arm, and reels me in toward him, his eyes earnest and desperate. “This can’t be the end. Iris, you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“We’re wrong for each other, Jake. We always were. I—”

Another sentence left unfinished. This time, he smashes his lips down on mine. I twist in his grasp and his open mouth goes sliding across my turned cheek. The box falls from my hand and hits the ground with a thump.

“Stop!” I cry out.

“I know you still have feelings for me,” he insists, his breath sticky and hot in my face. “I want you to realize it—”

He tries to kiss me again, and just as I’m trying to jerk my face away from his, the door bursts open and there’s this huge, beautiful, terrifying man standing in the threshold staring pure murder straight at Jake.

Time stands still for a moment.

Then it all happens so fast.

Kon crosses the room in a single stride. He grabs Jake by the scruff of his shirt and flings him across the room, right into his rose display. Glass shatters and petals erupt, raining down around us like fire.

“Jesus, Kon!” I scream. “Stop it!”

Jake rebounds to his feet and balls up his fists. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he gasps.

“I’m here for Iris,” Kon snarls.

Jake takes a clumsy swing at him. But Kon ducks without so much as a hint of effort, coils back, and unloads a swift punch into Jake’s gut.

Jake keels over immediately, groaning. But Kon isn’t finished. Taking hold of his shirt again, he throws him up against the wall. Jake’s head clacks against the drywall hard enough to crack it. The sound is sickening.

“Kon!” I scream again. “Let him go!”

“I’ll let this little fuck go when he understands,” Kon growls. He looks at Jake. “You will leave her alone, or you will answer to me. Is that understood, pretty boy?”

Jake just mumbles unintelligibly. His eyes are dazed and unfocused. Kon looks ready for more violence to drive home his point, but before he can do anything else, I break out of my frozen spell and cling to his arm.

He turns his face slowly to look at me. His eyes are burning coals in their sockets.

“Please,” I whisper. “He’s got the point. Let’s just go. Please, Kon. For me.”

His jaw tightens. It’s obvious how every cell in his body is telling him to finish this. Tie up the loose end. Eliminate the problem.

But in the end, he lets Jake go and steps back. Jake crumples to the floor in a whimpering puddle of self-pity.

Part of me wants to help him.

Part of me wants to never see him again.

I split the difference and kneel down next to him. “Go back to your life, Jake,” I say as gently as I can. “You and I were never meant to be.”

Then I grab my last remaining box and head out the door, without waiting to see if Kon is following me or not.

Morley is shuffling up the path with a lit cigarette in his mouth. His eyes go wide when he sees Kon behind me.

“Key’s in the door, Morley,” I tell him, handing my box over to the waiting Roscoe.

Roscoe loads it up and gets in the trunk of the sedan. I’m walking around to get in, but before I can, he revs the engine and takes off down the road.

“What on earth…?” I ask in confusion.

Kon eyes me coldly. “He’ll drop your stuff off. You’re coming with me.”

34

KON

She’s rattled. That’s obvious.

And pissed. That’s obvious, too.

“Get in,” I tell her.

I’m surprised when she actually listens, though she slams the car door harder than necessary. She doesn’t say a word for a full two minutes, then she turns on me.

“What the hell was that?” she seethes.

“That fucker needed to be put in his place,” I say unapologetically.

“I was doing that myself!”

“You were seconds away from being mauled.”

“How did you even know he was there?”

I give her a come on, Iris look, and she groans in frustration.

“Roscoe isn’t really my own personal driver, is he?” she guesses. “He’s a spy you planted under the ruse of being a chauffeur.”

“He can be both.”

“You have no right to keep track of my movements,” she argues. “You don’t own me, Kon. Just because I accepted your help for the time being doesn’t mean you have the right to control my life.”

She has a point. Unfortunately for her, I don’t give a shit. She has every right to be angry, but it’s not in my nature to see another person’s perspective. Even hers.

Right now, I’m pissed, too—and possessive. The only thing I know, the only thing I care about, is that that slimy piece of shit put his hands on my woman.

He’s lucky he’s still drawing breath.

“I was trying to help you.”

“Bullshit,” she retorts. “That wasn’t about helping me. That was about your ego, your sense of entitlement. That was about you getting all worked up that another man is interested in me.”

“If you’re trying to say something, just say it.”

“I’m saying that you’re freaking jealous!” she says bluntly.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Her eyes go wide and she barks an angry laugh in my direction. “Is that what’s pissing you off so damn much? You don’t like that I hate accepting your help? You’re angry that I’m not chasing after you like every other woman in your life does?”

“There’s a couch on its way to a landfill right now that says you’ve chased me plenty.”

Her jaw tightens into a hard square. “I thought I made it clear that what happened between us the other night was a mistake.”

“You did say that,” I tell her. “Over and over again, in fact.”

“Oh, fuck you!” she cries out. “You’re an obnoxious, egotistical, entitled, self-serving…

“Don’t stop there,” I taunt. “Get it all out.”

“… asshole!” she finishes with a fury.

“What are you really mad about right now, huh?” I demand. “That won’t-take-no-for-an-answer fuck is out of your life. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“What I wanted was to be able to handle it myself!”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do for the last several months?” I fire back. “Because you’ve done all that and he still doesn’t seem to have gotten the message.”

“So he’s slow—”

“Among other things.”

She shoves her face into her purse and lets loose a muffled scream. When she looks back up at me, her hair is floating loose around her face like a dark veil. Even now, with her fury in full tilt, I want to tuck it behind her ear and taste the soft curve of her throat. To kiss the anger right off her lips.

“Why are you making this so damn hard for me?” she croaks.

“I just made it easier. You’re the one freaking out for no reason.”

“No reason,” she repeats incredulously. “No reason?!”

“Is this what happens every time someone has tried to help you?” I ask. “Because I’m starting to understand why you’re alone.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly that. You’re alone, Iris.”

“I chose to be,” she answers. “Jake was my attempt at—”

“I’m not talking about only your love life. I’m talking about the fact that you’re isolated. You don’t have friends or family or—”

“Don’t bother finishing the sentence,” she hisses venomously. “Stop the car and let me out.”

“No.”

I can feel her glaring a hole into the side of my cheek. It’s funny how someone with such an angelic face can channel hell.

“I’m serious, Kon. Let me out. Right the fuck now.”

When I ignore her, she unbuckles herself. I put the child lock on, but then she makes a grab for the wheel. “Jesus Christ,” I growl, swerving to the side of the road.

She doesn’t apologize or hesitate as I slam the brakes and we stop. She just turns to her door, manually unlocks herself, and jumps out of the car.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter as she storms away from me, typing furiously on her phone.

I start the car again and drive up alongside her. She doesn’t look at me for a second.

“It’s a long way back to the house, Iris.”

“I don’t care. I’m walking.”

“You’re being irritatingly stubborn.”

“Pot, kettle.”

“It’s expected of me. You, not so much.”

“Why?” she demands, halting in place and shooting me a furious glare. “Because you’re a man? No, wait, let me guess—it’s because you’re ‘the don.’” She does exaggerated air quotes around the title. “Is this what being don does to you? Turns you into a raging, entitled asshole? Because that is not what I want for my son. I have raised him to be kind and compassionate. I have raised him to be a decent human being. I don’t need you to come in and fuck up all my hard work. I don’t want him ending up like you.”

I’m violently silent for a moment.

My whole life, I’ve been taught to break and maim and kill things that displease me. But this can’t be broken. It can’t be maimed. It can’t be killed.

“At least if he ends up like me,” I say quietly, “he’ll get somewhere in life. He won’t find himself getting evicted from a shithole bungalow while his pervy ex paws all over him.”

“I’d rather him have nothing than be a soulless monster like you.” She straightens up and combs her hair back from her face. Then she glances behind me. I look in the rearview mirror to see a yellow cab pulling up.

“Flawless timing,” she says primly. “My ride is here. I’d tell you not to track me, but I wouldn’t want to put your spies out of a job.”

Without waiting for a retort, she stomps over to the cab, throws herself in, and the vehicle speeds off.

“Fucking hell,” I breathe into the silence. Is this what it feels like to have finally met your match? Because I’ve never had this sensation before. The feeling that no amount of water is going to put out the fire inside me.

I sit and brood for a long time. But the answers to this shit won’t be found on the side of the road. So, with a sigh, I start driving.

Which of course is when my father calls me. “Yeah?” I ask when I answer.

“Where are you?”

“Out.”

“I need to speak to you.”

“Today’s not a good day.”

“Now, Konstan… uh, Kon. It’s urgent.”

I frown. Something in his voice doesn’t sound right.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

The gates are already open and waiting for me. When I get inside the house, one of the maids informs me that he is waiting for me outside on the patio.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask. “You hate this place.” I take note of the half-empty whiskey bottle and the ashtray overflowing with the remnants of two cigars smoked down to nubs. There’s a third smoldering between his withered fingers.

“Cigar?”

“No thanks.”

“Drink?”

“Did you call me over to wine and dine me?” I ask. “If so, I’ll have to take a rain check. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”

“Duty calls, eh?”

“What else?”

“I assumed it had something to do with the new guests in your home,” Stepan remarks. “Or can you even call them guests, considering they’re now living there?”

I sigh, swirling the whiskey around in the glass. “Who told you?”

“I have my sources.”

“I should’ve put you in a fucking nursing home.”

He laughs, unfazed. “I would have found out regardless.” When his laughter fades, he fixes me with a somber look. “Is it true?”

No point in lying now, I guess. “Yeah. It’s true.”

“How old is the boy?”

“Almost ten. His name is Max.”

“Doesn’t sound very Bratva. Does he carry your last name at least?”

I run an exasperated hand through my hair. “Is that really what you want to ask me, Otets?”

He doesn’t reply. Just taps out the cigar into the ashtray, then leans back in his seat again. “You’re sure he’s yours?”

“Spit it out, old man,” I snarl dangerously. “I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“You know what I’m going to say. How can you be so sure this is real? She could be looking for exactly this, my son. A comfortable place to stay, money, protection… Why else would she have tracked you down after nine years?”

“I’m the one who found her.”

My father’s face twists with displeasure. “Ah. You went looking for trouble. And you got it.”

“This is not ‘trouble,’ Otets,” I tell him. “‘Trouble’ was plunging the entire Bratva into debt. ‘Trouble’ was jeopardizing everything we’ve ever worked for. This? This was just doing what you should’ve done a long time ago—taking care of my blood.”

He tenses, and I know that he’s fighting righteous anger right now. A man like him can never cast aside his pride, no matter how dangerous it might be to cling to.

“I’m just trying to do right by my son,” I finish with a grimace.

Stepan nods slowly. “This will create problems.”

I shrug. “I’m prepared for that.”

“Does Anika know?”

I shake my head.

“Nestor?”

“No.”

Stepan nods. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

I frown. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“For one, buy the woman and her child a house elsewhere. Far enough away so that Anika and her father will never find out.”

“I’m not trying to keep them a secret.”

Stepan looks at me with bewildered amazement. “Konstantin, do you have any clue what you’re doing?”

“You are my father,” I concede. “But you are no longer my don. I’d give you the respect you’re due, but you burned that up a long time ago.”

“Careful, boy,” he snarls up at me “You may call yourself don, but you’ve worn the mantle for only a very short time.”

I smile thinly. “You used to frighten me, you know,” I tell him. “Back when I was a little boy and you were a grown man, that fear kept me in place. Now, though… times have changed. I’m going to right your wrongs. I’m going to fix what you broke. And you’re going to stay the fuck out of my way.”

He says nothing for a long time. That frail chest of his rises and falls, rises and falls. The tip of his cigar burns like a train lighting up a dark tunnel.

“You know what?” I say. “I think I’ll take that drink after all. To-go, though.”

I swipe the bottle of whiskey off the table and raise it to my lips as I saunter away.

From behind me, I hear my father murmur, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I underestimated you, my son.”

I don’t bother looking back. “That’s okay,” I call over my shoulder. “Some men are slow learners.”

35

IRIS

“Ma’am, where would you like to go?” the cab driver asks.

What a question.

I don’t think he meant it existentially, but it’s throwing me for a doozy nonetheless. Where would I like to go?

To a past where I never walked into that hotel room ten years ago.

Or to a past where I never walked out.

Hell if I know what the right answer is. Hell if I know much of anything anymore.

Kon was right about one thing at least: I don’t have any family or friends to turn to. I burned those bridges or ran from them a long time ago. So what do I have now?

Let’s see: I have a whole lot of pride. But pride doesn’t put a roof over your head or food in your belly. It sure as hell doesn’t put dollars in your wallet.

I check my purse. Sixteen bucks cash, a credit card tiptoeing perilously close to my limit, and a few melted caramels. My debit card could draw a few hundred dollars, but that’s supposed to be emergency money.

“Whenever you’re ready, miss,” the cab driver drawls. “Meter’s runnin’, though.

I look at the driver, maybe for the first time since I got into his car. He’s a big, burly bear of a man with a tattoo sleeve and a scraggly mohawk.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Any place that sells coffee.”

He grunts and doesn’t ask me anything else. Five minutes later, he pulls to a stop in front of a small café called “Lilo’s.” I’ve never actually seen it before, but it’s cute.

“Best coffee in town,” he informs me. “The scones are good, too. I’m a sucker for the blueberry.” He winks—not in a creepy way, but a fatherly way, a kind old guy way. The way your uncle winks at the dog before he sneaks it a scrap of food from the Thanksgiving table.

I smile back as warmly as I can. A recommendation for scones shouldn’t have me close to breaking down, but it does. I’m so close to the edge that even tiny kindnesses from strangers must push me over it. Keep it together, you psycho, I scold myself.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

He dips his head and I pay him and get out of the car. Nine dollars left. Lilo’s has outdoor seating. Pretty little white chairs under big purple sun umbrellas.

But today, I want the cool and calm of the indoors. I go inside, where the chairs are blue and the tables are a light green. The walls are festooned with plants on a hundred different miniature shelves. Cactus and ivy and string of hearts flow all the way down to brush the floor.

I order a latte and a blueberry scone and take them both to a table in a corner with a view through the window.

The bell at the door chimes. I look up to see another customer walk in. He’s a tall, well-dressed man in a brown leather jacket. His eyes sweep over the room with a practiced efficiency, like he’s checking for structural weak points or something.

He orders a cup of coffee and sits at the last empty table, taking the chair that faces me. I pointedly avoid his eyes. It’s been a hell of a day already, and I don’t want to talk to another living soul. I’m hanging by a thread as it is.

I take out my phone and start scrolling through the internet, scouring the job boards for new openings. It’s a repulsive hellscape of unpaid internships and entry-level indentured servitude. The bearable jobs pay like shit, and the jobs that pay well are unbearable.

When the internet proves to be a disappointment, I start scrolling through my contact list. It takes me almost ten minutes, but I finally find the number I’ve been subconsciously searching for.

Yann Collins.

He was the flamboyant, generous, and very Alabamian manager of Snowdrop, the upscale restaurant I worked at for years when Max was still a baby. I have no reason to believe he would still be working there, but I call him anyway. It rings for so long that I’m on the verge of hanging up when he finally answers.

“Hello, Yann?” I stammer.

“Speaking. Who is this?”

“Um, I don’t know if you remember me… This is Iris.”

“Iris?” he repeats. “Iris… Keller?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“No way,” he says with a peal of his familiar high-pitched laugh. “Girl, where the hell have you been? Actually, scratch that, I know exactly where you’ve been: on the arm of that yummy rock star.”

I wince. “Not so much anymore.”

“So he did cheat? Lord, I knew it. The tabloids are full of shit, but some things just have the ring of truth, you know? Musta been rough.”

“It was fine, actually,” I sighed. “Or at least, it’s fine now.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I believe that.”

Something about the way he says it makes me pause. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just that you were always so… strong. So uncompromising. You just knew what you wanted and you refused to settle for anything less. With everyone. It’s a city full of people willing to bend over backwards for a shadow of a sliver of a chance at a hope of a favor. Not you, though.”

I frown. “Is that how you saw me?”

“It’s not a bad thing!” he promises. “You just didn’t have time for nonsense. Got mouths to feed ‘n all.”

I’d forgotten how kind Yann could be, in his own brusque, cackling way. “Well, thank you. I needed that today. But it was shitty of me not to keep in touch. I know I said I would.”

“Life gets busy. You don’t have to tell me that twice.”

I smile. “You were always so nice to me.”

“The way I see it, sugar, the world is full of meanness. It don’t need me adding to it. Anyhow, I don’t mean to talk your ear off. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

I sigh and bite down on my bottom lip. Here comes the shitty part. “Well, I was wondering if you still worked at Snowdrop?”

“Oh Jesus, honey, Snowdrop closed down a couple of years ago.”

“Really?”

“Management changed hands and the quality dropped. I was let go, along with most of the staff. Now, I think it’s a nail salon or something tragic like that.”

“Jeez, I’m so sorry, Yann. Where are you now?”

“Still living in the same condo downtown. Only difference is that my partner lives here with me.”

“Kevin?”

“Pah! Hell no. I kicked Kevin to the curb about a year after you left us. No, this is Patton. We’ve been together now for almost three years.”

“Are you happy?”

“Deliriously.”

I grin. At least someone is. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I work at this fabulous drag club now,” he says. “I’m the hostess.”

“Sounds like a perfect fit.”

I hear his voice downshift into something a little more tender. “Something tells me you have yet to find your perfect fit, Iris.”

“I don’t need a perfect fit,” I say, shaking my head. “I just need to take care of my son.”

“How is Maxie boy?”

“He’s a man already,” I say with a twinge of regret. “Practically all grown-up. Five feet tall and starting to ask me questions about how to drive a car. It terrifies me how mature he is.”

Yann laughs appreciatively. “Apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

“God, I hope he’s not like me,” I grumble. “I’ve made far more mistakes than I realized.”

“You were doing the same as the rest of us, honey: the best that you could.”

I blink back tears. First a blueberry scone, now a bumper-sticker-worthy platitude making me cry. I take a sip of my latte and try to pull myself together.

“I hate that it took this to make me call you,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You need a job, I’m your guy. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Don’t get too far from your phone, alright?”

“You’re the best, Yann.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

I can practically see him winking at me before the line goes dead. I’m not sure I stressed just how urgently I need this job, but I can’t afford to be pushy when I need a favor from someone I haven’t seen or spoken to in several years.

I take a bite of the scone. It’s buttery, soft, and sweet. I sigh inwardly, feeling guilty for enjoying the food here—for enjoying anything, really—when I don’t know how Max and I are going to move on.

“Urgh,” I groan, dropping my face into my hands.

I stare into the red-and-black swirl behind my closed eyelids for a while. Then I hear the scrape of a chair across the table from me, and I look up to see the good-looking guy who’d walked in earlier sitting down at my table.

“Hi,” he says, flashing me a megawatt smile that most girls would swoon for.

But it was established long ago that there’s only one man in the world who can make me swoon. Unfortunately, it’s the exact same man who made me consider jumping out of a moving car not long ago.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Craig. I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

“I mind a little, actually,” I bristle.

That doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. “You’re Iris Keller?”

I sigh. “Guilty.”

“It’s hard to imagine that an accomplished woman like yourself would need work.”

“Well, it’s a jungle out there.” I wipe the buttery grease off my fingers with a napkin. “Listen, you seem nice, but I’m really not in the mood to have a conversation right now. I just—”

“I might have a job for you.”

I stop short and raise my eyebrows. “You… you do?”

He produces a business card from his jacket pocket and passes it over to me. “I’m part owner at a club down the Strip,” he explains.

It’s silver and metal. The name “CRAIG HANSON” is engraved into it above a swirling script that reads LA CHALEUR.

“It means ‘The Heat,’” he offers. “And we’re in need of a hostess. You would be perfect.”

“How much does it pay?”

“Right to business, I see.”

I blush. “I don’t really have time for anything else.”

He laughs pleasantly. “Got it. The pay’s three thousand dollars a night,” he says. “Plus tips. And trust me: the men who frequent our club, they tip well.”

I gulp and try not to let my eyes bulge at the thought of that much money. I could work just a week, then have enough to get Max and I out of this city forever.

He flashes me another smile. “Number’s on the back. Call when you’re ready. I look forward to hearing from you, Iris.”

“Right. Uh, thanks, Craig.”

“Oh, can I pay for your coffee?” he asks.

“I already paid, but thank you.”

“Right. How about I pay for something else then?” he suggests.

My instinct is to say no right away. Then I look over to the fat scones displayed behind the counter glass. Max really would love them. “A couple of scones would be amazing, actually.”

He smiles. “My kind of woman.”

I go back home with four scones and a grin on my face. My mood improves throughout the day when I don’t see Kon around even once.

I wander into the garden to sit and wait for Roscoe to pick up Max from school. The whole time I wait, I stare at Craig’s card, twisting it between my fingers as it heats up in the sun. I do a deep dive on the internet and come up with zero hits. I even text Yann again to ask if he’d heard of La Chaleur, but he said no.

Three thousand dollars a night, though…

“Where’s Max?”

I jump a foot off my seat as Kon steps onto the patio from God-knows-where. “Not again!” I snap. “You have to stop doing that. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I wanted to be here when Max got home from school.”

I sigh and slump forward. “He should be back soon.”

He glances at the scones that I’ve arranged on a plate underneath a clear plastic cloche. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Baked goods,” I say. “Was I supposed to get permission first?”

“Not the pastries,” he hisses. “The card.”

I turn to the table, realizing that somehow I’d dropped Craig’s card right on top of the cloche when Kon scared me. That’s what he was looking at. I make a grab for it, but he gets there before me.

“Kon, give that back. It’s mine.”

“Yours?” he repeats. “I’d say it looks like this card belongs to Craig Hanson.”

I stop short. “You say that like you know him.”

“I do know him. He’s an asshole.” He flings the card away over the top of a nearby hedge.

“Kon!” I shout. “You had no right to do that.”

“You don’t get to tell me what rights I do and don’t have,” he snarls. He steps forward until we’re nose to nose. “Do you know what kind of club he runs, Iris? Did you even think to ask?”

“Who cares? I’d be the hostess.”

“Like that’s so innocent,” he says sarcastically. “It’s the kind of club where rich men go when they don’t want a woman saying no to them. It’s the kind of club where the clientele invites you into a private room with no cameras and no witnesses, and you do what they ask or else you get hurt.”

Three thousand a night. It makes more sense now. “Oh God…”

Kon crowds me against a vine-covered pillar. “When I tell you something, it’s for good reason. Maybe now, you’ll start listening.”

“I can’t listen to you,” I whisper, letting my eyes flutter closed. “I can’t trust you. I can’t rely on you.”

He touches my chin until I raise my face and look at him. “If you haven’t believed anything I’ve told you so far, fine. That’s your choice. But believe this: you and Max are family now. And I do not abandon my family.”

I don’t want to cling to those words, but I can feel it happening already.

Hope.

Desire.

Need.

And so much fear that it almost drowns out all the rest.

36

KON

I’m gazing at Iris and Max through the window when the call comes in from security.

“What?” I snap impatiently.

“Sir, there is a woman here to see you. Miss Anika Kuzmin.”

“Fucking Christ,” I mutter.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Nothing. Keep her at the front door. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

I take one last look through the window. Max is making Iris spin in circles until she falls to the soft grass and they both giggle hysterically.

Scowling, I turn and storm to the front of the house.

Anika is waiting on the front stoop. The effort she put into her appearance is obvious: carefully tousled curls cascading over her bare shoulders, a skintight nude-colored dress that presses her breasts high.

“Kon,” she purrs when she sees me.

Two of her bodyguards linger by the fountain in the driveway. I don’t like this shit, not one bit. Anika follows my line of sight and sighs. “Daddy doesn’t let me go anywhere without them. I’m hoping that’ll change soon. Once we’re—”

“What do you want, Anika? I don’t have time for this shit. Tell me why you’re here.”

She flinches at my harsh tone, then gulps and launches into something I have a feeling I don’t want to hear at all. “I’ve thought a lot about our last conversation. And… I appreciate that you don’t want to hold me to my father’s promise. The thing is…” She glances at her feet, then back up to me. “The thing is, I want to marry you, Kon. Not because my father is making me, but because it’s what I choose.”

Her speech is as polished as her appearance. I can picture her reciting it again and again in the mirror, twisting anxiously as she imaged all the things I could say in response.

A headache hits me out of nowhere. An aching, pounding throb behind my eyes.

“I was a little girl the first time I saw you. I remember that day so, so well. I was hiding on the staircase and watching when you came with your father to meet Papa.” Her eyes go all dreamy. “I just saw you and I thought, That is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“That’s flattering—”

“I’m not trying to flatter you,” she blurts hurriedly. “I’m trying to tell you how I felt that day. You didn’t notice me. You barely seemed to be paying attention to anything that was happening. But I couldn’t look away. I stayed on that staircase the whole entire time. Just so that I could look at you.”

“You were a child looking at a man,” I dismiss. “It was an infatuation, nothing more.”

“I know that. And I was sure it would pass,” she says. “But I turned fifteen, I turned sixteen, I turned seventeen… and it didn’t go away, Kon. It still hasn’t.”

Boom. Boom. The pulse of my blood is agony in my head. I feel darkness crowding in at the edges of my vision.

My Bratva depends on me indulging this naive little girl.

But my heart depends on me telling her to get the fuck off my property.

“I have to go,” I rasp.

She nods, obviously hurt. “Okay. I get that.” She’s turning to leave when I sigh and say, “Anika.”

“Yes?”

“Some man will be lucky to have you one day.”

She shakes her head, showing the first true sign of a personality. “I hate when men say shit like that,” she scowls. “Especially when they’re rejecting you.”

I almost smile at that. “Where’s this feisty girl been all this time?”

She returns a smile that’s more blush than anything else. “I do have spirit. More than you know.”

“I believe you.”

“Just not enough to want to marry me?”

I grimace. “I’m just not good at doing things I’m told to do.”

She nods sadly. “I can see that.” Then, to her credit, she turns and leaves with what’s left of her dignity.

She doesn’t look back as her bodyguards fall in step behind her, as they all climb into the waiting SUV and disappear down the drive. But I can feel the lingering taint of her dashed hope in the air like shards that’ll slice me open if I’m not careful.

My head still hurts like a motherfucker.

* * *

When I go back inside, I find Iris and Max in the kitchen. He’s spinning her like a top on the revolving barstool and shrieking with laughter.

“Twenty-five!” Max cackles “Twenty-five spins!”

“Oh God,” Iris exclaims as she slows to a stop and stumbles off, woozy. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk ever again.”

“You’ll have to try,” I say from the doorway. “Because we’re leaving in ten minutes.” I’m feeling reckless all of the sudden.

“Kon!” Max cries happily. “Where’d you go?”

“The real question is, where are we going now?”

He wrinkles up his nose. “I dunno?”

“Guess.”

Max looks at Iris, who’s still a little too dizzy to participate in the conversation. “Umm… a museum?”

I scoff. “Someplace much more fun.”

“The movies?”

“Keep trying.”

“Disneyland!”

Why not? All I can think is that I want to get the fuck out of this house. I want to take my family far away from anything that resembles a responsibility. Somewhere where there are no alliances or marriage pacts, no simpering little girls who think they love me or overbearing fathers who think they can dictate my life.

I want out.

“Nailed it,” I tell him.

Max’s mouth splits into a huge O. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Mom!” he yells. “Did you hear that?”

Iris manages to frown. “Yeah, sweetie, I heard.”

“Go get a bag together,” I tell him. “We’ll stay overnight.”

Max takes the stairs two at a time with glee. Iris’s frown deepens as she turns to face me.

“You better get packing, too,” I say. “Unless you plan on spending the weekend naked. Which would also be fine.”

She ignores me. “Disneyland?”

“Has he been?”

“No,” she says reluctantly. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“Well, no time like the present, right?”

“You’re an asshole.”

I turn away so she doesn’t see my smile.

37

IRIS

“A private jet?” I balk. “Kon, you’re joking.”

“It’s the fastest way to get there. Now, come on and stop whining.”

He walks away before I can return fire, leaving me simmering with irritation in his wake—as per usual.

Getting mad at someone for taking you and your son to Disneyland on a private jet is about as bitchy as it gets. I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that I’m fixating on being pissed at him—even if I have to make up reasons to do so—in order to avoid concentrating on the other stuff I’m feeling about Konstantin Aminoff as of late.

Since our fight, he’s been… sweet, almost.

That’s ten times as terrifying as when he’s trying to intimidate me.

“Come on, buddy,” Kon calls to Max. “Your mom is a slowpoke.”

He takes off running, Max cackles and takes off after him, and the two of them race across the tarmac to the foot of the plane’s stairs. I watch Max collapse into Kon’s side when they get there, with an ear-to-ear grin you could see from space.

It’s spooky to see them next to each other. Max is a miniature version of Kon. Not just in looks, either, though that part is growing more obvious by the day. But with every minute we spend in Kon’s house, I see him adopting more and more of Kon’s mannerisms. He eats like Kon, sits like Kon, walks like Kon.

How long until he becomes Kon?

I try to leave those thoughts behind as I mount the steps and board the plane. It smells like money inside. Maybe that’s a stupid thing to say, but it really does.

The seats are a glistening nude leather and the windows are jaw-droppingly big. At the rear of the plane, a stewardess is laughing with Max as she hands him a fruit juice.

Kon leans an arm against the counter and turns to me. He’s stunningly gorgeous when he’s in his element like this. Dripping luxury from every pore. He’s in a dark suit with a white shirt opened at the throat, the sun slanting through the windows to cast half his face in shadow and half in light.

“Anything for you, Iris?” he rumbles.

The stewardess behind the bar gives me a bright smile. She’s dressed in a crisp maroon uniform, with her blond hair combed back in a neat bun.

“No, thank you.”

I take a seat by the window and try to pull myself together. I can hear Max and Kon chatting at the back of the plane.

It takes me a minute, but I can finally put a name to what I’m feeling when I see the two of them together: it’s jealousy.

For nine and a half years, it’s been Max and me versus the world. I shouldn’t begrudge him a father—and of course I don’t—but that feeling of watching your little bird prepare to leave the nest is even harder when he’s suddenly flying wing by wing with someone else.

Or whatever. I’ve never been good at metaphors.

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t even hear my phone ring.

“Mom.”

“Yes, Max?” I say absent-mindedly.

“Your phone.”

“Oh.” I pick up without even looking at the number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Iris.”

I stop short when I hear his voice. It’s always been a grating rasp, ever since I can remember. You’d think he still smokes a pack a day, but he quit about ten years ago.

Or so he says. Not that I’m around to check if that’s still true or not.

I lower my voice so that Kon and Max won’t be able to hear. “Hi, Dad.”

“Money stopped coming…”

Of course. Cutting right to the chase. I feel my heart do that tightening thing it always does when I speak to my father. “Yeah, I’ve been going through a tough time recently.”

“You’re supposed to be a model.”

“Modeling turned out to be a little too messy for me.”

“Meh,” he spits. He follows the sound with a fit of coughing. “Your standards were always too high.”

“I didn’t want to repeat old mistakes.”

“Mine or your mother’s?”

“Either/or.”

“You think you’re better than me?”

I bark out a bitter laugh. “God knows I’m trying to be.”

“I’m still your father, you ungrateful—”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I interrupt. “But I really don’t have the money to send you.”

“You got a job?”

“Not at the moment.”

“You’re a beautiful girl,” he says. “Anyplace will hire you. You just gotta learn how to smile.”

I grind my teeth, feeling old scars flare up. I stopped answering his calls for a reason. Not that he calls as long as the money is coming regularly, a fact for which I’m grateful. No, Daddy dearest only reaches for the phone when his cash flow dries up.

Makes a daughter feel really special. And still, I do it. I feed his narcissism, his cruel appetites. I don’t know why, to be honest. Habit? That’s a pitiful attempt at an excuse. But it would take a battalion of therapists to draw out a better explanation, and I can’t afford even one of those.

“I smile fine.”

“You got all nature’s gifts,” he continues. “But you’d be a horse’s ass if you looked the way you are inside.”

I roll my eyes. “Always a pleasure talking to you, Dad.”

“I need some money,” he rasps. “A couple of hundred and I’ll stretch that as long as I can.”

“The moment I get a job, I’ll transfer something.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know. I have to go.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” I snarl. “You realize that this is the first time we’ve spoken in months, right? You haven’t even asked how I’m doing, or how Max is doing? No, you just care about the fucking money.”

There’s a long silence on the other line. I half-expect him to hang up on me. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. Any time the conversation veers into a difficult area, he just cuts out.

And I’ve let him get away with that shitty behavior. Because it’s easier to avoid him, to send money, to keep him quiet, than it is to deal with who and what he is.

With what he’s done.

“How is Max?” he recites all sing-song and mocking, like I’m torturing him into saying it.

I snort into the phone. “Fine. He’s a good kid.”

“What does he look like now?”

Like his father.

I sigh. “I really do have to go.”

“Fine. Don’t forget the money.” CLICK.

I drop my phone into my lap and rest my forehead against the glass. It’s pretty outside, even though we haven’t left the ground. The heat rising off the tarmac in rippling waves. Blue sky. One cloud, fat and lazy like a sheep.

“Mom!” Max says, running up to me. “We’re about to take off. Kon says I can go up to the cockpit and hang out with the pilot.”

I smile as pleasantly as I can. “Have fun then,” I tell him.

From the head of the aisle, Kon says, “There’s a seat we can strap you into. Come on.” They disappear into the front of the plane.

I let my head fall back to the window and my eyes close.

“Ma’am?” comes a voice.

I turn to see the pretty stewardess. “Can I get you anything?” she asks. “A drink? A snack?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, all good. I appreciate it.” She nods, smiles, and starts to turn away, but before she can get far, I blurt, “What’s your name?”

I’m not even sure why I want to talk to her. Maybe it’s because I’m so damn lonely and the only person I’ve let myself love in the last ten years is running away from me hand in hand with the one person I can’t afford to let myself love now.

Maybe it’s because my past is ashes and my future is bleak and I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this, fraught and afraid of everything that moves.

Maybe it’s just nice to see someone smile at me without any ulterior motives.

“Regan,” she says. “My name is Regan.”

I smile awkwardly. “I’m Iris.”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” she replies. She leans forward and adds, “It’s also nice to work on a flight that doesn’t include a lot of big, scary men for a change.” She looks embarrassed as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “Although maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

I laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She nods and straightens back up. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Iris, please.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Aminoff would like that.”

“You leave Mr. Aminoff to me,” I grimace. “He doesn’t scare me.”

“Then you’re a braver woman than I am.”

Kon comes sauntering back from the cockpit and slumps down opposite me. “He’s settled in with the pilot.”

“He’ll be okay up there?”

“Of course. It’s perfectly safe.”

I nod and stare out the window as we taxi out to the runway. The pilot makes his announcements—with Max adding a cackling “Hold onto your butts!” at the end like it's the funniest joke in the history of comedy—and then we’re off.

The takeoff is smooth and kind of magical. It’s hard for me not to get caught up in this sweeping feeling of hope. Like maybe being up in the clouds changes everything about being down on earth.

That dissipates the moment I turn to Kon, though, and realize that being up in the clouds does nothing to lessen my feelings for him.

“I want my own room at the hotel,” I inform him. “We won’t be sharing.”

“Already done. I want to ask you a question.”

“Are you asking if you can ask me, or are you just letting me know you’re going to?”

He sighs impatiently. “Why didn’t you find me? When you found out about Max, I mean. Why didn’t you look?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I didn’t know much about you, and the stuff I did know was bad. Did you really expect me to track you down and tell you that I was pregnant?

“Yes.”

“You would have wanted that?” I demand. “Ten years ago, you would have been up for the responsibility? You know what—don’t even bother saying yes. I won’t believe you.”

“Why?” he says. “Because you assume I was buried under a body of women, half-drunk, half-high, and completely disinterested in any form of responsibility?”

“I hadn’t thought much about the specifics. But yeah, that sounds right on the money.”

“Then you obviously don’t know me very well.”

“We don’t know each other very well,” I amend.

“I disagree.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you, Iris.”

I snort. “You think you know me. There’s a difference.”

He eyes me carefully. And even when I meet his gaze, he doesn’t look away. I’m very close to squirming in my seat when he speaks. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“The call.”

I thought I’d whispered quietly enough, but as ever, there’s nothing that gets past Kon. I shrug. “I’m fine.”

I expect him to press, but he doesn’t. He nods once, then looks out the window and eases back into silence. I watch him do it and marvel at the transformation.

His eyes unfocus and soften for a change. That clench in his jaw relaxes. His whole posture melts, as smooth as the leather, and the light from the unfiltered sun we’re flying next to makes him glow from within.

“Careful, Iris,” Kon warns in a murmur, pulling me out of my reverie. His eyes are still closed. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to drag you into that back room and fuck you so hard the pilot will have to make an emergency landing.”

It takes a second to process those words. Then my body floods with heat and my arms and legs erupt in goosebumps. Not because I’m embarrassed. Well, a little because I’m embarrassed.

But mostly because I can’t stop picturing it.

Because I can’t stop wanting it.

“We’re not doing that again,” I say firmly.

“Keep telling yourself that. I’m sure at some point, it’ll sound believable.”

I huff, cross my arms, and make an oath not to look him in the eye for the rest of the flight.

* * *

Max joins us about fifteen minutes before we land. He talks incessantly from the tarmac all the way to the hotel room, chattering about rudders and altimeters and a jillion other flight terminology he learned from the grizzled old Bratva pilot.

A car takes us from the plane to the lobby of our hotel, and then a concierge escorts us from the lobby to our suite. She sweeps through the sprawling living space to reach the shutters over the balcony and throws them open in one grandiose motion.

“Welcome!” she says to me just before she leaves. “I hope you and your family have a magnificent stay with us.”

Then she’s gone, leaving me to stare in wonder at the skyline of the park in the distance. Marveling at the irony, the sheer absurdity of being here with Max and Kon.

You and your family, she said. Like she believes we’re real. That we can love and laugh and live together like families do all over the world every single day.

But we aren’t real. We’re just playing pretend.

And when it all comes screeching to a halt, some of us are going to end up hurt.

38

IRIS

I watch Max all morning. He’s excited, as any nine-year old who’s never been to an amusement park would be.

But there’s a gravitas to his excitement that tells me it’s not just about this place, or the rides, or the snacks, or any of the superficial stuff.

It’s about being here with us. He’s never seen the world through this lens before. One without all the cracks in it.

I think back to all those moments over the years when he’s turned to me with curious eyes and asked me questions that nearly broke my heart.

“Every little kid has grandparents, Mama… except for me. How come?”

“Can you get me a bike for Christmas? I wanna go look for Dad.”

“I wish I knew where my dad lives, so I can send him an invitation to my birthday party.”

The list stretches on endlessly. The more I think, the more I remember.

The more I try to forget, the more I remember.

The more it hurts, the more I remember.

Ten years of choices feel so wrong now that there’s no taking any of them back. Have I been selfish? Have I ruined a little boy’s life?

I used to tell Max all the time, We are each other’s family. I used to believe that was enough. And it was, for a long time. But I should have known it was naïve to think it could just stay the two of us indefinitely. The universe could never let anything so pure last forever.

“Iris?”

I turn to find Kon watching me from his spot in the line.

“Sorry,” I mumble as I join Max and him.

“Where were you?”

I shake my head. “Not important.”

Max is chomping on salted caramel popcorn. He looks at me from underneath the hat Kon bought him when we first entered the park. Goofy’s big floppy ears hang down on either side, brushing Max’s shoulders.

“You look super cool,” I tell him.

Max laughs. “You should get one, too.”

“Maybe I will. Give me some of that, ya little hog.”

He offers me some popcorn with a laugh. “It has extra caramel,” he warns right as I pop a handful into my mouth.

“I can see that,” I chuckle, tapping my sticky fingers together. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Lick your fingers?” Max suggests.

I laugh. “We’re in public.”

I meet Kon’s gaze, and this streaking burst of desire zips through my body when I see the look in his eyes. When he takes my sticky fingers, I half-expect him to slip them into his mouth, onlookers be damned.

But instead, without ever breaking eye contact, he pulls out a wet wipe from his back pocket and cleans my fingers. The world comes back into sharp focus and I hear the screams and sounds of children all around us like someone cranked the volume back up.

“Thanks,” I say, lowering my eyes so he doesn’t see me blush.

He nods wordlessly and looks forward toward the front of the queue. I let my gaze linger on his profile a few seconds longer before I force it elsewhere.

But of course that means I notice other things. Like the way every other woman in this line keeps finding excuses to glance our way. The way some of the younger men move closer to their women and clutch them possessively, while others try to stand straighter and taller and broader.

There’s no such thing as a bubble in this world, I’m realizing. Everyone is always watching, always judging, always reacting.

Whether you like it or not.

We creep up to the front of the line. Max glances nervously at the height requirement.

“Don’t worry,” Kon says soothingly. “You’ll be tall enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m always sure, son.”

Sure enough, Max stands at the height chart and passes with flying colors. The three of us board the ride and take off. By the time it’s done, I feel like a ketchup bottle that someone turned upside down and slapped repeatedly. I’m ready to find a seat before I yak up cotton candy and caramel popcorn all over the place. Max and Kon on the other hand, look like they’re ready to hop right back on.

“Can we go again, Mom?” Max asks.

“Of course, sweetheart. But I think I’m gonna sit this one out.”

Kon nudges Max on the shoulder. “Let’s go, kid.”

They leave me sitting at a bench right opposite the ride. Families stream past in twos and threes and fives and tens. I see tottering grandparents and babies so excited that all they can do is cry happy tears. I see nervous parents, proud parents, indifferent parents, overprotective parents.

It’s all beautiful, and it’s all unfamiliar to me.

What do I know about being in a family? The only family I’ve ever known is Max. My own family didn’t even deserve the title.

I swore I wouldn’t do to Max what my father did to me, and of course I never have. I’ve never cut him, never broken him, never stomped his heart to pieces.

But lately, I’ve begun wondering if holding someone so close that they can’t breathe is its own kind of torture.

I sit there for maybe twenty minutes, completely wrapped up in my own thoughts. Then I see Kon heading towards me. For a second, I don’t see Max. Then I notice him a few feet behind Kon with another boy about his own age.

“Mom,” Max says, running past Kon. “This is Ryan. We’re friends now. Can we go on the rollercoaster again?”

I exchange a glance with Kon, and Max notices. He turns to Kon. “Can I go one more time, please, Dad?”

Kon is probably more shocked than I am. He never really falters, but it’s as close to it as I’ve ever seen from him.

“I’m okay with it if your mom is,” he answers at last.

“Okay, go ahead. But come right here when you’re done,” I say.

“Okay!”

He and his friend run off to rejoin the line and Kon takes a seat beside me. “My head’s spinning,” he grumbles.

“The mighty don can’t handle roller coasters, huh?”

He just grimaces.

I keep an eye on Max as he links up with a group of boys. He’s the tallest amongst them by a head, but he fits in. They laugh and punch each other in the shoulder and grin from ear to ear.

“He called you Dad,” I murmur.

“I noticed.”

His words are gruff, though his tone is anything but. It’s quiet, hushed, appreciatively awed. The crowd ebbs and flows around us. Every few minutes, a roller coaster car of screaming adrenaline junkies comes ripping over our heads.

“I was really pissed when you sprung this whole Disney idea on me,” I admit quietly.

“Really? I couldn’t tell. You’re usually so good at keeping your cards close to the vest.”

I throw him a side glare. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I would never.” He chuckles and leans back, tossing an arm over the back of the bench that accidentally grazes the back of my neck. “It’s easy to shut out the rest of the world like this,” he remarks.

That’s not quite what I expected him to say. “What are you trying to shut out?” I ask.

He glances at me thoughtfully, as though he’s trying to figure out if he should tell me or not. “Nothing to concern yourself with,” he says at last. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Sharing your problems doesn’t make you any less strong, you know.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Pot, kettle, as you say.”

My first instinct is to protest. “I moved in with you, didn’t I?”

“Because you had no choice. You were literally out of options.”

I sigh. He’s not wrong. “Fine. You win. Shocker.”

His hand idly glides up and down my spine. It’s warm out, but I shiver anyway. “That call earlier,” he says without looking at me. “You were upset right after.”

“What did you hear?”

“Parts,” he says, without offering up anything else. I can tell he’s not going to push me to share if I’m not willing to. Maybe that’s why I decide to do it.

Sharing your problems doesn’t make you any less strong, you know.

“It was my father,” I admit.

“You keep in touch with him?”

“Not really,” I explain. “I send him money every month. But I wasn’t able to last month because of… well, obvious reasons. It’s really the only reason he calls. When the money stops.”

“Why do you bother answering?”

I glance at him. “I haven’t really figured that out myself.”

“You feel like you owe him something?”

“I feel like…” I glance at him from the corner of my eyes. “I’ve never had family. Not, like, a real family. Maybe this is my way of clinging to the only family I have left. Even if he’s the reason I ran in the first place. Even if he may not be worth it.”

“He isn’t.”

“You’ve never even met him.”

“I don’t have to. Anyone who ever hurt you isn’t worth shit.”

His jaw is set in that intentionally square way. He looks both angry and sexy as hell.

Then I look towards the rollercoaster, realizing that this is the third time I’ve seen the ride take off since we’ve been sitting here. “Kon, where’s Max? Shouldn’t he have finished by now?”

I get up and start walking around a stand of trees to where the ride lets passengers off. An employee in a buttoned-up polo uniform is directing traffic.

“Excuse me,” I ask him. “Did you see a little kid leave here? He had on a Goofy hat.”

“Him and every other kid out here, lady.”

“He was with a bunch of other boys. He’s tall for his age. Dark hair? Green eyes?”

The man shrugs and goes back to lazily guiding people out of the exit like the world’s worst air traffic controller.

I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. It’s loud in my ears, too. And it seems to be whispering frantically.

Where is my son, my son is missing, where is my son, my son is missing…

“Fuck,” I swear, turning from the useless man. “Fucking fucking fu—”

“Iris,” Kon booms firmly as he strides up. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“But—”

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

“Kon, I—”

“Do you trust me?” he repeats.

I’m shaking now, I realize, and my legs feel weak. It’s only his hands on my shoulders that are keeping me upright.

“Good. I’ll find him. Sit down over by that bench, under the shade.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Exactly what I said I would. I’m going to find our son. Stay here just in case he comes this way looking for us. Got it?”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

He walks me over to the bench and sets me down there. Then, with one final look, he stands and disappears into the crowd.

For five minutes, I focus on breathing. In and out, nice and slow, get that heart rate back down, put that panicky tiger back in its cage. I try to replace my frantic broken-record thoughts with better ones:

Kon will find him, Kon can do anything, Kon will find him, Kon can do anything…

I start to feel a little better. Then I open my eyes and the world comes rushing back in. Every kid I see looks like Max, until they wander closer and I realize they’re not even remotely similar. Too tall or too chubby or too old or too young.

I picture him dangling dead upside down, still strapped into a roller coaster.

I picture someone snatching him up and hustling him out to an unmarked van.

I picture him crying and wailing and needing me, and—

“Mom!”

Right then, I catch sight of Max, running towards me with Kon right behind him. “Dear God,” I gasp as I run towards him. “Where on earth did you go?”

“Sorry, Mom,” he says, looking genuinely apologetic. “The boys wanted to get popsicles and I kinda forgot that you and Kon were waiting for me.”

I’m so filled with relief that I can’t even find it in me to be mad. The truth is, I’m glad he’s getting to be a kid today. Even if that includes doing stupid shit that he normally never does.

“Is that all it takes to forget us?” I ask. “Popsicles?”

He blushes. “Sorry, Mom,” he says again.

I stand up. “You’re lucky I’m not making you hold my hand for the rest of the day,” I inform him. “Matter of fact, I was thinking about getting you one of those leashes. You’d look cute in a princess one…”

“Mom!” he screeches, half-laughing and half-horrified.

The end of the day catches up to us quickly. The sun is low over the park’s horizon as we shuffle towards the exit gates with the rest of the patrons. As we filter out into the parking lot, I notice Kon watching me.

“What?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Never thought I’d want to be a popsicle.”

I’m licking my lemonberry when I realize what he means. Then I blush so hard that even Max notices.

“Whoa, Mom,” he says. “You’ve been in the sun too long. You’re bright red.”

Kon chuckles viciously while I try pointedly to hide my face from view.

* * *

When we get back to the hotel room, I put on the TV for Max and go take my time in a steamy shower. Afterward, I put on my pajamas and walk into the room to find Max already asleep on the bed.

I tuck him in and plant a kiss on his forehead before I slip out of the room. It’s only eight o’clock, so there’s no chance I’ll be falling asleep any time soon.

I find Kon sitting on one of the chairs that directly overlook the balcony. He’s got his boxers on, tight and black and low across his hips, but otherwise, he’s naked from the waist up. His muscles ripple under the muted light.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Where’s the hellion?”

“Sleeping,” I say, sitting down next to him. “He had a big day.”

There’s about a foot of space between us, maybe more, but when he looks at me, I realize that it’s not enough. Then again, even a mile might not be a safe distance from Konstantin Aminoff.

“Thank you, Kon,” I say.

“For what?” he asks, as though he genuinely doesn’t know.

“For what?” I repeat. “For keeping me calm. For finding Max. For… handling everything today. I’ve never been able to just sit back and let someone else take control. It meant… a lot.”

He nods. “You wanna know something?”

“Yes.”

“Today was the first time since I was a boy that I felt truly scared.”

My eyes go wide. “You… you were scared?”

He nods. “I didn’t stop being scared until I found him.” His eyes are hypnotic. Bright gray, with flecks of autumn gold around his irises.

“Well, you didn’t look scared.”

“That’s nothing more than decades of training. Never show weakness. Never show fear.”

I reach out and put my hand over his. “You found him,” I say. “And you kept your head. If it weren’t for you, I would have gone into full-fledged panic mode.”

“Understandable.”

“But not particularly effective.”

“No, probably not.” He smiles, though it’s a sort of hazy, inward-focused one, like he’s laughing at a joke in his own head. “It’s funny, you know… I’ve only just met him. And he’s already so much a part of me.”

The night holds its breath for a minute just then. It knows, because of course it does. It’s known for far longer than I have.

And it also knows that there’s no point in saying anything now.

I lunge forward, maybe a little bit awkwardly but not caring about that in the slightest, and catch Kon’s mouth in a kiss.

He stills under my lips. Tasting. Savoring.

And then he consumes me.

I gasp as his hands come down around my ass and he pulls me right onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. He attacks my lips the way my fantasies have demanded for ten torturous years now. His tongue slips into my mouth and I breathe him in. When my lips are raw and burning, he pulls back.

His eyes are dark and intense. Hungry. Passionate. Possessive.

“Today was the first day…” I murmur. “The first day I felt like we were family.”

“Let’s make it official then,” he growls.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s get married.”

39

KON

“Did you just say what I think you said?” she whispers, as if speaking too loudly will shatter the spell. “Or did I just imagine that?”

“You didn’t imagine anything. I want to marry you, Iris.”

“Kon…”

I tighten my grip on her and run my open lips along the nape of her neck. She shudders and plants her hands on my chest. “You can’t just say something like that… and then… then… do this.”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me so easily,” she says with a longing sigh. “Like you didn’t just drop this bomb on me.”

“All I did was ask you a question.”

“A question that’ll change my life forever. And yours. Not to mention Max’s.”

“Our lives have changed anyway,” I point out. “By virtue of the fact that we’re here at all.”

She chews at her lip, and I wonder idly if that will ever stop being the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

It’s so easy to read her now, easier than it’s ever been. She wants to dive into this without ever looking back. But a lifetime of caution can’t be erased away with a single kiss.

Although I don’t mind trying.

“Marriage is… It’s big, Kon. Really big.”

“I’m aware. That’s why I ruled it out.”

“So what changed?”

“I met you. I decided on you.”

“You decided on me,” she repeats numbly. “Kon, you barely know me.”

“I know more than you think. And in any case, I know enough.”

“You don’t know about my past.”

“Well, fuck your past. I don’t care about your past,” I tell her. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen without judgment. We all have a past. It doesn’t define us.”

She shakes her head. “Kon, this is crazy.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it’s not right.”

She cups the side of my face with her hand. She brushes it gently, examining my face with a soft expression. I’ve never seen her look so calm in the face of a storm that terrifies her.

“What do we tell Max?” she asks.

That one is easy. “The truth. We tell him that we want to be together. And that he’s going to be the best man for both of us.”

Her face splits into a shy, cautious smile. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this…”

“‘Considering,’” I scoff. “Don’t insult me like that. Your eyes said yes five minutes ago.”

She laughs giddily as I haul her up and carry her over to drop on the sofa. Her legs remain wrapped around my waist as I lean in, placing my chest over hers. When I grind my erection against her wet pussy, this delicious little whimper escapes her lips.

“I’ve made mistakes before,” she whispers, eyes fluttering like butterflies.

“This won’t be one of them.”

I make quick work of her satin pajama shorts, yanking them down her legs and discarding them over my shoulder.

One of Iris’s hands lands on my chest and she digs her nails in. “Jesus,” she mutters. “Are you made out of stone?”

“One part of me certainly is right now.”

Her shirt goes next. When that’s gone, her bottom lip beckons. I bend down and suck it into my mouth. Sliding down her body slowly, I savor the salty tang of her skin. I want to go down on her so I can taste her sweetness, but I’m too revved up to wait that long.

This needs to happen now.

I pull down my boxers, and the head of my cock meets her lips. She groans desperately as I glide into her. She’s so wet that the friction is nonexistent. Just pure bliss swallowing both of us up.

Her nails claw into my back as I sink all the way into her, balls deep. Her eyes roll up in her head and her back arches.

“Oh God…”

I start thrusting in and out of her slowly. Every time I fill her, her eyes flutter and her cheeks blossom with color. I watch her face, taking note of every sigh and pucker.

She looks like a painting come to life. She looks like the muse I never knew I needed.

Once her juices have coated my cock, I amp up the pace and start pounding into her hard. She bites down on her tongue in an effort to keep her screams from waking Max up.

Her breasts bounce wildly in front of me, and the moment the orgasm grips her, I let myself go, too. It’s quick and selfish, but there’s no way I could last a second longer. I barely held it together this long.

We ride it out together. When it’s over, we collapse on top of each other.

“So is that a yes?” I rasp.

She laughs again, and just like that, my dick is as hard as it was before. Fuck, this woman undoes me without even trying. “You’re crazy, you know. This is crazy.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s worth doing.”

I sit upright and stroke the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her eyes are glowing in the gloom.

She places her hand on my chest, right over my heart. “It’s crazy… but then again, so am I, I guess. You were right: I already know what I want. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you ten years ago.”

“Surely that’s a yes.”

“I can keep drawing out the suspense, if you want.”

I lean forward and nip at the curve of her neck with my teeth. “Say no,” I growl. “I fucking dare you.”

Iris laughs and twines her fingers through the roots of my hair.

“Yes, Kon,” she murmurs. “I’ll marry you.”

I let my mouth fall open so I can just lie there with her, breathing in her scent, her softness, her aura.

“But first,” she says, “I need another shower. I stink like sex.”

I lick quickly between her breasts. “Smells good to me.”

“You’re sick,” she giggles, pushing me off of her. “Get away before I report you to the authorities.”

She saunters away, hips swinging so deliciously that I damn near tackle her just so I can dive into her again. By sheer force of will, I keep my seat.

I sit quietly for a moment. Then I reach for my phone.

My father answers on the third ring. “Konstantin.”

“I ended it.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “You… Is this because of that—”

“Careful, old man. Be very fucking careful about what you say next.”

“You foolish boy. Don’t you know the size of the debt—”

“I will take care of it,” I tell him succinctly. “I always do.”

Then I hang up and dial in Yefim’s number.

“Yo,” he says, in a chipper voice. “Heard about your little spontaneous getaway. What are—”

“I’m getting married, Yefim,” I say, cutting him off.

“Fucking hell, you set the date! Sneaky bastard. I can’t believe—”

“Not to Anika.”

Silence. Dead silence. Then I hear him exhale slowly.

“Jesus Christ, you can’t be serious. Nestor will be out for blood.”

I snort. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Kon, brother. Have you really thought about this?”

“Endlessly.”

“Is she worth it?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “She’s worth every goddamn bit of it, Yefim. I wouldn’t be blowing up this arrangement if she weren’t.”

“Your father—”

“I’ve already spoken to him.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yefim repeats. “Where are you?”

“Disneyland.”

“This is no time to develop a sense of humor, Kon. Just tell me!” he says impatiently. “I’m freaking the fuck out over here.”

“You let me do the worrying,” I tell him.

Then, just like I did with my father, I hang up. Iris is slinking out from her shower, hair wet over her shoulder, looking like a mirage in a ghostly white slip.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her as I drop the phone onto the floor.

She comes to me and falls into my arms. So easy, so effortless. This is the first time we’ve been around each other without maintaining distance or boundaries or any of the other shit that’s held us apart all this time.

She pulls away a little, but her expression is bright and excited. “I kinda want to wake Max up right now just to tell him.”

“No, let him sleep,” I tell her. “Tonight is ours.”

I lead her into the second bedroom and she comes with me willingly. I close the door behind us and we both climb into the huge four-poster bed that overlooks a twinkling skyline filled with sparkling castle turrets and looping roller coaster tracks. It doesn’t look real.

That’s fitting, actually—in the best way possible, none of this feels real.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to go get breakfast and then we’re going to get you a dress.”

“Is that really necessary? There’s going to be three people at this wedding,” she drawls.

“And one of them will be in a wedding dress. Understood?”

She blushes, laughs, bites her lip, and rolls her eyes all at once, which looks effortless for her but makes me hornier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

“The only family I care about now is you and Max,” I tell her straight. “The rest can congratulate me when we get back home. Or send me a fucking postcard, I don’t care.”

“Home,” she repeats, as though she’s in awe of the word. Then she turns to me and runs a finger down along my lips. But when I reach for her, she puts her hand on my chest and stops me from pulling her against my body.

“I know it’s stupid,” she says. “But let’s wait.”

“For what?”

Her smile grows deeper and a little more teasing. “Wait until we’re married to have sex.”

My eyebrows hit my forehead. “You realize we just fucked on the couch, right? Literally minutes ago.”

“I realize,” she laughs. “My legs are still tingling.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Like I said, I know it’s stupid but—”

“No, I can wait,” I tell her. “I waited ten years already. One more night won’t kill me. Hopefully.”

She leans in and catches my lips. Her fingers grip my neck as she turns the kiss deeper.

“Okay,” I growl, breaking apart. “Now, you’re asking for it.”

“Sorry,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushed with color. “That was my bad. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

I take her hand and place it on my cock. I’m hard underneath my boxers, and desperate to be inside her again. There are a million different ways I want her, a million different ways I’m desperate to ravage her. She’s lying next to me, sprawled out in a slip so thin it might as well not even exist, with her dark hair spilling like midnight over her shoulders, and I’m expected to lie here next to her and do nothing?

Apparently, I am.

And more surprisingly, I will.

Because she asked.

And I will give my wife whatever the hell she asks for.

40

IRIS

He cried.

Max cried when we told him we were getting married. I held my baby boy as he broke into relieved, happy sobs, and in the mix of his tears, mine started falling, too.

Kon was the only one who remained dry-eyed, but I knew it was only because he has all that training in his past. I could tell he felt Max’s tears every bit as keenly as I did.

Now, we’re in a stretch limo, being driven to a luxury clothing store that makes wedding dresses by hand. I keep insisting that it’s unnecessary, and Kon keeps ignoring me.

All is right in the world.

When we get to the store, Kon walks us in and speaks to the manager. Then he turns to me and takes my hands. “I’ll see you at Town Hall.”

“You’re not staying?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a few things to get ready,” he explains, then he turns to Max. “Max, you’ll look after your mom for me while I’m gone?”

Max stands up tall and proud, just like Kon does. “Of course.”

Kon gives him a wink. “Good man.” Then he turns back to me. “Enjoy this, please. And get whichever one you like. I’ve instructed the staff to remove price tags before you try on a dress. Under pain of death, actually.”

“Kon!”

He smiles. “Whatever you want, kiska. Okay?”

“I need to see prices.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, you don’t, Mom,” Max chimes in with a wry grin.

I sigh. “Looks like I’m gonna spend the rest of my life being outnumbered.”

The two of them just exchange a conspiratorial smile.

Just before he goes, Kon leans in and presses his lips against mine. It’s chaste, as far as our kisses go, but there’s a lingering hunger underneath it that makes me shiver. I knew it had been hard for him last night to abstain—both literally and figuratively. But he had kept to his word. It was a testament to his years of training.

It’s also a testament to him putting all of that behind him. The Kon of a decade ago might’ve said fuck it and taken what he wanted. The Kon of today—the Kon I’m going to marry—just said, “Whatever you wish,” and kissed me like only he can.

“Can’t wait to make you my wife,” Kon says as he pulls away. He keeps his lips close to my ear and adds in a whisper that only I can hear, “Also can’t wait to fuck you in a million different ways with my ring on your finger.”

I fail miserably to hide my blush as he kisses my cheek, musses up Max’s hair, and strides away.

“He’s gonna be your huuusband,” Max sings cheekily.

Laughing, I throw my arm around my son and we go into the store. I’m so happy I feel like I’m floating above the ground.

A trio of women flutters around me, trailing delicate skirt hems and perfume that smells wickedly expensive.

“What a vision you are,” the oldest of the three says to me. Her hair is slicked back into a sleek side knot and she’s wearing bright red lipstick that I’ve never been able to pull off.

“Anything you wear will look fantastic,” adds the second.

The third chimes in, “You literally cannot pick wrong.”

I glance at Max and nudge his shoulder. “The little one will give me his honest opinion, right?”

Max nods solemnly. “Absolutely.”

We’re led into a lushly carpeted room walled with full-length mirrors and silver rack after silver rack, each of which contains a single dress. Each of which is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Each of which almost certainly has several commas in the price tag.

“Take your time,” the youngest woman murmurs with a warm smile and a soft touch on my elbow. “No reason to rush a thing.”

The older woman is gliding around the room, her gaze ping-ponging between me and the dresses, the dresses and me. Eyes furrowed, scrutinizing, assessing God-knows-what.

Tongue stuck out in concentration, she finally plucks one from a rack and glides right back over to where I’m perched on the edge of a snow-white couch.

“This,” she pronounces grandly. “We will start with this.” She holds the dress out to me like it’s holy. It’s a full-length beaded white gown, with a scooped neckline and thin straps.

“Max?” I ask.

He wrinkles up his nose. “Too many beads.”

I nod. “I agree.”

The second wedding dress fairy comes traipsing over with another dress in hand. This one is a midi dress with pretty little capped sleeves and a full skirt that ends just over the knees.

Max shakes his head. “It’s not you.”

I nod. “He’s right. It’s not me.”

“May I ask… what is you?” the middle woman asks.

Now, there’s a question. When I was in the throes of trying to be a model, I wore whatever got me the job. In between, I wore whatever was comfortable and affordable. But for the first time in ten years, I can choose something not because of what I can do with it… but because of what it does for me.

I let my eyes wander over the shoulders of the waiting women. It’s an ocean of blurring white as far as I can see, until—

“There,” I say, pointing. “That’s me.”

All three women drift away, then come back, ferrying the dress I pointed out between them. I nod as they approach. Maybe I’m just delirious with happiness or caramel popcorn overdose, but I could swear the fabric is glowing.

“Come,” the oldest woman says. She takes me by the elbow and guides me to a dressing room.

The three of them come in with me and help me step into the dress, which is less weird than I anticipated. The youngest opens the door and I step out.

Max’s jaw drops. “Mama,” he whispers.

He hasn’t called me that in a very long time. I suppose that, more than anything else, is what clinches the deal.

I turn to look at the women with a shy smile. “We’ll take it.”

* * *

An hour later, I’m standing on the marble steps of Town Hall in my dress. Max is at my side in a smart tuxedo, his little shoes shining black in the afternoon light.

A man is waiting for us at the grand double doors. He’s tall and stately, graying hair swept straight back. “Right this way, ma’am,” he says with a bow.

We follow him inside, turn a corner—

And I gasp.

The hall is lined with thousands upon thousands of flickering candles. My first thought is, This is definitely a fire hazard.

My second thought is, This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

At the end of the hall, lit from below by dancing firelight, is Kon. Shadows cascade over his face. His chin is bold, his jawline sharp, his hair flawless. His midnight blue tuxedo looks like the deepest part of the ocean beneath a full moon. And those eyes—the same eyes that consumed me ten years ago—those eyes are as mesmerizing as they’ve always been.

The moment I enter the room, soft classical music starts to play from an orchestra seated in the corner. I feel the first catch of a sob in my chest.

But then Max takes my hand. I look down to see him smiling subtly back up at me. His hand is warm and soft and he looks so sure of himself that suddenly, so am I.

I return his smile and we start the walk down the aisle together. Max and I stop in front of Kon and the two of them hug before Kon takes my hand.

“This is insane,” I whisper to him.

He gives me a wink as the Justice of the Peace standing off to his right starts the formalities. There are two other people in the room, both dressed in suits, both unfamiliar to me.

Words go past, some said by the Justice, some by Kon, some by me. I can barely keep up. Until the very end.

“… Do you, Konstantin Aminoff, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

He looks at me and the gold in his eyes shimmers. “I do.”

Then he pulls out a little black box from his coat pocket and opens it right in front of me. Sitting on the little silver cushion is a gorgeous emerald stone, flanked by two massive champagne diamonds.

I can’t help but gasp. “Oh my God… Kon.”

He smiles and slips it onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit. Then he offers me a simple silver wedding band that I’m meant to give to him.

“Do you, Iris Keller, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I swallow back my nerves. “I do,” I say, slipping the ring onto his finger.

“Then by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Kon cups my face in both his hands.

All I can see is him.

All I want to see is him.

Then he kisses me for the first time as my husband. And I feel a strange, unearthly peace settle over me.

We’re not alone anymore.

* * *

If the ceremony was a blur, the rest of the evening is a fever dream mirage. There’s a fancy meal at a gorgeous restaurant. There’s the limo ride back to the hotel. There’s a lot of talking and laughing and perhaps a tear or two when I’m fairly sure no one is watching.

It all feels like someone has pressed fast forward.

Right up until Max falls asleep in the second bedroom, and Kon lifts me into his arms and carries me into his—no, our bedroom. Rose petals have been strewn everywhere, but as beautiful as the room is, I’m not interested in admiring it.

There’s only one thing I want right now.

He throws me gently onto the bed and rips off his jacket. “That dress,” he says. “That dress…”

I smile. “You like it?”

“I like it so much I’m about to rip it the fuck off you.” I giggle and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you made me wait a full twenty-four hours to fuck you. I’m gonna make you regret that decision tonight.”

“How?”

“For starters, you aren’t sleeping for a single second.”

I give him a teasing smile. “Promise?”

His jacket lands on the floor, but just as he’s unbuttoning his shirt, I hear someone bang on the door.

I bolt upright. “Who’s that?”

Kon’s eyes go dark, but not in the good way. Not the way they darken when he looks at me.

“Wait here,” he growls.

It’s an order.

I wait until he’s out of the room before I rush to the door and pull it open softly. Enough to let in a little bit of light and a whole lot of sound.

“Yefim,” Kon snarls. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I can’t really see either one of them, but I can hear clearly. “I came to… I had to come… I…”

“It’s already done. We’re married.”

I frown. It sounds almost like he was racing against a clock.

“Your marriage has started a war,” Yefim says, his voice weak with shock.

Kon scoffs, “I can handle Nestor.”

I frown. Who’s Nestor?

“Nestor’s already declared where he stands,” Yefim says. “There’s going to be no negotiating now.”

“I’ll pay the debt in full, with interest.”

“Don’t you understand? It’s not about the money anymore, Kon! You jilted your fiancée for some random woman!”

Fiancée. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. Is that even possible? No. Stop. I have to listen. I have to know what’s going on.

“Your father tried to do damage control,” Yefim says. “He went to see Nestor.”

I don’t care about being seen anymore. I pull the door the rest of the way open, but neither Kon nor Yefim notice me. They’re standing opposite one another, both men wearing grave expressions and bristling with tension.

“And…?”

Yefim lets his gaze fall to the ground. His voice comes out in a hoarse croak as he says, “And Nestor put a bullet in his brain. You ran out on his daughter, the woman you were supposed to marry. What did you think was gonna happen?”

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

I sink to my knees on the carpet. “Kon…”

Barely any sound comes out of my mouth, but he still hears me. He turns, his eyes finding mine. Pain is carved into every line on his face.

“Is it true?” I whisper.

“It’s not what you think,” he says at once.

His voice is husky, uncontrolled. He’s processing his father’s death, and despite everything I’ve just heard, a part of me still wants to be there for him.

But I can’t. I won’t.

Because I have to punish myself for believing that I could be happy. That I could be safe. That there was such a thing as a happy family out there with my name on it.

“You ran out on your fiancée to marry me?” I ask.

His features turn harsh. “You don’t understand anything that’s happening here.”

“How could I? You never told me any of this.” Then I turn to Yefim. “What’s her name?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Answer me,” I say without raising my voice. “I deserve to know this at least. I want to know her name.”

I don’t even know why I want to know so badly. I just do. It’ll define something for me.

“Her name is Anika Kuzmin,” he says quietly when Kon doesn’t react.

Just like that, she’s real. It’s real. And God, it hurts so bad because of that.

I nod once. Then I walk into the room where Max is still fast asleep and shut it on both of them. I brace myself against the door and slide to the floor. Tears come thick and hot. I stare through them at the beautiful emerald on my finger and curse myself for getting caught up in a fantasy. For loving him even when I knew I shouldn’t have.

But even as I cry, I plan my escape.

There’s only one place left for me to go now.

Home.

TO BE CONTINUED

Kon and Iris’s story will conclude in Book 2 of the Caged duet,

CAGED THORN.

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BOOKS BY NAOMI WEST

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