CAGED THORN

AMINOFF BRATVA

BOOK 2

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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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

CONTENTS

Caged Thorn

1. Kon

2. Iris

3. Kon

4. Iris

5. Kon

6. Iris

7. Iris

8. Kon

9. Iris

10. Kon

11. Iris

12. Kon

13. Iris

14. Kon

15. Kon

16. Iris

17. Kon

18. Iris

19. Kon

20. Iris

21. Kon

22. Kon

23. Iris

24. Iris

25. Kon

26. Iris

27. Kon

28. Iris

29. Kon

30. Kon

31. Iris

32. Kon

33. Iris

34. Kon

35. Iris

36. Kon

Extended Epilogue

Mailing List

Books by Naomi West

CAGED THORN

BOOK 2 OF THE AMINOFF BRATVA DUET

Ten years ago, I ran from my home.

Today, I’m running back.

The difference this time is that my son is coming with me.

We’re going back to the place I swore I’d never return to.

Back to the lies and the heartbreaks and the site of the day that changed my life forever.

There is one other difference, actually:

This time, someone is following me.

Konstantin Aminoff isn’t the kind of man who “lets go.”

He ruined my life ten years ago, then he came back to ruin it again.

He put his ring on my finger. He put his kiss on my lips.

Worst of all, he put his mark on my world.

And if he has it his way, he’ll do the same to our son.

I can’t let that happen.

So I’m running, as far and as fast as I can, to keep myself and my son away from the man who holds our hearts and our lives in his hands.

I just have to hope it’s enough.

CAGED THORN is the first book in the Aminoff Bratva duet from bestselling mafia romantic suspense author Naomi West. Kon and Iris’s story begins in Book 1, CAGED ROSE!

1

KON

When you’re a boy, the idea of your father dying seems impossible.

That’s supposed to fade as you grow. You learn about the world and you realize that the people who brought you into it are not immortal or infallible. They can break, just like everything else.

But as I stand there, trying to process the fact that the man who raised me is gone, I wonder if I never really outgrew that original concept. He’d been sick for so many years, but he clung to life stubbornly. A weed. A fixture of the house I grew up in, as permanent as the walls. A figurehead that wilted and shrunk, yes, but never, ever collapsed.

Until now.

Yefim looks as stunned as I feel, though perhaps for different reasons. He’s looking at the closed bedroom door that my wife just slammed on the both of us.

My wife.

The whole reason my father is dead.

It’s a good thing I don’t believe in bad omens. If I did, this marriage would look pretty damn fucked right from the outset. It’s in rough shape as it is. No omens necessary for that.

“Did you see the body?” I ask quietly.

Yefim swallows and nods. “Yeah. I saw to him myself. But I didn’t want to bury him until…” He trails off, looking nervously around the room as though he expects the Kuzmins to bust in here at any minute. “I thought you’d want to be there to bury him, is what I’m saying.”

“Bullet?”

“Through the head,” Yefim confirms. “He wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

“What a fucking consolation.”

He reaches out toward me. “Listen, Kon—”

With a sudden roar, I turn, snatch up a lamp nearby at hand, and hurl it against the closest wall. It doesn’t even break satisfyingly. It just clunks against the concrete and then the floor.

Nothing can go right, apparently.

“He should never have gone over there!” I bellow. “What was he thinking?”

“He was thinking he could try to undo some of the damage,” Yefim explains. “Kon, brother… what did you expect?”

His words hang heavy in the dense air of the hotel room.

I don’t have an answer.

“Stay here,” I order him. I march over to the door and rip it open.

Iris is pacing back and forth in front of the bed where Max is lying, fast asleep and peacefully ignorant of the shit storm raging around him.

She stops short when she sees me, the skirt of her gorgeous gown fluttering restlessly at her feet. Her eyes are shrouded in shadow, but I can still see the hurt in them.

I gesture her toward me, but she shakes her head. So I stride right up to her. I know I’m frightening her—she tenses immediately, all sense of comfort and calm extinguished the moment I get close enough to touch her.

I don’t, though. I keep my hands at my sides because I’m not quite sure what the fuck I’ll do with them if I’m not careful right now. I just stare down at her.

She stares back up. Lots of people in this world are afraid to meet my eye, but Iris has never been one of them. Not even in the very beginning.

I can read her thoughts like they’re written there in her gaze. I don’t care about you. This means nothing. I’m not even surprised.

She’s not fooling anyone with those lies, though.

Least of all herself.

“Iris,” I whisper softly.

She closes her eyes for a moment. I watch her chest rise and fall. When she opens her eyes again, I see the steel in them.

“Not here,” she says.

She sweeps past me and through the living room. I hesitate for a moment before I follow her.

I notice Yefim lingering on the balcony as we pass, but he doesn’t make eye contact. Just stares at the horizon.

In our bedroom, the red rose petals strewn everywhere look a little more ominous than they did when we first arrived. More like a funeral than a celebration. And hell, maybe it is a funeral of sorts. The death of a marriage before it even really started. A stillborn union.

Iris stops in the center of the open space and whips around to face me. “How could you do this?”

“Iris—”

“Don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand. Don’t you fucking dare. That’s a cop-out and you know it.”

I sigh and let my fist fall to my side. “It’s the truth.”

“Explain it to me,” she orders. “Do it now.”

I take a step forward, but she backs away instantly, so I stop short. “There was an agreement made years ago. An arrangement. Between my father and—”

“Anika Kuzmin’s?” she spits. I can see how much it pains her just to say the girl’s name.

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“We would join the two Bratvas together… through marriage.”

She’s quivering with so much fury and sadness that I wonder if her skeleton can possibly bear all that weight, all that tension. “And you agreed?”

“No one asked for my fucking opinion. It was agreed on when I was twenty-two years old,” I say. “I knew it would take at least ten years for a wedding to actually come together. It didn’t feel like a problem I would have to deal with anytime soon.”

“Ten years?” she asks. “Why ten years?”

“Nestor wanted Anika to graduate college before getting married.”

Iris’s eyes go wide with shock. “Oh, Jesus,” she gasps, clapping a hand to her mouth. “You agreed to marry a… a twelve-year-old?”

“Listen to me, Iris,” I tell her urgently. “I agreed to marry the girl, yes. At the time, you weren’t exactly in the picture. I was doing what I needed to do for my Bratva.”

She frowns. “Tell me the truth: would you have married her if you’d never found me?”

I don’t have to think, because I know the answer. And I’m not about to lie to her now. Not even if the lie feels good.

“Yes,” I say grimly. “I would have.”

Her green eyes glaze over for a moment and she looks right past me for several seconds before she snaps out of it.

“Her father killed yours,” she says.

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”

“In retaliation for what you did to his daughter.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you or Max,” I tell her immediately.

A bubble of humorless laughter escapes from her lips. “How can you promise me that? Your father is dead, Kon! Who’s to say you’re not next? Or us?”

I grind my teeth together. “He should have consulted with me before meeting with Nestor,” I say. “He made a stupid decision.”

“So it was his own fault he got killed? Is that what I’m supposed to tell myself to feel better?”

“You have nothing to do with this.”

Her jaw drops, incredulous. “He was killed because you married me!” she exclaims. “How is that supposed to make me feel, Kon?”

“This is not on you, Iris,” I say again.

Tears darken the green in her eyes. Hot, angry tears, the kind that sting as they fall. “It may not be,” she murmurs. “But one day, you’re going to look at me and see your father’s death on my face.”

“That will never happen. I swear to you.”

But my words fall on deaf ears. She drifts away from me, her hand rising to her chest to tug at the soft fabric of her bodice. “Why is this dress so damn tight all of a sudden?” she mutters to herself.

She takes three huge, gasping breaths, but none of them seem to help. Then she stops suddenly, right in front of me, her eyes flaring with agitation. Her voice comes out clipped and emotionless.

“In light of everything I’ve just heard, this is probably the least important question to ask, but I can’t not ask it, either.”

“Go ahead.”

“What does she look like?”

“Iris…”

“Answer, dammit,” she insists. “What does she look like? I know she’s young. Is she pretty?”

“What does it matter? The girl has never meant anything to me.”

“How did she feel?” Iris asks. “About this whole arranged marriage thing?” When I sigh, she bursts into a dark laugh. “She was all for it, wasn’t she? She was chomping at the bit to marry you. I bet she was gung-fucking-ho about it.”

“The feeling was not mutual.”

“So her daddy killed yours as compensation for his daughter’s broken heart,” she infers. “At least she has a father who’s got her back. Must be nice.”

There’s a bite of dark resentment in her words that has nothing to do with me. “You have to believe me when I say you and Max have nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t we?” she demands. “Because the way it looks to me, we have everything in the world to worry about. You spurned a dangerous man’s daughter for me. Max is your son. Your ‘heir,’ to use a word that disgusts me. If this man is so cold-blooded that he can kill a lifelong friend for his son’s mistake, he’s not going to think twice about getting rid of Max and me.”

“He won’t ever get close enough to try.”

Again, it’s like I never even spoke. She doesn’t give a shit what I’m saying, if she’s even bothering to process the words at all. She just shakes her head like believing me is a risk she refuses to take.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?” she asks. “Or any of it?”

“Because I didn’t want the ugliness of my world to stain yours.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have married me!” she cackles maniacally. It’s a cruel, taunting laugh, a barb aimed at herself as much as it’s aimed at me.

But I’ll be damned if I sit her and let her torture herself over something that’s on my hands. I’ll fix this. It starts with fixing her.

I take a stride forward, and this time, when she tries to move away from me, I grab her arm and pull her into my body. She hits my chest and stills immediately.

“Of course I married you. You are mine, Iris,” I growl. “Until the end of fucking time.”

She wriggles in my grasp. “Let me go.”

In answer, I just pull her closer to me. “I will handle this. You have to trust me.”

“That ship has sailed, Kon,” she says in a miserable half-laugh, half-sob. She shakes her head. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to go down to the hotel lobby and discuss a few things with Yefim,” I tell her. “We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

“For your father’s funeral?” she asks.

I swallow. My father’s funeral. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I probably won’t believe it until I see his body lying in front of me. I am the don in every sense of the word now. Even the men who were loyal to my father will answer to me, and me alone.

It’s not the triumphant victory I always imagined it would be.

“Yes, Iris. For my father’s funeral.”

She must see something in my face or hear something in my voice, because she softens imperceptibly. “What was he like?”

“He was a hard bastard,” I tell her without hesitation. “Who was prepared for death for a long time. Don’t waste your energy feeling sorry for him.”

She frowns. “What about you?” she asks. “Am I allowed to feel for you?”

She glances down at my chest. Her hand is sitting over my heart, while my hand crosses over her wrist. Both our rings are visible, shining in the light.

“Don’t bother with that, either. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“This is the Bratva,” I tell her simply. “These things happen.”

She pulls away from me. Reluctantly, I let her go. She gathers up her skirt and plops onto the bed. Her green eyes are filled with a new, churning sort of sadness and a desperate sense of loss.

“I’m so tired,” she mumbles to herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life.”

I know what I should do. I should go to her, fold her up in my arms, and reassure her that everything will be alright. But my legs feel wooden and my ability to offer comfort is less functional than it’s ever been.

She needs a husband, but the truth of the matter is, I have no earthly idea how to be that for her.

My whole life, women came and went. They always knew where I stood. If they got their hearts broken, that was on them. I carried no guilt.

Now, I have a wife. A son.

And the burden for them rests squarely on my shoulders.

“Try to get some rest,” I tell her. “I’ll let you know when we’re about to leave.”

She doesn’t say anything except to put her head down on a pillow with her hands just underneath it. She tucks her legs in and they disappear under her dress. A white cloud that moves every so often as a sob she can’t control ripples through her.

I grit my teeth against what that sight does to me. Then I turn and leave the room. Yefim is standing outside the door, doing that annoying clicking thing he does with his tongue when he’s impatient.

“Kon—”

I hold up my hand. “Let’s go down to the hotel bar. We can talk there. I need a drink.”

We make our way downstairs. The bar suits my mood. Dark wood and brass everywhere, dour-faced bartenders with thick mustaches who don’t ask questions.

“Whiskey,” I tell the one closest.

“Same for me,” Yefim adds.

We sit down together, but neither one of us speaks until our drinks have been set down on the bar top. I take my glass and down the whole thing in one gulp.

“Another,” I tell the bartender before he has the chance to walk away.

He refills me, then leaves with a lingering glance at the two of us. Yefim takes his first sip of whiskey and sighs. “Fuck, I needed that.”

“How did it happen?” I ask.

Yefim knows what I mean. “In the face,” he says. “At least he didn’t put him down on his knees like a dog. Stepan would have known it was coming. Gave him a chance to take it like a man.”

“He knew before he left the house,” I mutter. “Otets may have been reckless, but he was not stupid.”

“Like father, like son.”

I throw him a glare. “You may be the only man alive who can get away with saying shit like that to me right now.”

“It’s the only reason I said it,” Yefim says. “You need a truth-teller. I’m not a yes man.”

“I used to think that was a good thing.”

“You still do,” he assures me. “You’re just… reeling.”

“He’s started a war,” I growl, taking another sip of my second whiskey.

“Kon, you started the damn war,” Yefim retorts. “You started it the moment you asked Iris to marry you.”

Judgment is wafting off of him. He’s trying to suppress it for my sake, but it’s there, etched into his features, as good an accusation as any. It hurts all the more coming from him.

“I still don’t regret it.”

“Jesus, man,” Yefim says, running a hand over his head. “Your father is dead.”

“My father is dead,” I agree. “He knew the risks in what he was doing. He chose to go in spite of them. And anyway—this was coming sooner or later no matter what.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning that this kind of death was preferable to having his body slowly shut down on him,” I say. “He wouldn’t have been able to abide that.”

“So it’s a good thing, is that what you’re trying to say?”

I glare at him. “Careful, Yefim. You may be able to get away with a lot. But there are limits, even for you.”

He sighs and looks into his glass. “I didn’t mean any offense, sobrat.”

“Death is part of the Bratva. Violent death, even more so. I am still willing to settle the debt we owe to the Kuzmins. I have the means to do so now. But Nestor’s just complicated things. Stepan’s murder can’t just be ignored.”

I get off the barstool and throw a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “Call the men, get them ready. Increase security around my property, as well as Stepan’s. And get the jet prepared. We’re leaving the moment it’s been refueled.”

Yefim nods. “Done. And… your wife?”

“She’ll need time.”

“She’s going to need a lot more than time,” Yefim warns. “She’s not Bratva, Kon.”

I crack my neck, first one way, then the other. “She is now.”

* * *

I leave Yefim behind as I take the long walk upstairs. My head is full of dark thoughts and the whiskey I thought would help has done next to nothing to quiet them. At least the stairwell is silent. So is the room, when I enter it. Deadly silent, actually.

Way too fucking silent.

Something’s wrong.

Instinct flutters through my body as I take note of all the missing essentials that had previously littered the space.

Iris’s jacket.

Max’s sneakers.

Both their backpacks.

My heart stampeding in my chest, I go to the room Max was sleeping in. The bed is empty now, but the sheets still hold the warm indent of his small body. I can see the signs of a rushed exit everywhere.

My wife just took my son and ran.

2

IRIS

“I don’t understand why we had to leave,” Max complains, squinting at me through his sleep-addled eyes.

“Something came up,” I explain for the tenth time.

“What kind of something?”

I sigh, wishing for the days when the concept of questioning me would never have occurred to him. “Sweetheart, it’s complicated, and I can’t explain everything to you right now.”

“I want to know where Dad is.”

Dad. I cringe. I can’t exactly blame him, though. He saw us get married twelve hours ago. He saw a life in the near distance—the three of us, together and happy. A true family.

Instead, it’s the two of us again, fleeing the rising sun on the cheapest bus fare I could find leaving California.

The bus lights catch my emerald ring and it glints at me furiously, like it’s trying to communicate with me. I twist it around so that the stones are facing inward and I don’t have to look at them.

I would have taken it off and chucked it into the ditch running alongside the road, but I don’t want to risk the chance of losing it. At the moment, it’s the most valuable thing I own. We’ll need every penny to get away from Kon.

“I want to know where Dad is,” Max asks again. “Why isn’t he with us?”

“He had some… business to take care of.”

“Bratva business?” Max asks.

I suppress a sigh. “Yes.”

“Why isn’t Roscoe taking us then?”

I look at my son. His soulful eyes are almost the exact same shade of gray as Kon’s. Except where Kon’s eyes hold experience and danger, Max’s hold innocence and trust.

I hate lying to him, maybe more than I ever have. But now is not the time for the truth. I can barely admit the truth to myself, much less to him. “Because he was busy. I don’t know the whole story myself, Max. All I know is that we had to leave immediately.”

He frowns. “Are we in danger?”

This is one thing I can look him in the eye and answer honestly. “Yes, I think so.”

Max’s frown deepens. “But if that were true, Dad would never leave us.”

He says so with such conviction that it makes my heart shudder unevenly. How is it that he’s given his entire heart away to a man that entered his life so recently?

Then again, who am I to judge? I’d done the same thing after two hours with Kon. A few words and I was ready to die for him. Ready to die with him.

“I told you, love, it’s complicated. Just… trust me, okay? Try to sleep.”

He nods reluctantly and his eyelids droop a little. It’s four in the morning and he’s exhausted beyond belief. He leans into my arms and I hold him close as he dozes in and out of sleep.

I don’t sleep for even a second.

* * *

When the bus stops just outside of California, I wake Max up gently and get out with a few of the other passengers.

“Mom,” Max whimpers, squinting into the predawn desert darkness. “I’m tired…”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m gonna find us a place to stay, okay?”

I speak to the officer at the bus terminal and she informs me of a motel not far from here. “Ten-minute walk at the most,” she adds, glancing over at Max with sympathy.

I thank her and pull Max along behind me. He has to drag one of the suitcases, and I can tell he’s not in the mood for this late night escapade. That makes two of us.

“Mom…”

“I’m sorry, honey,” I say as we come into view of the motel. The sign up front says “Rainbow Inn.”

There’s nothing particularly rainbow-like about it. It’s just mottled shades of gray slapped on top of each other, burnt by unforgiving sun and thousands upon thousands of collective cigarettes smoked beneath its corrugated tin overhang.

In the office, an old man is slumped behind the counter, deep in the throes of sleep and snoring loud enough to bring the roof down. I coax Max into a beat-up chair. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him. “Don’t move.”

Leaving my bags with him, I walk up to the desk. I ring the bell and the man jerks upright, sputtering on his own spit.

He looks younger when he’s conscious. Probably forty or forty-five. His red plaid shirt is covered in food stains and his chewing gum is stuck to a three-day-old beard.

“Sorry to wake you—”

He squints suspiciously. “Why do you look familiar?”

I freeze. Not this. Not here. Not now. “I’ve got… one of those faces.”

He snorts. “That’s a bald-faced lie. I know you. You ain’t got one of those faces at all. You’ve got one of those faces.”

“Is there another motel around the corner?” I ask.

“Oh, come on now, don’t be like that.”

“Then can you give me a room or not?”

He sighs and picks up a clipboard resting near his elbow. “Name?”

I’m hoping there’s no catch to this, but just to be safe, I give him a fake name. The first one that comes to mind. “Stephanie Jacobson.” It takes everything I have in me not to gasp and shudder as it crosses my lips. I haven’t said her name out loud in more than ten years.

He pauses, pen hovering over the page, and looks up at me through red-rimmed eyes. “Name don’t suit you.”

I shrug. “Take it up with my parents.”

He sighs again and scribbles my name down. “Number and email address?”

“Is that really necessary?”

“It’s just for billing purposes.”

I pull out my wallet. “How much for a room?”

“Fifty bucks a night plus tax for a double.”

“Here you go,” I say, forking over the cash. “The room’s paid for the night, so you won’t object to just handing over the room key, right?”

“Running from the law or something?” he laughs. “The kid’s not a kidnapping victim, is he?”

“The kid’s mine,” I say. “And I just want to get him into a warm, comfortable bed.”

“Well, I can give you warm,” he agrees, grabbing one of the keys off the brown bulletin board behind him. “But comfort’s in the eye of the beholder, or whatever.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get.”

I grab the key he offers me and walk over to Max. “Sweetheart, come on. I’ve got us a room.”

“I want to go back to the hotel with Dad,” he says, half-asleep.

“Come on, baby.”

He forces himself to his feet and leans against me. I wrap an arm around him and try to gather up my bags. Thankfully, the guy behind the counter decides to be a gentleman.

“I’ve got it,” he says, shuffling around the desk to hoist up both bags and one of the backpacks.

“Oh. Thanks a lot.”

He leads us across the nearly empty parking lot towards a flight of stairs and up to the second floor. We’re the fourth room down. Since I have the key, I open it and let him walk through with our bags. The moment I get Max inside, I guide him onto the single bed closest to the window.

His eyes are closed before his head hits the pillow. I smooth his hair back across his forehead and kiss his cheek. Then I turn to the desk clerk, who’s paused by the door after placing our bags next to the tiny little television.

“You sure you’re not someone I’d know?” he asks suspiciously. “Someone famous or somethin’?”

“Very sure. Just a tired mom.”

“Right. Well, if you need anything—”

“I’ll ring you.”

“Right-o. Number’s on the little card by the television.”

He ambles out. I shut the door as soon as he’s through it and throw the deadbolt home, then the chain, then slump against it in relief.

The silence is comforting. Just the soft crackle of the window unit A/C and the gentle snoring of my son. We’re not in a five-star hotel anymore, but we’re safe, and that’s what counts.

I go to our suitcases and root around for my toiletries bag. We packed in a hurry, so I find it tucked amongst the folds of my wedding dress.

My fingers idle unconsciously on the gauzy white fabric. It still feels dreamy, surreal. Too perfect to be true.

In so many ways, that’s exactly what it was.

A beautiful lie.

I yank my hand out and zip the suitcase closed.

The bathroom is done up with sickly yellow tiles that remind me of a hospital. I wash the makeup off my face and tie my hair up into a messy bun at the back of my head. I avoid my reflection for as long as possible.

But when I finally look up at the mirror, I realize I’ve got a river of silent tears streaming down my cheeks. When was the last time I cried like this? I can’t even remember.

I bite my lip until the desire to sob ebbs away. I don’t want to wake Max. Then I wipe away the tears with a scrap of toilet paper, kill the lights, and slip back into the dark room. I flop onto the second single bed and stare up at the water-stained ceiling, hoping for an hour or two of dreamless sleep before the sun rises.

I lie there for thirty minutes before I give up. The A/C that was comforting white noise is now grating on me like sandpaper. Every pause between Max’s inhalation and his exhalation makes my heart stop.

I end up walking out of the room to get some fresh air. The night outside isn’t much more reassuring than the room inside, but I huddle against the stucco wall and wrap myself in a hug to ward off the cold.

I gasp when I see a hooded figure standing off to the corner. “Shit!” I hiss.

“Whoa,” the guy says, jerking upright. “Easy there. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Once my heart stops pounding erratically, I realize that it’s not a man at all. It’s a young girl dressed in baggy jeans and a black hoodie pulled low over her face.

She pushes the hood back and smiles. “Just came out for a smoke, that’s all. Couldn’t sleep. Same as you, I’m guessing.” She holds out her pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” She eyes me up and down as she lights up. Even when she exhales, she doesn’t avert her gaze. “Dad must have loved you.”

“Excuse me?”

“My dad. He’s the one who owns this shithole.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Already hit on you, has he?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Course you weren’t,” she chuckles. She’s got a piercing in her nose and another through her eyebrow. Her hair is an inky, bottle-dyed black. She’s got what Liza would refer to as “billboard features”— plain but likable, relatable, girl next door with an approachable vibe—but she’s taken painstaking measures to hide it. I respect her that much more for it.

“You help him with this place?”

“I clean,” she replies. “Not happy about it, but he pays me decent, and I live here rent-free. So there’s that.”

I step up to the railing and lean against it as I look over at the unremarkable view. The desert out here isn’t pretty in the slightest. Just barren dirt as far as the eye can see.

She joins me a second later. “You don’t look like you belong here,” she observes curiously.

“I don’t belong anywhere.”

“Damn. Going through something, are we?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“What could possibly be wrong with your life?” she asks. “Pretty people always have it good.”

I laugh sadly. “You’d be surprised.”

“What’s your deal then?” she asks. “Picked a bad man?”

My expression gives me away immediately. She smiles knowingly. “Ah. Bet he was a looker, too.”

I don’t volunteer her any information, but she doesn’t seem keen on leaving me to my solitude. “I had one of those situations earlier this year,” she says. “Fell in love with a boy. Was stupid enough to think it would last forever.”

“What happened?”

“He slept with my stepsister.” I cringe hard with sympathy and she nods grimly. “Yeah. That’s ‘bout how I looked. The girl’s got the personality of burnt toast, but she does have an enormous rack. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Are they still together?”

“Fuck if I know,” she laughs. “I ain’t askin’ no questions about ‘em and I ain’t listenin’ to no answers. So, miss, are you always this mysterious?”

“With total strangers?” I ask. “Yes.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets.”

I smile. “So am I.”

She laughs at that and takes a long draw of her cigarette.

“Those things will kill you, you realize,” I blurt, betraying the mom inside of me.

“Something’s gotta,” she says with a gruesome chuckle.

I blush in the cool desert air. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“No offense taken.” Inhale, exhale. “Where ya headed from here?”

I feel my chest tighten at the thought. I’ve been hoping to stave off decisions like that for as long as possible. But dawn is coming, and with it, the mounting pressure to choose our next step. “I’m running out of choices. So I guess I’m headed to my last resort.”

“Let me guess: back home to the parents?”

I blink in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” she asks. “I ran out of options, too.”

I nod. “How’s it been so far?”

She laughs humorlessly. “Horrible. But you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”

I glance towards the window of my room and nod. “You’re right.”

“What did he do to make you leave?” she asks. “If you don’t mind me prying.”

“He married me,” I say softly.

“‘Scuse me?”

I shake my head and push off the railing. “I should get to bed. My son and I will be leaving early, so I’m gonna need some sleep.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“It was nice talking to you, …?”

“Kaley.”

“Kaley,” I say. “Nice talking to you, Kaley.”

“And you’re Stephanie, right? That’s what it said on the check-in papers.”

I hesitate for only a moment. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m Stephanie.”

Iris Keller is dead.

3

KON

“I think I found her,” Yefim says as he meets me outside of the hotel. “Rainbow Inn. Just over the border into Arizona.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” I growl, getting back in the car and slamming the door.

I don’t even wait for Yefim to shut the passenger side door before I streak off in the direction of this godforsaken shithole where my wife has taken refuge.

“Kon, do we have time for this?” Yefim asks as we speed off.

“For what?”

Another one of my Vors would have known to shut up based on my tone alone. But Yefim has always been thick-skinned, especially when he has something to get off his chest.

“I know she’s technically your wife—”

“Technically?” I bark. “There’s nothing technical about it. She is my wife.”

“That’s what concerns me,” Yefim mutters. I didn’t realize he’d been hoping it was all a ploy.

“You really think I would get married for show?” I demand. “That I wouldn’t make sure it was legit?”

“I’m just saying that if it wasn’t legit, it would be easier to undo.”

“To what end?” I say. “Even if I were willing to undo it—which, to be clear, I’m not—you really think I’m going to marry the daughter of the man who murdered my father?”

Yefim sighs. “I’m just trying to do damage control here.”

“Well, stop trying,” I snarl. “That’s my job.”

“We should be heading back to the estate,” Yefim continues. “Your men need you, Kon. Your Bratva needs you.”

“I know you aren’t lecturing me about what my Bratva needs.”

“The men are ready,” he says simply. “Just like you instructed them to be. But ready for what?”

“Anything,” I say sharply. “They should be ready for anything.”

“So you don’t have an actual plan.”

“My plan is to first find my wife and son. Everything else is secondary.”

“She clearly doesn’t want to be found!” Yefim points out in frustration. “Sneaking out in the middle of the night doesn’t exactly scream ‘Come get me.’”

“She’s in shock,” I say. “She’s had a lot to process in a short time, thanks to you.”

Yefim shoots me a glare. “Oh, gee, how clumsy of me. Is there a good time to tell you your father’s dead?”

I grind my teeth together, trying not to think about the dead body waiting for me back at the estate. Grief is not meant to be processed—it’s meant to be set on fire and left to burn. So I just crank up the radio. Hard, churning rock music blasts out of the speakers. Yefim sighs exaggeratedly, but the music drowns him out.

We spend a good part of the ride in silence.

Yefim is the one who breaks it as we close in on our destination. “Fucking hell, that is one depressing building.”

He’s not wrong. In the light of the morning, it’s a sickly, nauseating gray. “Are you sure this is where she came?” I ask.

“The hotel clerk said she asked for a bus schedule before she left. I spoke to one of the ticketing officers and he gave me the bus route she chose. I had one of my local contacts check out restaurants and motels in the surrounding area, and the guy running this one joint mentioned a raven-haired beauty and a sleepy kid. So yeah, pretty sure.”

“Rainbow fucking Inn,” I growl, stomping on the brake and getting out of the jeep. Yefim trails along, huffing wearily. I ignore him.

We approach the little office that clings to the side of the building like a tumor. The man sitting inside nearly chokes on his sandwich as we burst through the door.

“For God’s sake, you’re a big fella,” he observes.

“There was a woman who checked in here last night,” I growl. “Iris Keller. Find her.”

He frowns and looks down at his clipboard. Mustard stains the white pages. He keeps chewing with an open mouth.

Then he swallows hard and looks back up at me with a nonchalant shrug. “No Iris Keller here. Sorry, pal.”

“Check again.”

“Look, man—”

“Dark hair, green eyes, very beautiful,” I interrupt. “You’d know her if you saw her.”

I see the light wink in his eyes and I know at once that she’s here. But he clamps his mouth shut and shrugs again. “Doesn’t ring a bell. And even if it did, I can’t just be giving out that kinda thing, man.”

I plant my hands on his desk and lean forward, close enough for the sour tang of his food to singe my nostrils. “I’m going to say this once,” I snarl in his face. “I am not the kind of man you fuck with. And what you’re doing right now is fucking with me. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to search that fuzzy little memory of yours for the person who matches the description I just gave you. You’re going to check that list and find out which room she’s in. You’re going to lead me there, and then you’re going to stay the fuck out of my sight for the rest of your life. Understood?”

The man is suddenly sweating. His tongue flicks out and swipes away a smear of mustard at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t even bother looking down at the clipboard again—he knows damn well which room my wife is in.

“Right,” he croaks. “Stephanie Jacobson. Unit 214.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

He’s pale and trembling as he fishes out a hefty key ring and drags himself out from behind the desk. Yefim and I fall into step as he takes us through the parking lot, up the stairs, and halfway down the second floor porch. We stop outside of #214.

“Open it,” I instruct.

“I’m really not s’posed to—”

“Now.”

He sighs and fits his master key into the lock. It takes a few jiggles, but the lock gives partway.

“Good. Now, be a good little boy and run off.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He waddles down the stairs as fast as his feet can carry him and disappears from sight.

I turn to the door. I can see the glimmer of the thin chain holding the door closed.

“What if she fights?” Yefim asks.

“Of course she’s going to fight. It’s in her nature.”

“You sound weirdly proud of that,” he observes.

I don’t bother answering him. I lean my weight back, then throw my shoulder into the cracked-open door as hard as I can.

The chain snaps. The door bounces off the inner wall with a hard clang.

What’s waiting for me inside are two empty beds and not much else. It takes me only a minute to case the place. No trace of them but an empty wrapper in the bathroom trash can.

“Well?” Yefim asks when I re-emerge. “They in there?”

“What does it look like?”

“Looking for someone?”

I glance to the side at a young woman waltzing up the stairs. She’s got inky black hair, short and spiky, along with several piercings and a defiant attitude that rolls off her in waves.

“Did you see the woman who stayed in this room last night?” I ask. “She was here with a young boy.”

The girl doesn’t take her eyes off me. “What was she thinking, running from you?”

I narrow my eyes. “She was here?”

The girl nods. “She was here.” Then she pulls out a piece of paper from the pocket of her sweatshirt. “She told me to give you this, matter of fact.”

I snatch the paper from her hands and unfold it. It’s hotel stationary, with a neat cursive flowing across it. I notice the tiny hole of cigarette ash burned through the top corner.

“Did you read it?” I ask the girl.

She shrugs. “I’m nosy.”

I grind my teeth in annoyance and turn back to the letter.

Dear Kon,

I don’t know what compelled you to want to marry me, but whatever it is, it was clearly a lie. Our whole marriage is. I’m begging you: get an annulment. End it so that we can both be free again.

In the meantime, I’m taking Max and leaving. It’s time for me to try a different path.

Please don’t look for us. I don’t want to put my son in more danger than I already have. He deserves a chance at a normal life. I think I let my feelings for you blind me. This was never about us—it’s about him. And for him, I have to have the strength to walk away from you. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I would have done it for any other reason.

Let this go, Kon. Let me go.

I will take care of him, I promise.

Goodbye.

Iris

“Kon?” Yefim interjects. “What did she say?”

“Long story, short, she’s leaving him,” the girl says casually. “What did you do? You didn’t hit her, did ya?”

“Did she say where she was going?” I ask.

“Nope. Didn’t even know she was going until I did the rounds this morning. The note was pasted to the door.”

I brush past the girl and take the stairs down two at a time. Yefim follows after me and we get into the jeep again. The girl watches us go from her perch on the second floor railing, smoking a cigarette all the while.

“Can I see the letter?” Yefim asks.

I hand it over and he reads it quickly.

“Okay… this must have been hard to read—”

“It wasn’t.”

Yefim eyes me from the corner of his eyes. “Brother, I know this is a hard loss. But—”

“But?” I snap, turning to him with fire in my eyes. “There is no fucking ‘but’ here, Yefim. I will find her. She is my wife.”

“Seems pretty clear to me that she no longer wants to be your wife.”

“Because she’s hurt,” I say. “And scared for Max. She’s acting on emotions now, and they’re overwhelming. Once the dust settles, she’ll need me.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because I know her,” I say. “I know the woman. She’s headstrong and stubborn and full of pride.”

“You’re describing yourself.”

“How do you think I know her so well?”

He rubs his chin. “Can I play devil’s advocate for a minute?”

“No.”

“Kon, you made me your right hand for a reason,” Yefim reminds me. “I’m meant to be the voice of reason when you need it. And right now, you need it more than ever.”

“I always knew that little speech would come back to bite me in the ass.”

Yefim smirks. Then his mouth turns down, and I know I’m going to have to resist the urge to punch him the moment he starts talking.

“You could still marry Anika.”

I was dead-on about the punching. My fists clamp down hard on the steering wheel. “Jesus Christ,” I scowl. “Not this shit.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “An annulment could be handled fast, and then—”

“Over my dead body am I marrying Anika fucking Kuzmin.”

“It’s not a prison sentence. Yes, I know it’s not ideal for you, but this might be the only way to avoid an all-out war.”

“I’m prepared for war.”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Kon, that’s your pride talking.”

“When did you become such a pussy?” I growl.

Yefim’s jaw snaps shut. His eyes ripple with anger, but he knows that if he hits me, I’ll hit back. “I’m trying to make you see reason.”

“All hope of reason went out the door when Nestor pulled that trigger.”

“Brother—”

“If you were truly my brother, you would understand why I have to do this,” I cut in. “And just so you know, this isn’t just about my needs. I’m doing this for the Bratva as well.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear this,” he drawls. “Tell me how this is so selfless and noble of you.”

“I don’t want to be indebted to the Kuzmins. The sooner we throw them off our backs, the better.”

“Nestor’s not some fledgling upstart that you can stomp out without a second thought,” Yefim points out. “He’s a titan of the underworld.”

“So am I.”

“You’re neck-deep in debt and he just put a bullet through your dad’s head. You’re not looking so strong right now, Kon.”

I glance at Yefim. “Did you think I made that deal with Tikhon Kusnetsov for kicks?” I demand. “Did you think I was branching out for the sake of filling out my CV?”

Yefim frowns. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that, before the deal with the Russians, I was neck-deep in debt. Now, I’m only ankle-deep in it.”

His jaw drops. “You’re not kidding, are you? Shit. You’re not.”

“No, I’m not. I went all in,” I say. “I took risks and they paid off. I explained the numbers to you, Yef—you should understand. Heroin is the gold mine that my father should have invested in decades ago. That was the problem with Otets; he was wary of new contacts. He kept to his corner and did business with the people he knew. But just because you’ve known a man for decades doesn’t mean you can trust him. Just ask Nestor.”

Yefim shakes his head at me. “I can’t stand when you’re right.”

I would have enjoyed his irritation more if I weren’t so mired down in the crackling sense of grief that I’m trying to push aside. I can feel my father’s death in my bones.

It’s just me now.

I am the don.

“Kon, I get what you’re going through,” Yefim begins slowly. “You’re being pulled in half a dozen different directions at once. But you need to prioritize correctly. Your father’s body still has not been laid to rest. We need to go back, sort out his funeral arrangements, then decide what to do about Nestor.”

Maybe he’s right. So much depends on what I choose to do next. But every cell in my body is pulling me somewhere else.

Towards Iris.

Towards Max.

Stepan didn’t have the chance to meet either one of them. I’m glad that I’m not a sentimental man, or else that realization might have gutted me. But maybe that’s for the best. This way, my son will never see the hard man that was responsible for molding me.

I will do things differently.

“We have to go back to the estate,” Yefim finishes. “The men will need to hear from you. You’re the don now.”

I sigh and re-grip the steering wheel as the speedometer creeps over one hundred and desert flies past our windows. “I was always don, Yefim. Even when the old man was still alive… I was don.”

4

IRIS

It’s been eleven years since I was last here.

But it feels like I left just yesterday. I still remember how I did it: one foot in front of the other without ever once looking back. I was so certain, so goddamn certain, that I’d never set so much as a toe in Wyoming ever again.

And yet here I am, back in Crosse Valley with the same two battered suitcases and also a nine-year-old to my name.

Max yawns irritably and plops down on his suitcase. “Mom, where are we going?”

I squat down in front of my exhausted son and cup his face in my hands. “I’m sorry, sunshine. I know this has been difficult, but we had to get away.”

“But where’s Dad?”

“He’s… dealing with a few things back at home,” I tell him, which is true enough.

“Why couldn’t we help him deal with it?”

“Because it didn’t involve us,” I explain. “And also because we might have been in danger if we went with him. And it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“Oh.” He frowns, his face still creased from sleep. “But… does that mean he is in danger?”

“Kon can handle himself,” I say firmly. “Now, is there room on that suitcase for me, or are you too big to share these days?”

He smiles for a brief second before it fades away again and scoots over. I wonder how long he’ll accept my half-baked non-explanations. I’ve been ducking questions for two and a half days’ worth of cross-country bus rides, but there’s no way that moratorium lasts much longer.

One way or another, he’ll learn the truth.

It’ll break my heart when he does.

I sigh and mop sweat from my forehead. It’s hotter than I remember at this time of year and our next bus is late. I’ve already removed the jacket I was wearing and rolled the sleeves of my t-shirt up over my shoulders, but short of stripping off my jeans, there’s nothing else I can do.

“So, this town we’re in right now? This is where I grew up.”

He gives me a look that reminds me so much of Kon that my heart clutches painfully. “Grandpa lives here? I thought you don’t like to talk about him.”

“I don’t,” I say with a grimace. “It’s… complicated.”

He grumbles and rests his chin on his balled-up fist. “You say that all the time.”

I wrap my arm around him. “I know you’re all grown up now, but cut me some slack, okay? It’s hard for me to think of you as anything but my baby boy.”

He gives me a shy smile and tries to wriggle out from underneath my hand.

“Relax, you goober,” I tease him. “No one’s around to see.”

We fall into a fragile silence for a while, throwing rocks at the sign for the town that stands just outside of the bus station. Crosse Valley, it reads. Population 5,794. Home of the 1983 AA Boys Baseball State Champions. Sign Sponsored by Jacobson Construction.

Then I see a cloud of dust in the distance. Soon enough, a bus peeks through.

“Here we go,” I say, standing up. “This is our ride.”

The bus comes to a wheezing stop in front of us. I don’t look too close for fear of being recognized by someone I grew up with, but I could swear the bus driver is the same one who took me out of this place ten years ago. I remember that Diet Gulp can in the cupholder, that “kill me now” expression on his bored face.

Max and I climb on with our luggage and find a seat. There are only a handful of other passengers. The ride goes quickly. Too quick, actually. We pass through a blur of Crosse Valley.

Some of it’s changed. Most of it hasn’t.

Before long, Max and I are lugging our bags back off the bus. Then, with another mechanical groan and the hiss of air, it goes lumbering down the road and disappears again.

It’s quiet without the noise of the engine. Same endlessly open sky and oppressive silence that always made me want to scream. But it’s the kind of silence that swallows up your screams no matter how loud you make them.

I would know—I tried.

“Come on,” I say to Max. “It’s this way.”

We walk at a slow pace because we’re both exhausted from the hectic journey. I’ve got all the emotional baggage I’m carrying, too, and that’s no small weight.

I can’t stop picturing Kon’s face. All handsome and proud, clean and furious. His gorgeous gray eyes filled with the kind of repressed grief that makes you want to get closer and try to fix him when what you really should do is run away as fast as you can.

I barely remember the things he said before we left. What I do remember is the way he looked at me. That hadn’t changed one bit. Possessive, demanding, angry, passionate.

His face haunts me in my waking moments, and I know damn well that it’s going to haunt my dreams. Which is why, despite my fatigue, I’m not sleepy.

Sleep frightens me now.

“Another two minutes and we’ll turn the corner onto the street I grew up on,” I inform Max.

He glances up at me. “Are you glad to be back?”

“Not really,” I admit. “Not at all.”

“Why?”

I sigh. The truth wants out, it seems. The more I try to keep it caged up, the more it rants and struggles and demands to be free.

“My childhood wasn’t great, honey,” I tell him softly, slowing my pace a little. I’m stalling, yeah, but this idea has fangs and it hurts as I set it loose. “My parents were… not nice. They were both broken people with a lot on their shoulders.”

“Like what?”

“My mother was very beautiful,” I explain. “And very sad. She used to… drink a little. Sometimes, she took medicine, too. Not in a good way.”

“What kind of medicine?”

“The kind of medicine that makes you happy. In her case, though, it just made her sadder.”

“Why was she so sad?” Max asks.

I bite my lower lip. “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since I was old enough to ask it, honey. She’d had some bad stuff happen to her in her life, but she didn’t like talking about it to anyone. You know how I always say it’s better to share your feelings so you can let them go? My mom wasn’t so good at that. And when she got really sad, she’d take a lot of medicine and lock herself in a room for days at a time.”

He blinks as he processes. “That must have made you sad, too.”

“It made me really sad,” I agree. “But sometimes, you get used to sad things. They start to feel normal. Or you don’t even realize they’re sad until you see that there are other ways to do stuff.”

“Where was your daddy?”

“He… worked a lot. He left home very early and came home very late.”

“Oh. Okay. Is your mom here, too?”

I shake my head. “No, sweetheart. She passed away when I was a teenager.”

“What happened?”

I slow to a stop. This stuff shouldn’t still hurt the way it does. I’ve had years and years to get past it. But it hurts nonetheless. A kind of scraping, bone-deep pain that sets my teeth on edge.

“She took too much medicine one day and she fell asleep. And then the doctors couldn’t get her to wake up.”

“Oh.”

So many heartbreaking things are contained in that little “Oh.” He shouldn’t know about death yet, I want to scream at the indifferent mountains in the distance. It’s not fair. My son shouldn’t have to know about divorce or addiction or missing fathers or broken homes. He should be worried about riding his bike and playing with his friends and building model train sets. All the innocent, happy little stuff he loves without reservation.

But some people just aren’t allowed to grow up innocent. The world forces itself on them way too soon. It leaves a mark that can’t be erased. Turns us into rusted metal that can’t be returned to how it once was.

We reach the corner and turn. I try not to be distracted from the conversation, but the patchy brown grass and sun-faded garbage cans make my heart flinch with discomfort.

It’s the street I knew. Just darker, sadder, older.

We stop again three houses down. “There it is,” I whisper.

“This is the house you grew up in?” Max asks. “It looks… sad.”

I stifle a bitter laugh. He doesn’t even know how right he is.

I reach out and take his hand in mine. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I brought you here because we had no other choice, okay? But we’re not going to stay forever. I promise. Soon, we’re going to get a house with a big yard and you can have a big bedroom all to yourself. I promise you that, baby. Mama promises.”

He frowns like he wants to ask something else, but he doesn’t. I sigh and fidget in place, shaking out the crick in my neck and the ache in my back. Everything hurts all of the sudden, though I’m pretty sure that’s more psychological than physical.

The little porch in front of us hosts two dirty white chairs, half a dozen spiderwebs, and a whole bunch of empty beer bottles. Some are full; most are not. Cigarette butts stud the yard like an invasive weed.

We head up to the door. Every step is hard. But when we get close enough, I make myself knock without waiting. Rip off the Band-Aid, right? No sense in delaying the hard part.

It occurs to me that I probably should have called my father and warned him we were coming. But I didn’t want to turn my phone on. What if Kon called or texted? I’m not sure I would’ve had the strength to ignore him.

I have to knock twice more before I hear the shuffle of his feet. I see his silhouette first, materializing behind the murky frosted glass. Then he pulls it apart and stares at Max and me through the screen door.

“The fuck…?”

“Dad,” I say. “Good to see you again.”

It’s not, of course. As a matter of fact, my heart feels like it’s going to combust. Max is still and silent beside me, taking it all in.

My father looks the same. But worn. Just like this street. Just like this house.

He’s skinnier than I remember, and he’s still wearing a wifebeater, with his customary silver chain looped around his neck. The stained shirt is as old as he is.

He’s lost a lot of hair, and a tooth or two towards the left side of his mouth. His eyes have caved in a little, making them more prominent and a little more scary. What strikes me most of all is how small he seems. Shrunken, in some indefinable way. I’m more or less eye to eye with him, but it feels like I’m looking down on him from miles above.

Dad’s eyes stay on me for a full thirty seconds before they veer to Max.

“This your boy?” he grunts.

“Yes, this is Max,” I say. “Are you going to let us in?”

He doesn’t answer or move to open the door. He just eyes the suitcases warily. “What happened?”

“We came to see you.”

“Bullshit,” he says, pulling open the door at last. “You wouldn’t have come back here unless something went wrong.”

Max looks up at me, waiting for an answer I don’t have. “It’s complicated,” I hear myself say.

Dad raises one hairy eyebrow. “Isn’t it always? Come in, hurry up, you’re lettin’ the bugs in.” He turns and limps inside. Max and I follow.

I’m suddenly nervous and shy when we’re inside. It reeks like an ashtray in here, and everything I remember is still in its place, though yellowed and stinking with age and neglect.

My dad is standing at the kitchen counter, guzzling a glass of cloudy tap water. “Um, Dad,” I say, “Max is really tired, so maybe I’ll put him in my old room?”

He turns and looks Max up and down. “He’s a good-looking boy.”

Max steps halfway behind me. He hasn’t done that in years. This is a lot of newness all at once, of course, but that’s not what’s concerning him. There’s just an air in this place. A bad vibe you can’t outrun.

“How old is he again?” my father asks.

“Nine.”

“Nine. Hm. Looks about thirteen. His pa must be a big one.” For whatever reason, it doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment coming from his mouth.

Max leans out from behind my hip and starts to say, “My dad—”

“Max,” I say, cutting him off before he gets too far. “Why don’t I show you my old room? You can get some rest. You barely slept.” Then I turn to my father. “I’m putting him in my room. I’ll take the one down the hall.”

The room my mother slept in for the last five years of her life.

“Fine, fine,” he says dismissively. “Do whatever.”

But I can feel him watching us as we climb the steps to the second floor. It opens up into a long hallway, pockmarked with three doors.

We’d lived in a strange circle the last few years. Mom in one room, Dad in another, me in the third. Disconnected and aching and hiding from one another.

The hallway wallpaper is faded and peeling in the corners. If the light overhead ever worked, I don’t remember it.

I take Max’s suitcase into the first room on the right. It feels even smaller than it used to. The single bed is still there, and the naked mattress stares back at me. Bare walls. A closet gathering dust.

“This was your room?” Max asks critically.

Before Kon, we’d never stayed in the fanciest of places. The apartments I’d found for us had been modest at best. But they’d been clean, at the very least. They certainly weren’t like this. Rundown and stinking with the memories of old losses and long-buried pain.

“I’m sorry, hon. I’ll help you clean up later. For now, let’s just put a fresh sheet on the bed and you can rest.”

I find my sheets in the same cupboard underneath the wardrobe. They’re faded. Disuse has left them stained in random places. I wrinkle my nose and shake them out a few times before putting it on the mattress. We’ll wash them in the morning.

Max helps me with the corners like we always do when we change the linens at home. The moment it’s done, he flops onto the bed and sighs.

“Mom?” he mumbles, face down into the mattress.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“When can we go home?”

I hear the longing in his voice, and I feel the ache in my heart grow bigger. “I don’t know, Max. We’ll have to wait and see.”

His eyes droop as I pull the curtains closed and slip out. I’ll need to sort out my own sleeping arrangement, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that. I need a minute to compose myself first before I venture into that room.

When I go back downstairs, Dad’s sitting by the dining table with a beer between his hands.

I’m not looking for a fight, so I keep my mouth shut about the morning beer. I take the seat opposite him. It’s a small table, and I’m close enough to smell him. He smells like alcohol and decay.

“You look different, Iris,” he remarks.

“Do I?”

“You look like her.”

I look over to the little end table pushed haphazardly against one wall. It doesn’t go there, nor does it match any of the furniture. There used to be two pictures resting on top of it. One of me. One of Mom.

They’re both gone now.

Dad notices me staring. “You wanted me to spend my whole goddamn life staring at the two of you?” he barks, drawing my attention back to him. “After you both left?”

“Don’t act so innocent.”

“The fuck you say?”

“You had nothing to do with both of us leaving, did you?”

He scoffs and takes a swig of his beer. “I only ever worked hard for you and your mother. But it was never good enough. The two of you wanted shit I couldn’t give you.”

“I think you’re remembering wrong,” I say coldly.

“I never remember wrong,” he retorts. “Do you want a beer?”

I think about all the arguments I’ve had with him in my head for the last ten years. All the accusations I want to fling at him. The resentment and hate and hurt I carry inside me at all times that’s a direct result of his behavior, his actions, his sins.

But in the end, I’m back here, in this house. I’m asking for his help. So who’s to say I’m innocent, either?

“Sure,” I sigh. “I’ll take a beer.”

5

KON

She hasn’t turned her phone back on.

Not that I’ve tried calling or texting. But the tracking signal is dead. Has been for two days now.

“Don Aminoff.”

I turn around to see my men standing outside the door, waiting for me. The funeral is taking place on Stepan’s own estate. It’s what he would have wanted. To die where he lived.

At least, I think it’s what he would’ve wanted. I’ve been playing guessing games since arriving back on these grounds. My father wasn’t a man who spent much time thinking about death. So he never planned for it.

Ironic, considering that he knew he was sick. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing when he went to speak to Nestor that night.

As deaths go, a bullet through the brain is exactly the kind of splashy end that someone like Stepan would have appreciated. Dying an old man in his bed would have only embarrassed him.

“It’s time,” Roscoe says quietly.

I stride past the men and go down a level. Yefim is waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. He’s all suited up in black and looking uncharacteristically somber.

He gives me a silent nod and we walk together into the garden. The plot is dug out. A cavernous black hole with perfect edges carved into the grass. No priests present. Religion was never a part of our lives, and it won’t be a part of our deaths.

The men are gathered around his grave. Everyone here are Vors, men of the Aminoff inner circle. The only exception is Khariton and his entourage of six, who flew in early this morning on their private jet.

They had come to complete a second deal. When Khariton had heard the news, he had insisted on staying for the funeral. In the interest of our new relationship, I agreed.

Now, they stand respectfully in a cluster off to one side, hands clasped behind their backs. Everyone parts when Stepan’s body is brought forward. He’s lowered into the grave without any fanfare. No one breathes a word.

I don’t even make a speech. I want to do away with the bluster and bullshit. I’m not about to gab endlessly about his triumphs, but I don’t intend to gloss over his mistakes, either.

Being dead doesn’t get him off the hook.

So in the end, I just say nothing. It’s better than way.

Once he’s lowered in, I throw the first handful of dirt in. I don’t wait around to see what happens next. I leave the men to pay their respects and I duck back into the house.

That’s where Khariton finds me a few minutes later, with a glass of gin in hand. “That was the quickest funeral I’ve ever been to,” he tells me with a subtle, wry humor.

“You’re welcome.”

He smiles somberly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“It’s part of the job.”

Khariton nods. “I must admit, when I first came, I was not sure whether to offer you condolences or congratulations.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I hear you are now married.”

Word travels fast. “Yes, I am.”

“Who is the lucky lady?” Khariton asks. “It would be my honor to meet her.”

“She’s… indisposed at the moment,” I say. “And she will be for the foreseeable future.”

“I see.” He hesitates, then adds, “Don Aminoff, if you need assistance or protection for your family—”

“What have you heard?” I ask, cutting him off.

“Nestor Kuzmin is on the war path,” Khariton says bluntly. “Apparently, you broke a pact made in good faith.”

“The gossip mill has been working overtime, I see.”

“Is it gossip if it’s true?”

I glance at him skeptically. “You seem to know a lot, Khariton. Especially for a man from an organization that’s only just broken into America.”

He smiles placidly, though his eyes gleam with cunning. “I may be new to this country, but I am not new to this world.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Was there a question?” he asks. “I must have missed it.”

“Now’s not the day to fuck with me, Khariton.”

He sips from his drink and smacks his lips. “Nestor Kuzmin contacted me,” he says eventually.

“His spies are good,” I admit. “What did he offer you?”

“Double what you did,” he says, leaning confidently against the bar. He reaches across and helps himself to a second pour of my finest gin.

“Are you here to tell me our business relationship is at an end?” I ask with exhausted disinterest.

“You think I would do such a thing at your father’s funeral?”

“You tell me.”

“My cousin Tikhon thought it was an offer worth taking, but I convinced him otherwise.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I like you, Don Aminoff,” he says casually. “I believe that our relationship will last a lot longer than any alliance we could hope to make with Nestor Kuzmin.”

“Meaning the man is old and has no heirs and you’re protecting your bottom line.”

“Meaning that Don Kuzmin is being ruled by his emotions. He wants revenge badly. He wants to make you suffer,” Khariton explains patiently. “I prefer not to deal with men who feel they have been backed into a corner. Wild animals make poor partners.”

I nod. It’s a thin consolation, but it’s better than nothing. “So things remain the same?”

“Exactly the same,” he assures me.

I hold out my hand and he takes it. “I appreciate that, Khariton,” I say. “But for the record, it’s never the day to fuck with me.”

He nods and bows. “I would expect nothing less, Don Aminoff. Again, my condolences on your loss and my congratulations on your wedding. May your reign and your union both be long and fruitful.”

Then he’s gone, dissolved in a swarm of stoic Russians with hard blue eyes as he and his men depart.

Yefim slips in soon afterward. He takes off his jacket and tosses it on the chair. “Your father’s been laid to rest,” he informs me.

I snort. “He couldn’t rest when he was alive. I doubt much will change now that he’s dead.”

“What do you reckon?” Yefim muses as he loosens the knot on his tie. “You like the concept of heaven and hell? Or reincarnation? Or is it just lights out for eternity, you’re bug food now, game over?”

I turn to him. “Do you really think about that shit?”

“Of course. All the time. Ever since I was shot at for the first time.”

“Then you’re wasting your time,” I growl. “There is only now. That’s what you need to focus on.”

“Very on-brand,” he mutters under his breath. Then he sighs wearily. “You have a plan?”

“Yes, I do. Gather the men. We’re heading out.”

“Where?” Yefim asks.

“We’re going to pay Nestor a visit.”

Yefim bolts upright in his chair. “Nestor?” he echoes in horror. “Today? Now?”

“Nestor,” I repeat. “Today. Now.”

I down the rest of my drink and head for the main door. Yefim follows after me with the same shell-shocked expression plastered on his face. “Have you thought this through? What’s the goal here, Kon?”

“I will not be intimidated by that old fuck,” I snarl. “He needs to know that.”

“He’s pissed right now.”

“Yeah?” I ask, twisting around. “Good. So am I.”

I have a few of the boys get the jeeps out. The rest of the Bratva men pile out of the house in their funeral suits. I like the imagery. An army of dangerous men in their finest black.

It sends a nice message.

“Kon, why are we going over there?” Yefim asks again. He’s tapping his toe nervously like he always does when he thinks I’m being restless.

I climb up into the car. “To repay a debt,” I say.

Then I slam the door shut.

* * *

The drive to Kuzmin’s estate is pure silence. As we approach the closed gates, I signal to the two vehicles behind me to overtake. A second later, shots are fired.

The aim is precise and perfect. Holes flash through the gates in quick succession and both Wranglers slam through them, ripping them off their hinges with the tortured squeal of metal twisted past its breaking point. I don’t brake even a fraction; I just fly in right behind them and come to a grinding halt in the gravel drive.

I jump out of the Wrangler, but I don’t draw a weapon. There’s no need; my fury alone is plenty of firepower. I kick open the front door and walk in. Two Kuzmin men run forward to intercept me, reaching for their guns, but I slam my elbow into one of their faces and kick the other in the stomach. Both go down in a groaning heap.

I press the toe of my boot against the throat of the nearest soldier. “Where’s the old man?” I snarl.

He shakes his head, lips sealed tight, so I turn and stomp his knee the wrong way. He screams in pain. No doubt that every other man in this house hears the wail. Strangely, none of them come running out of the woodwork to save their comrade.

“The next thing I stomp is your skull,” I spit. “Where the fuck is the old man?”

“D… down… the hall…”

I nod and turn towards the broad hallway, leaving him sputtering in my wake with a ruined knee. Another guard comes sprinting out of a nearby room. I use his momentum to smash him face-first into the opposite wall. Like the others, he goes down and does not move again.

I throw open the first door I find, but there’s no one inside. Yefim’s right behind me, so I give him a jerk of the chin. “Check the room,” I order. “Just in case he’s hiding underneath the sofa.”

Then I keep roaming down the hallway. It only takes two more busted doors before I find him in the library.

He’s standing by the windows, facing out over the property. I clock him at the same time that I clock the sneaky motherfucker hiding behind the door. He breathes too loud and shuffles too anxiously to escape my attention.

In a blur of motion, I smash the door into him, twist the gun out of his hands, and break his neck with one quick jerk. Then I toss his limp body from the room.

Spilling blood has never felt so good.

A final quick sweep tells me that I’m alone with the old man now. A few more gunshots sound out through the house behind me, but then all goes silent.

“Nestor,” I say coolly. “Thought I’d drop in and say hi.”

He turns and eyes my gun warily. “Is that all you came to say?”

I tuck it away and walk over to him. He’s tense, fraught with fear, but he’s doing a good job of hiding it. His eyes flicker to the broken door every few seconds.

“No, not even close. Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

He grimaces, but perches carefully on the edge of an armchair.

I drape myself across the sprawling leather sofa, and put my bloodstained feet up on the coffee table. “I buried my father today,” I remark.

Nestor faces me unblinkingly. “I may have pulled the trigger, but you loaded the gun,” he tells me. “You did this. Your foolish actions caused—”

“Now seems like a very unwise time to start tossing around blame, my friend.”

“I have more men here than you think.”

“You don’t think I came prepared for that?” I scoff.

He stops short, and again, his eyes flicker towards the door.

“You look scared, Nestor,” I observe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look scared before.”

“What do you want, Kon?”

“Yefim!” I yell.

The old man flinches at the unexpected shout. It makes me smile. He is scared. So fucking scared that he doesn’t know what to do, where to put that fear.

Luckily, I intend to show him.

“You and your father gave me your word,” Nestor says, clinging to the one pitiful lifeline he has. “You broke it.”

“And your answer was to murder your oldest friend in cold blood?”

“He chose an inopportune moment to betray me,” he snarls. I raise my eyebrows, and he falters, swallows, then charges recklessly forward anyway. “I have never seen my daughter cry like that, not since she was a child. All so you could marry this—this—”

He trails off just before he lets loose an expletive he won’t be able to take back. He sees the way my eyes widen and my nose flares, and just like that, the insult dies on his tongue.

I get to my feet just as Yefim walks through the wrecked door carrying a large briefcase. I gesture for him to set it down on the coffee table. When he glances at me, I dismiss him.

“Make sure we’re not disturbed,” I add.

“And the girl?” Yefim asks casually.

Nestor’s face pales.

“Keep her in her room,” I say. “I need to make sure that her father and I have an understanding.”

Yefim nods and vanishes.

The moment we’re alone again, Nestor’s eyes find mine. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Maybe,” I say honestly. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Anika is… She’s special.”

“We all think that about our children, don’t we?”

He shakes his head. “I have looked after her my entire life. Without me, she has no one.”

“So you thought you could marry her off to me and be done with it?”

“I wanted her looked after!”

“I want a woman who can look after herself,” I growl. “A partner. Not a pet.”

“She would have been the perfect wife,” Nestor insists. “She still can be.”

I cock my head to the side. “Pitiful. Here you are staring death in the face, and you still think you can pimp out your daughter to escape it. More than pitiful, actually—it’s fucking disgraceful.”

His breath rattles in his thin chest. “She comes with a name and a fortune. She comes with a considerable amount of power, too. The Kuzmin Bratva is no small army.”

“I knew all this before,” I point out. “It didn’t stop me from marrying another woman. One without a name, without a fortune. And no army to speak of.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“You’re the one with a gun in your face, Nestor. Your mistake was believing that I was exactly like my father. He taught me a lot. Mostly in terms of what not to do.”

“The deal he made with me kept your Bratva alive all this time.”

“Desperate men will do anything. Tell me, Nestor: are you a desperate man?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Don’t you dare touch my daughter!”

“Don’t give me a reason to,” I say, still calm. I nudge the briefcase toward him. “Open it.”

He hesitates for a second before leaning forward and popping the clasps. Inside lies twenty-four million dollars.

“It’s the debt my father owes you,” I explain. “There are ten more just like this one waiting outside.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his shock. “You’re paying me back?”

“The debt is paid in full. My dealings with the Kuzmin Bratva are done. As is our alliance.” I head towards the door. “Do not think of this as mercy, Nestor. This was merely a warning. The next time you come at me, in any way, I will answer back in blood. Do you understand?”

Nestor stares back at me, his pride warring with his sense of self-preservation.

I dare you, I warn in my head. I fucking dare you to challenge me.

“I asked if you understand, old man.”

I get the tiniest fraction of a nod in answer. That will have to suffice.

I’m turning for the door when he stops me. “Konstantin!” he cries. “My daughter… Anika…”

“Teach her to be her own woman,” I tell him over my shoulder without turning back. “Instead of whatever version of a woman some man wants her to be. Maybe then you’ll have an easier time of marrying her off to someone. It just won’t be me.”

6

IRIS

“Max?”

He’s throwing stones in the backyard. He’s hurling them, in fact. It’s kind of unsettling to see him move so abruptly and violently. It’s not a little boy motion—it’s the force of a grown man.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Honey—”

“You’re lying to me again!” he snaps, whirling around to face me. His fists are knotted tight at his sides.

I can’t remember the last time we fought. If we’ve ever fought at all. Seeing the anger in his eyes when he turns makes me shiver. It also makes him look more like Kon.

I can see the man he has the potential to become.

I can also see the man he’s in danger of becoming.

Either way, whatever happens… it’s my fault.

“Max—”

“You didn’t tell Dad we were leaving, did you?” he accuses. “We left in the middle of the night because he didn’t know we were going, didn’t we?”

I take a deep breath. “No. I didn’t tell him. He didn’t know.”

“I knew it,” he says, both angry and proud of himself for figuring it out. “He would have called me. He would have been checking on us if he knew where we were. He would have sent Roscoe with us.”

Where did all this trust come from? How did Kon manage to earn it all so soon, after mere months with Max?

“Honey, it’s—”

“It’s not complicated!” Max shouts. “I don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be here, either! It’s been two days and we haven’t even left the house.”

I bite my tongue, feeling so hopeless and so lost. I have no idea what to tell him, no idea how to explain. I must’ve missed this part in the parenting handbook. Chapter 12: When fleeing from your mob boss husband, be sure to communicate the details of your escape with your nine-year-old son early and often so that you don’t stunt his psycho-emotional development. Also, always bring snacks to the movies.

The selfish, hateful part of me wants to throw the full extent of what Kon did at my son’s feet. See what that does to Max’s undying trust of his father.

But I don’t. I can’t. I won’t. As angry as I am with Kon, I won’t ruin him in the eyes of his boy.

“Why did we leave, Mom?” he asks. Demands, really. “You and Dad just got married. You were happy. I saw you. I saw you.” His voice wavers and catches on the last words.

“I know, sweetheart,” I say. I kneel down and try to reach for him, but he shifts away from my extended hands, so I let them fall to my side. “Max, I’m sorry. I just… I found out something that scared me. And I knew I couldn’t stay. I knew we couldn’t stay.”

He stops short. “Did Dad do something?”

“He… kept a lot from me, Max,” I admit. “He has secrets.”

“So? Everyone does,” he asserts. “You need to give him time to tell you all his secrets, Mom.”

I sigh. So much loyalty. What’s a mother supposed to do in the face of love like that? I sure as hell don’t know. I’ve had a twisted relationship with love and fathers from the day I was born.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” I ask.

He frowns. “I want more than just love, Mom. I want the truth.”

Then he turns and strides back into the house. The screen door snaps shut with a loud rattle and I sink into the dried brown yard and rest my head on my knees.

A few moments later, I hear the grass crunch under approaching feet. I raise my head and see my father approach me with a newly lit cigarette in hand.

“The boy’s got your spirit,” he observes.

“Can you not?”

“It was a compliment.”

“I really doubt that.”

He grabs a faded white chair that’s been tipped on its side for so long it’s half-eaten by weeds, rights it, and plops down.

“How come I wasn’t invited to the wedding?” he asks.

I groan. “You heard everything?”

“Pfft, the boy told me about the wedding yesterday,” he tells me. “Back when he thought you weren’t lying to him.”

“He’s not ready for certain truths.”

“Sounds like a convenient excuse.”

“Can you just smoke quietly, please? Or leave. That’d be fine, too.”

He puffs out more smoke and ignores me completely. “That’s a nice ring,” he says, eyeing the emerald on my finger.

I’ve been meaning to take it off since arriving in this town. But for whatever reason, I keep forgetting. I’ll do it later. I’ll do it tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow. And then “later” never comes.

“He must be a rich fella, if that’s what he can afford.”

My eyelids feel unbelievably heavy all of the sudden. “I’m not asking for your sage wisdom, Dad.”

“Well, too bad, cause you’re getting it. The kid loves this man, so far as I can tell. He’s rich and he’s willing to look after you. Why the hell would you leave him?”

“Because I found out something.”

He waves that away as though it doesn’t matter. “If he gives you a comfortable life, what does it matter?”

“It matters,” I say softly, wishing to God this conversation would just end. “It matters to me.”

“What about to the boy?” he muses. “Does his opinion count at all?”

I jerk my gaze up to his. “He’s nine. It’s my job to protect him. He’ll understand why when he’s older.”

“Or else he’ll blame you for it,” my father suggests. “Don’t make the mistake of choosing for him.”

I shake my head and struggle to my feet. “You have some nerve, you know that?”

“Me?” he asks innocently.

“Acting as though you have the right to advise me,” I spit down at him. “Acting as though you occupy the moral high ground. Newsflash: you weren’t Father of the Year.”

His eyes narrow. “I wasn’t, huh?” he asks. “Who paid for your education? Who bought you three pairs of tennis shoes the summer you grew six inches? Who worked his ass off to provide for you and your ungrateful mother?”

“You’re my dad!” I shout. “It’s what you were supposed to do!”

He acts as though he hasn’t heard me. “Did you know how bad it was, how humiliating, to be fired from the job I’d spent nearly two decades at?”

For some reason, I’d never expected him to bring this up. To bring all-caps “IT” up. I thought we’d reached some sort of unspoken agreement that we would never go there.

But maybe the unspoken agreement was all in my head, and Dad had never mentioned it before now because he was waiting for my lowest moment just so he could kick me when I’m down.

“That was not my fault—”

“Right, of course not. It was his fault. You’re an innocent little lamb. I forgot.”

I cringe and blink back angry tears. Even after all this time, he still doesn’t believe me.

“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. “Just a complete fucking asshole.” I turn and stride toward the gate at the side of the house

“You think you’re so much better than me, kid!” he calls after me. “But at the end of the day, we’re more alike than you think. Bet that pisses you off more’n anything.”

I walk away fast, hating the way his words follow me like a stink I can’t get rid of. I haven’t been more than a couple of yards from the house since we arrived, but right now, I want to get as far away as possible.

I’ve done this walk before. When I was a lost, desperate, broken girl.

I hated it then.

I hate it now.

I want to rage and storm and scream like a teenager, but I have a son to think of. One thing is obvious: there’s no way I can stay in this town. It’s poison, and I’ve already stayed too long.

I walk and think and think and walk. I’m not concentrating on where I’m going, but my legs have muscle memory. And they take me right to the house that changed my life in ways I couldn’t even imagine.

I only snap out of my fugue when I look up and realize where I am. Faded brick that swallowed up my screams. Shuttered upstairs windows that kept anyone from seeing the nightmares unfolding inside.

Unlike Dad’s house, this one has been well-maintained. Everything looks aged, but it’s clean. Fresh paint on the fence, grass that’s watered and healthy and green.

In the living room window, I see the outline of a couch, a television—and then a shadow passes through.

I feel an ice-cold bolt of nerves surge through me at the sight of the silhouette. I turn and start walking away as fast as I can without breaking into a frenzied run.

I can’t be seen standing outside his house. I shouldn’t even be on this street.

It takes me four or five blocks to calm down. My phone is swishing around in my pocket, but I still haven’t turned it on. The thing is, I want to see if he’s called me, texted me, anything.

I shouldn’t care, but I do.

I shouldn’t want to hear from him. Or see him. Or be with him.

But I do.

I wander across a park I used to play at when I was a kid. Whenever my parents started yelling at each other, I’d come here and sit on the swings until the sun went down.

A lone mother is pushing her little boy on those same swings. She’s young, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, with denim overalls, a pixie haircut, and a nose ring.

“How about we play in the sandbox, Ollie?” she coos as she plucks the boy out of the baby swing and carries him across the mulch.

I sit on a bench and smile when she looks at me. “He’s really cute,” I tell her.

She smiles back. “Thanks.”

“How old is he?”

“Almost two.”

“I remember that age. Vaguely. They’re fun.”

She sets her son down in the box and takes a seat on the edge. “You’ve got a kid?”

“A son. He’s nine now.”

“Oh, wow. You don’t look old enough to have a nine-year old.”

I blush. “I was nineteen when I had him.”

“I was twenty when I had Ollie,” she offers. “I used to think being a young mom would be cool. Then I did it and realized that I still had some growing up to do.”

“Not the kind of decision you can reverse, though.”

“No siree,” she agrees. “Don’t regret it though.”

“No, neither do I.”

She gives me a curious look, and I recognize the expression—she’s trying to figure out where she’s seen me before.

Her little boy glances at me and offers a shy smile of his own. I feel my heart do this pitter-patter thing that it used to do when Max was a baby. The longing comes back, same as it always does, but it’s a little different now than it used to be. This longing isn’t about wanting them to stay small forever. It’s about longing for them to move through life unscathed, even when you know that that’s impossible. It’s about longing for them to see you the way they once did—invincible, flawless—instead of the way they do now—scarred and broken, just like everyone else.

“You look familiar,” she says.

“I did some modeling in L.A.,” I say, volunteering the information on my own for the first time in my life.

Her eyebrows fly up her forehead. “No way.”

I nod. “Came back into town to see my dad.”

“Planning on going back to Cali soon?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I might be done with that life.”

“What about your career?”

I shrug. “My career means much less to me than I thought,” I tell her. “I think I want peace and quiet more than anything else at this point.”

“I think that maybe you overcorrected by coming here,” she laughs. “This town passed right by peace and quiet and landed on sleepy and boring.”

I laugh. “I’m aware. Believe me, I’m very well aware.”

I get up and walk over to the sandbox, where her son is trying earnestly to fit a fistful of sand into his mouth. I brush my fingers across his sweet, round cheek.

“He’s beautiful.”

“He is, isn’t he?” she says proudly. “Can’t wait to have another one.”

I’m on the verge of adding that I can’t wait, either, before I realize that I might never have the option. So what’s the point in wanting? It creates nothing but unnecessary hope. Hope hurts too much to let it live.

“I’m Iris.”

“Sara.”

“It was nice meeting you, Sara,” I say, getting to my feet.

“You, too, Iris. Be safe out there.”

She picks up her son’s adorably chubby wrist and waves at me. I wave back, then straighten up and start the walk home.

I feel more confused now than I did when I left. I try to tell myself that it has nothing to do with being apart from Kon for this long. But since I’m not sure I can convince myself, I choose not to think about it.

I’m so lost in my own head that I barely notice the car until it’s too late.

7

IRIS

When I finally see it, all I can think is, What took him so long?

The driver’s door starts to open. Acting on blind instinct, I charge forward and slam it shut in his face. The window sweeps down and I see him again.

“We need to talk,” Kon growls.

It’s so abrupt. No build-up to this moment, no big dramatic score swooning in the background. One second, we’re half a country apart; the next he’s here, acting like it’s just another day.

“Like hell we do!” I hiss. “I said everything I needed to say back in what was—what was supposed to be our honeymoon suite. I’m done talking.”

His voice is a feral growl. “Well, I’m not.”

“You know what?” I say. “I really don’t give a shit. I’m done.”

His eyes darken. “Done?”

“Done,” I repeat as viciously as I can. “Getting married was a mistake.”

His eyes slip to the emerald on my finger. “Then why are you still wearing the ring?”

I tuck my hand behind my back to hide it. “I was serious in my note, Kon,” I insist. “This is over.”

“Get in the car.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“Get in the car,” he says again. “Or would you rather trade jabs out here until Max finds us?”

I’m burning with so much frustration I refuse to release that I’m starting to get worried it’s going to bubble up in a different form. Something that might get me into quite a lot of trouble.

But the choices are either get in the car with him now, or risk complicating things by having Max venture outside and see what’s happening.

“You are an asshole,” I mutter.

“You knew that when you married me.”

I roll my eyes and stalk around the passenger side. I’m barely in the car before he stomps the gas and the door swings shut of its own accord, the sound of rubber on asphalt screaming in my ears.

“Where are we going?” I demand.

“Somewhere quiet,” he answers. “Somewhere we can talk.”

“Just turn the corner and park anywhere,” I instruct him. “This whole town is quiet.”

To my surprise, he does exactly as I say. We whip around a corner and then glide to a smooth stop in front of a barren lot. I turn to him, but I scrunch up against my door to put as much space between us as possible.

As big as this car is, it still puts me way too close to him. Three states apart was already way too close. This is worse.

Even so, I can’t help letting my eyes roam. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing tattoos and rippling veins. His hair is shorter than I remember it, but he’s got a fresh layer of stubble along his jaw. It looks sexy as sin.

“I wanted to disappear,” I explain awkwardly. I let my eyes fall to where my hands are lying like pale dead spiders in my lap.

“So you came here?” he scoffs. “If you really didn’t want to be found, then why did you make it so damn easy for me?”

“It wasn’t like I had many choices,” I snap.

“You had a choice,” he says in a low, guttural voice slick with accusation. “You chose to run.”

“Don’t you dare judge me for that. You have no damn right after what you did to me.”

“My only fault is in what I didn’t do for you,” he says. “Which is make you come so hard that you forget your own name.”

“Excuse me?”

He smirks cruelly. “We didn’t consummate our marriage.”

“That’s really what you want to talk about?” I say in disbelief. “Fine. Great. Then it’s null and void. Guess we’re not really married.”

“I have a marriage certificate that says otherwise.”

“Burn it then,” I say. “Burn it and launch the ashes into space. It doesn’t matter.”

“It mattered when you said yes to me,” he says.

“That was when I believed you were being honest. And before you try to say you were, remember that a lie by omission is still a lie. Especially a lie like that,” I snap. “Don’t try to twist this around on me, Kon. You should have told me the truth from the start. You didn’t.”

He tilts his head to the side and regards me coolly. “Would you have listened?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t accuse me like that. Don’t lay this shit at my feet like that. This is on you, Kon.”

“I’m not blaming—”

“Aren’t you?” I cry at him. “I’m the difficult one, so hiding things from me is justified. I’m a bitch, so it’s okay to keep me in the dark. That’s what you’re hinting at, right?”

“I never said you were difficult.”

“Then what am I?” I demand.

“Passionate,” he replies, his eyes roving over my face. “Strong-willed. Determined. Rebellious. You like a fight, Iris—and I get it. Your whole life has been a fight.”

“Don’t do that, either. You don’t know the first thing about my life.”

He sighs. His cologne is subtle and powerful at the same time. He hasn’t moved from where he’s leaning against the door, but it feels like either he’s getting bigger or the car is getting smaller, I’m not sure which.

“I know that you left this town because you were running from something.”

“The way I saw it, I was running towards something. I was running towards a better life. A better future.”

“Did you find it?”

“I found you,” I spit. “So guess not. Maybe I should have stayed put.”

He chuckles, which is about the most irritating thing he could possibly answer with. “Is that what you want me to believe? That you regret meeting me? Don’t do that,” he mocks.

“The only reason I can’t regret it is because I got Max out of that night,” I tell him, trying to make my eyes go hard and cold like his are doing right now. “But otherwise—”

“Otherwise what?” he asks. “You wouldn’t have followed me to that hotel room?”

“I chose what I chose. I’m blaming no one but myself. I let myself get sucked into your world… and all because I liked your face. My point is that I was a stupid, naive girl, and I can’t afford to be that girl anymore.”

“How did you get ‘sucked into my world’?” he asks curiously. “We had a couple of hours together one night. You disappeared right afterwards. Our paths didn’t cross again until a decade later.”

I bristle and glance out the window. There’s a young family walking towards us with a plump baby in a stroller and a floppy-eared dog on a leash. I wonder what they think of this absurdly expensive car parked somewhere it most certainly doesn’t belong. I wonder if they have any idea of what’s happening inside of it.

“I don’t want to have this conversation,” I say at last.

“Why? Afraid it’ll reveal the truth?”

I glare at him. “And what is the truth you think I’m hiding, Kon? Regale me. I’m all ears.”

His answer is swift. “That the only thing you regret about our night together ten years ago was walking out of that hotel room, instead of staying.”

Those words feel like nails on my skin, trying to claw out a part of me that I need to keep hidden from him. But I’m prepared for this. I don’t give myself away.

Instead, I stare at him, jutting my chin out defiantly. “You told me that this sordid little arrangement between you and your fiancée—”

“She’s not my fiancée anymore.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s not supposed to make you feel anything,” he tells me coldly. “I’m telling you what happened. It’s nothing more than the truth.”

“Truth,” I laugh. “As if that word means anything to you.”

“I can’t make you believe it. But it’s the truth. I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want you to be touched by a world that had so much ugliness in it,” he says. “I didn’t want the sins of my father affecting you or our son.”

“Your father?”

“He’s the one who arranged the marriage and held me to it.”

“Well, he died for it,” I say cruelly.

Kon nods, seemingly unaffected. “He certainly did.”

I scrutinize his face. The pain I saw there when he first learned of his father’s death is gone now. It’s been replaced by unflinching acceptance. Maybe even relief.

Either that, or he’s just hiding it somewhere the light can’t reach.

“Did you bury him?”

“Yes.”

I hate that I feel guilty for not being there. I try to tell myself that I don’t owe him a thing, but the ring on my finger keeps shining so brightly, like the universe jabbing itself into my brain again and again to remind me of who and what I’ve tethered myself to.

I should have thrown it away the moment I decided to leave.

“That night when we first met… did you know about Anika?” I ask. “Had the engagement been arranged by then?”

“Yes.”

Zero hesitation. It’s not the answer I’m expecting, and I feel my hackles rise instantly. “You knew?”

“Yes.”

My eyes narrow. “You slept with me that night.”

“I do seem to remember that, yes.”

I turn towards the windscreen, trying to process that. He’s as sarcastic and flippant as ever. “You were engaged to be married to someone else when you—”

“Jesus Christ, Iris!” he snaps, raising his voice for the first time. “It was not the same thing. It wasn’t a fucking engagement. I didn’t buy a ring and get down on one knee. I didn’t choose the woman. I was informed by my father and hers that I was to marry Anika when she was of age. It was meant to be a political alliance, a way of joining two allied Bratvas under one don. Anika Kuzmin was twelve years old at the time. She was a goddamn child. That’s the only way I saw her then and it’s the only way I see her now. I had the next ten years to myself to live the way I wanted. There isn’t a person on this planet who could’ve taken that from me.”

“So I was just a casualty of your little wild bachelor’s streak? How comforting.” I inch away from him, my heart shivering hard in my chest. “You need to go, Kon.”

“I plan on it,” he assures me. “But you and Max are coming with me.”

I snort derisively. “That will never happen.”

He shrugs. “That’s your choice. Max deserves his own.”

I turn to him sharply. “You wouldn’t. You would not dare.”

“He’s not a child anymore, Iris. He’s nine. He can think for himself.”

“Are you kidding me?” I say in shock. “He doesn’t know the whole story! You’re taking advantage of a boy who’s waited his whole life for a father.”

“And now, he has one.”

“A father whose life is nothing but violence and chaos. I should have thought about that before I said yes to you. But I was blinded by my feelings. Trust me, though: I won’t let that happen again. I won’t let Max be a casualty of your hubris.”

He reaches out and grabs my arm so fast that I don’t have the time to duck out of his reach. He reels me toward him until his face is inches away from mine. His eyes are dark with fury and there’s a sneer on his lips that’s making my body quake with fear.

“If you haven’t believed a word I’ve said so far, so be it. But believe this: I will never—I will never—let anything happen to Max. I will protect him with my life.”

A part of me wants to curl up into a ball and close my eyes to his blinding anger. It’s like flying too close to the sun. I’m not equipped to withstand it. I’m certainly not equipped to fight it.

But something in me says that if I back down now, I’ll be backing down my entire life. The only thing that a man like Kon will respond to is strength.

“You may not have the choice,” I tell him. “If Anika’s father—”

“I’ve taken care of Anika’s father,” he says abruptly.

I stop short. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t let go of my arm. I can see every speck of the bright quicksilver in his eyes. I can count his individual lashes.

“Exactly what I said. The man knows not to fuck with me anymore.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

I exhale sharply. I didn’t even realize that I was holding my breath. “I would have thought that’s exactly what you’d do.”

Kon shrugs and loosens his grip. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t.”

He looks down at the spot where his fingers are lightly encircling my wrist. Then, breathing softly, he traces one callused fingertip up my forearm to the soft crook of my elbow. Up my ribcage to the edge of my collarbone. Up my throat to the side of my cheek.

“You can pretend all you want, Iris,” he rasps. “But the time for pretense is over. I know what you want. I know what you need.”

“You don’t know shit,” I say, though it sounds weak and unconvincing even to my own ears.

He leans in and runs his lips along the curve of my throat. I can’t stop the shudder in my bones, the ball of fire in my belly burning hotter and brighter with every cell of contact between us.

He stops at my ear and nips at my lobe. Then he whispers, “I know that, if you didn’t want me to find you… you wouldn’t have made it so damn easy.”

8

KON

I can feel the goosebumps on her skin, and she doesn’t even know it.

I can feel her body angling subtly towards mine, and she doesn’t even know it.

I can feel the soft warmth of her exhales, I can feel the heartbreaking tremor of her sighs, I can feel how her heart is beating in a strangled, desperate rhythm—and she doesn’t know any of it.

She’s turning a purposeful blind eye to what happens when we touch so she can prove to herself that she doesn’t need anyone but herself.

It’s a fight I won’t let her win.

I’ll die before I let her win it.

She jerks away from me instantly, pulling her hand out of my grasp. “I’m going home,” she announces, reaching for the door.

I lock her in before she can even touch the handle. She twists around and glares at me. “Don’t be a child. Let me out.”

“This is not your home, Iris.”

“It is for now,” she insists. “I’m not coming back with you.”

I sink into my seat and sigh. “I’ll drive you back.”

“I can walk.”

I ignore her and shift the car out of park. It takes barely two minutes before we’re back on the sad little street where her father’s house sits. The whole place might as well be a black and white painting. A grim exhaustion clings to it.

When I stop, she leaps out of the car immediately, but before she can make a run for it, I get out, too.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps, walking around the nose of the vehicle towards me.

“I’m going to say hello to my son.”

“Not a chance,” she snarls. “I don’t want him knowing that you’re here.”

“Scared, are you?”

“I’m not scared. I’m worried.”

“No need to be either one,” I tell her as I veer around her towards the house. “I’m here now.”

“Kon!” she cries, at the same time another voice yells, “Dad!”

Max appears from the back of the house. Behind me, Iris curses under her breath.

He races over, his dark hair fluttering behind him. Somehow, in the last three days, it’s gotten longer. I could swear he’s gotten taller, too. Leaner. Gaunter in the face, sadder in the eyes. He looks more and more like me with every passing second.

It breaks my fucking heart.

He barrels into my arms. “I knew you would come!”

“It’s good to see you, kid.”

“You, too. Wanna come see the backyard? I found a ball we can throw around.”

“Lead the way.”

I keep my focus on Max, but I can sense Iris just behind us, watching our interaction. She follows us to the back of the house, but she doesn’t say a word the entire time.

I can feel the strain between mother and son. Max has barely acknowledged her. The frost is self-evident. Enough to make me shiver.

The front of the property wasn’t exactly what you’d call charming, but the back somehow has even less to recommend it. A rusty table is succumbing to weeds in one corner, surrounded by fallen chairs like dead soldiers. Instead of living plants in the garden, I see beer cans scattered around the soil.

“Dad?” Max asks as we step through the gate. “What happened? Why did Mom and I have to leave all of a sudden?”

He risks a quick glance at Iris over my shoulder as the question hangs in the air. The frost between them chills another few degrees.

“There were a few… issues I needed to deal with,” I tell him. “And I wanted you and your mom to be far away when I was working it all out.”

Max frowns as he thinks hard for a second, then looks up at me through hooded eyes. “You could have brought me along, you know,” he suggests.

“No!” Iris cries, lunging in. “Max, you are nine years old.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Mom,” he insists. “You’re not the boss of me. I have a dad now, and I’d rather listen to him than you.”

Iris’s jaw snaps shut so hard I wonder if she severed her tongue. To be honest, it looks like that would hurt less than the words Max just threw in her face.

It’s something unreal to watch a person you love break in real time. To see cracks spiderwebbing along their surface, aimed right for something vital, and you have to wonder if you can do anything in time to stop them from falling completely to pieces.

I haven’t always done the right thing when it comes to protecting Iris’s heart.

But I can do something now.

“Max.” I don’t raise my voice, but my dark inflection catches his attention immediately. He turns to me warily as I kneel down before him. “You are never to talk to your mother like that. Never. You understand me?”

All the pride in his little chest deflates immediately. He looks once again like a hurt little boy who doesn’t know what to do next.

I let it sink in for a moment, and while it does, I study him. He’s got the shape of my face and the slant of my eyes. But now that I’m up close, I see more than just myself in the boy—I see Iris, too. He’s deeply sensitive in a way that I lacked growing up. He’s kinder and more tolerant. He’s quicker to forgive and quicker to love.

She taught him those powers, not me. She gave him those gifts, not me.

I rest a hand on his shoulder. As big as he is for his age, it still swallows him up. “Listen to me, Max. I know this hasn’t been easy on you. I’m not saying it’s fair. But there are some things you’re just too young to know.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know it,” I retort. “And I promise you that I will tell you everything when you’re older. But for right now, you need to know that whatever your mom does, she does to keep you safe. You’re the only thing that matters to her.”

He glances at Iris from the corner of his eyes. “I know,” he mumbles.

“It’s the hardest thing in the world to remember what’s important when you’re angry. Stuff changes shape, and what truly matters can suddenly look a lot smaller than the things that don’t matter at all. A real man always knows where his heart belongs.”

He sighs, his bottom lip trembling. “I know. I just… I missed you,” he whispers.

“I know. I missed you too, buddy.”

“I was scared I’d never see you again.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

He gives me a tentative smile. “You promise?”

“I swear,” I say confidently. “But you have to know that my life… it can get complicated. There may be times when I have to go or you have to go. There might be some distance between us then, but remember that I’ll come back. I will always, always come back.”

Max nods and swallows the budding tears back. “Okay.”

But I’m not about to let him off the hook that easily. “Is there something you want to say to your mother?”

He turns to Iris, who is wavering right on the precipice of an emotional cliff I refuse to let her fall over. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s gnawing on her bottom lip like it’s a chew toy.

“Mom,” he says, “I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

She gives him a tight smile. “I know, my love. It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. We’re all trying our best here.”

He goes up to her and they hug, but Iris’s eyes stay on me the entire time. When they separate, she forces her eyes back down to him. “Sweetheart, Kon and I really need to talk. Can you give us a few minutes?”

He nods and heads back into the house. When the ratty screen door slams shut, she turns to me.

“Am I supposed to fall at your knees and thank you now?” she lashes out bitterly. “Kon to the rescue, is that it? You can be parent and don and husband and fiancé all in one, is that it? We’re all just so fucking lucky to be in your orbit, is that it?”

By the time she’s done, her voice is shattering and her chest is heaving with exertion. I breathe coolly, calmly. I understand what it means to use anger to paper over your wounds. She’s hurt and frightened. This is what hurt, frightened people do.

“You’re not good for him, Kon,” she finishes in a hoarse whisper. “You’re not good for either of us.”

“He’s a boy, Iris. One day, he’ll be a man. You can’t prevent that from happening. You’ll suffocate him if you try.”

“I’ve kept him safe!” she cries.

“Meaning what?” I demand. “That I can’t?”

“Worse. That you won’t.”

“Careful,” I warn her.

Her eyes flare like green lightning in the deepest part of the storm. “No, you’re the one who should be careful,” she hisses. “You may be the big, bad don, but you don’t scare me. I’ve been dealing with men like you my whole life. Men who think they can just take what they want. Well, I’ve never compromised myself to please them. I’ve never given in. What makes you think you’re going to be different?”

I take a breath that fills my lungs with the scent of her. It’s slightly unfamiliar. Apparently, this town has a stink that clings to everything beautiful.

But I can still sense her just underneath it. The true her, scars and all. Every hair on my body stands on end simply knowing she’s this close, just within reach.

“There is love here,” I say quietly. “That’s what’s different.”

Her nose turns up as though I’ve just thrown an abhorrent insult right in her face. She pushes back at me, trying to get out from underneath me, but my body refuses to give her even the tiniest sliver of space.

“Maybe I don’t love you anymore,” she murmurs.

“That look in your eyes says otherwise.”

“That’s not love. That’s contempt.”

I shrug. “You don’t wanna talk about love? That’s fine. Let’s put love aside. Maybe it was too much to hope that two broken people like us could find something as pure as that.”

I notice something skittering across her face when I say that, but she’s still avoiding my eyes, still trying to hide her innermost thoughts from me. As if they aren’t all blindingly obvious if you know where to look.

“But there’s this other thing between us that ten years’ worth of space and time hasn’t managed to quell.”

“Let me go,” she snarls.

I look her right in the eyes. “It’s lust,” I finish. “And lust can be as powerful as love.”

“Way more destructive,” she shoots back.

“Very true.” I nod. “But we’ve already lit the match, kiska. Might as well enjoy the flames.”

9

IRIS

I thought he was going to kiss me, but I didn’t.

I thought he was going to hurt me, but he didn’t do that, either.

In the end, he just stared me down for a few more seconds, then strode back into his car and left without another word. I went to bed.

In the morning, I wake up feeling blurry and dissatisfied. I can still feel heat in all the places he touched me yesterday. Invisible little flames, licking up and down my skin. It’s eaten up what little peace I had left.

It’s weird enough as it is just being here. In this town, yeah, in this house, of course, but most of all, in this room. This is where Mom came to hide out once the anxiety got to be too much to bear.

The bed is jammed in the corner near the door, as far from the window as possible, which was boarded over so no one could see in. I forget who it was she thought was watching—aliens, CIA, FBI, FDA. It changed all the time.

Opposite the bed is a dusty dressing table with a frost-rimmed oval mirror. I remember her sitting there most nights, combing out her long black hair. She would count to a thousand strokes every time. No less and no more.

I asked her what would happen if she ever did one too many or one too few. She gave me a slanted look that said I’d never understand. I knew what she wanted: for me to go to my room and refrain from disturbing her peace again.

I listened… mostly. Except on the nights when I didn’t hear a single sound from inside the room. Then I’d sneak in to check on her. She’d either be brushing while she murmured the count beneath her breath, or lying in bed with a pillow over her head, so still I thought she was dead.

I cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath. “She’s gone now,” I tell myself. “There’s no point going back.”

I get out of the bed and shuffle into the attached bathroom. That was another reason why she made this room hers—she didn’t have to leave it all day long if she chose not to.

It was stripped down and scrubbed to the bones immediately after she died, and from the looks of it, it hasn’t been touched since. The cup for toothbrushes is empty and crusted, the shower curtain stiff from disuse.

I brush my teeth and take a long shower with the water pipes groaning in the background like ghosts. Then I slip on my faded jeans and a black V-neck tee. When I walk downstairs, I can hear my father’s voice at the dining room table.

Max is sitting adjacent to him, eating his cereal. He’s still in his rocket pajamas, his eyes so puffy that I know he’s had a good night of rest. I have a sneaking suspicion that that has to do with Kon’s reappearance into our lives.

“You should be eating something heartier,” Dad rasps. His voice has gotten more gravelly. Two packs a day will do that to you, I suppose. “Man food. Sausages, bacon, eggs on toast. That kinda shit.”

“You mean everything you need for a nice heart attack?” I ask, joining them in the kitchen.

Dad throws me an annoyed look. “He’s a growing boy, ‘Ris. He needs a real breakfast.”

“He likes cornflakes.”

He snorts. “Girly food.”

“Is it girly to reach an average life expectancy?” I mutter as I reach for the cornflakes myself.

“Only pussies have a breakfast like that,” he says, eyeing my bowl.

I slam the box on the table. “Dad!”

“What?”

“How about we eat without talking?”

“Is that another pussy rule you’ve forced the boy to follow?”

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to fling my bowl across the table at him. Max seems to realize that if this conversation continues, it’s only going to escalate.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m done anyway,” he says, getting up.

“Boy,” my father grunts, “I’m going to the mechanic’s today. You can come with.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Can I, Mom?” Max asks instantly.

I frown. “Honey…”

“Go up and get dressed, boy,” Dad says firmly, talking over me.

Probably sensing a fight coming, Max rushes up the stairs to change. I turn to my father once he’s gone, but before I can get my mouth open, he starts speaking.

“You mollycoddle that boy too damn much.”

“You can’t talk to him like that, Dad.”

He leans back in his plastic chair and regards me through slitted eyes. “How do I talk to him?”

“Like a project that needs fixing,” I snap. “He’s nine years old. Stop trying to make him into your toxic version of what a man is.”

He drags on his cigarette without saying a word for a long time. “How long you two gonna be staying here?” he asks abruptly.

It’s obvious he’s skirting around something else. Unusual for him, but I have a feeling I know why. “Is that really the question you want to ask?”

He grunts again. “That man I saw yesterday… He’s not going to wait forever.”

My eyes go wide. “You saw Kon?”

“He’s the one who gave you that ring, isn’t he?”

Without looking down, I tuck my hand under the table. “Maybe.”

“You married the bastard,” he says. “Why you runnin’ from him now?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Stupid ones.”

“What if I told you he cheated on me?” I ask. “What if I said he beat me?”

He takes another puff. The cigarette cherry glows and dims. “I’d tell you that sometimes there’s a price to pay for comfortable living.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Has he beaten you?”

“No.”

He nods. “Didn’t think so. Then you have no right to take the boy from his father.”

I sigh and let my forehead fall onto the cool, sticky table surface. “Max told you?”

“Yeah, he told me. He also told me about the mansion you two were living in before you decided to uproot the kid and bring him here.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than—”

“Make it uncomplicated,” he snaps. “Not everything is a big goddamn drama, ‘Ris.”

I can feel the anger, the resentment in his voice. The past scrambles forward, ready to lay its weight on me again.

And just like that, it feels like no time has passed since I left. I sure as hell don’t want to talk about what happened back then, though, so I focus on the now.

I raise my head. “I don’t want you telling Max unnecessary things,” I say quietly. “Making him feel like he’s not a real boy if he doesn’t want to do things. I won’t have you bully my son.”

“He’s gonna have to learn to be a man from someone.”

“Well, it won’t be from you.”

He snorts, sniffles, and pushes up out of his chair. “You think your guy is so different?” he demands. “I saw the son of a bitch yesterday. He won’t tolerate weak shit. Pussy shit. Woman shit.”

God, it’s hard to hold myself upright. My spine feels like tissue paper, my neck is screaming with weakness, and every part of me is just so tired and so heavy. “Like I said—”

“I’m taking the boy to the shop,” Dad says, cutting me off impatiently. “Max!”

My son’s voice floats down the stairs. “Coming!”

I grit my teeth. Some battles aren’t worth fighting. I’m not so good at picking which ones to fight as of late, anyhow.

“When will you be back?” I ask hollowly.

“We’re back when we’re back,” he replies.

Max comes down the stairs, and my dad gives him a nod. “Took you long enough. Let’s go, boy. What was takin’ you so long up there—fixin’ your makeup?”

Max mumbles something I don’t catch and slips through the screen door to the driveway. I don’t hear it slam closed, though, and when I look up, I realize why.

Dad’s staring at me from the threshold.

Something in his expression rubs me the wrong way. “What?” I demand.

He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray by the door and leaves it there, smoldering. “You were always a runner,” he remarks. “Always.”

Then, before I can snap back at him, he turns and leaves. The door clangs shut.

“Fuck you,” I breathe to the empty house. “Fuck me, too.”

I turn back to my bowl of cereal, which has turned soggy in the milk. Even if it hadn’t, I’ve completely lost my appetite. I force down two mouthfuls just to feel as though I haven’t wasted it, then chuck what’s left into the trash can and head back upstairs.

I have no idea what I should do with my morning, though I know what I’d like to do is take a page from my mom’s book, bury my head under a pillow, and sleep for the rest of the day.

I pause on the staircase. Is the drowning feeling in my gut the same one she felt all those years ago? Is that how she justified taking all those pills? Just to make that pain stop?

Or did she simply want a few uninterrupted hours of dreamless sleep? Maybe she thought that, if she got that, she could wake up and make a fresh start. Make a real go of things this time around. Do it all right.

I wonder if she got what she wanted. I doubt it. God knows I never have.

I’m at the landing of the second floor, halfway down the hall, when I notice movement in my old room. The one where Max slept last night.

I freeze in place. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. Move, Iris, I scold myself. You don’t believe in ghosts.

I tiptoe forward, skipping the creaky floorboard on the right, and round the threshold. For an insane moment, I actually believe I’m going to see the ghost of my mother. And then—

“Kon?”

He’s standing in front of my wardrobe, scanning through the pages of the diary I kept for the first two weeks of middle school. He glances up at me casually, like we’re just two old friends who happened to pass each other in the street.

“Iris.”

I storm forward and pluck the diary out of his hands. “You have no right to read that.”

“There’s only three entries in there. No offense, but none of them are very interesting.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t one for keeping diaries. Never got into the habit.”

“Figures. Wouldn’t want someone to have easy access to your secrets.”

“Well, looks like I was justified,” I point out. “Considering how here you are and all. How did you even get in here?”

“I’m resourceful.”

“This is stalker-like behavior.”

“Why would I be stalking my own wife?”

I shiver and bristle at the same time. “I’m not going to be your wife for much longer. I’m not scared of you, Kon,” I snap furiously. “Why are you even here in the first place?”

“I was curious about your childhood.”

I glance around the small, sad room. Apart from the twin bed and the rickety wardrobe, there’s a little desk right in front of the window. and several cardboard boxes stuffed into a corner next to the door. The boxes are filled with my things. Old clothes, shoes, toys, and books I collected over the years. I’d told Dad he could either donate the boxes or chuck them. Of course, he’d done neither. Letting the bugs and the mold have at it is getting rid of the stuff in his own way, I guess.

“Well, as you can see, I was completely uninteresting.”

“You liked the Backstreet Boys,” he notes, glancing towards a poster sticking out of one of the boxes.

“Who didn’t?”

He snorts. “I can think of one person.”

I roll my eyes. “To be honest, I actually hated them,” I admit. “But the girl group I hung out with at the time were obsessed. So I just… went along with it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

I gesture to myself. “This—what I am now, who I am—didn’t just happen by accident. Something happened when I was young and it changed me. I made myself promises. I still haven’t broken them.”

He nods slowly as he drinks in everything I’ve said. I wonder how much of myself I’ve given away without even realizing it. As always, Kon takes far more than I was willing to offer.

“Why are you here? You hate this town, Iris.”

I look away from him. “I don’t hate it.”

“No?” he asks. “Because you’ve been here for days and you’ve barely left the house.”

I glare at him angrily. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“I’m far too busy to do my own spying. But I do have people who will do it for me.”

“You’re despicable.”

“The word is ‘resourceful.’”

“I have another word for you: ‘asshole,’” I spit.

The way he smiles at me is irritating in the extreme. He just stands there, completely unmoved by my anger, completely detached from the self-consciousness I feel watching him intrude in my space. He’s so big it feels like he’s touching everything at once. All my stuff and all my memories at the same time. All of me at the same time.

“I suppose you would know,” he says. “Considering what your father’s like.”

“What do you know about my father?”

“Only what you’ve told me so far,” he says. “Only the fact that you’ve been sending him money every month, and not only does he accept it, he’s grown to demand it.”

I bite down my anger, and try to remain as level-headed as he seems to be. If only I could model that kind of calm, maybe he’d be the one trying to stave off his less-than-noble feelings.

“Kon, you need to leave.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m not ready to leave just yet,” he says. “I promised Max I’d be back to see him.”

“Max is going to be out all morning, so I suggest you leave and come back nev…”

I trail off as he closes the distance between us in one step. I lunge away quickly, but my back hits the door and accidentally slams it shut.

“It’s in Max’s best interests for us to see eye to eye, Iris.”

“Stop that,” I snap.

“Stop what?”

“Talking in that calm, mature, superior voice,” I growl at him. “You get off on seeing me come undone, don’t you? You like watching me freak out because you get to be the calm, stable, in-control one. All-mighty Kon the Unfazeable.”

“I’m not pretending,” he says softly. “This is who I am. But you’re right about one thing: I do get off on seeing you come undone. Although I’m pretty sure we have very different definitions for what constitutes unraveling you.”

I gulp, feeling horrifyingly vulnerable. It’s haunting to know that you can be betrayed not just by friends, not just by family, but by your own body. Your own emotions, helping to tie the noose around your neck and cinch it tight.

“We… we need to talk to Max,” I stammer out.

He nods. “About what exactly?”

I press myself against the closed door. “We need to tell him that we made a mistake by getting married. We need to tell him that we’re going to get an annulment.”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” he asks, sounding amused.

“You really think I could stay married to you after all this?” I demand. “Forget about the fact that Max will be in constant danger from your enemies. You lied to me.”

“Then should I be upset that you’ve lied to me about your past?” he demands calmly.

I stop short. “How have I lied?”

“There’s a reason you left this town, Iris. There’s a reason you hate your father, but still feel like you owe him something. There’s a reason you keep people at arm’s length, even when you have no reason to. So tell me… what is it that you lied to me about?”

“I… I never lied about anything,” I stutter helplessly. “I just… there are things I didn’t want to… share.”

“‘A lie by omission is still a lie.’ Weren’t those your exact words?”

I shake my head as if that will make him go away. “You’re good at this,” I tell him. “That doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Why are you fighting this so hard?”

“Because I should have fucking known better!” I scream. “I should have known that this was too good to be true. I should have known to keep you at bay, instead of inviting you into our lives.”

“Is that what this comes down to?” he asks. “You’re afraid of getting hurt?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I say tearfully.

It doesn’t matter what I tell myself. It doesn’t matter how much I fight. I’m losing the battle with my own body. Because this craving inside me… there’s only one way to sate it.

And Kon knows that, too.

“You’re afraid of what you’re feeling?” he growls, his arm trapping me against him. “Join the fucking club, Iris. Time to stop running from life.”

10

KON

She’s probably expecting me to kiss her.

And fuck, I want to.

But I’m not about to reward the minx after she ran from me. I’m not going to make this easy for her. Not when I recognize that burning need in her eyes. That hungry, desperate way she looks at me, hoping that I’ll break down her boundaries for her because she’s too scared to do it on her own.

Kissing her right now wouldn’t be a mercy—it would be a disservice. Some holes we have to climb out of ourselves.

So instead of giving into the feral beast inside of me that’s roaring KISS HER…

I let her go.

She stumbles, taken aback by the sudden deliverance of the space she claimed she needed so badly. The shirt she’s wearing hugs her ribs tightly. It rises and falls with every labored breath. Her nipples stab at the material, painfully sharp.

Without ever breaking eye contact, I unbutton my shirt slowly and slide it off. Iris’s eyes bulge. “What are you doing?” she hisses.

I say nothing. I just toss my shirt to the side and set to work unbuckling and unbuttoning my pants. I shove them off my hips. When they land around my feet, I kick them away.

My cock is hard beyond belief. It strains against the fabric of my black boxer briefs. I let my hand graze along it. I don’t look away. I’ll never fucking look away.

Slowly, I slip my boxers down my legs and step out of them. I start massaging my cock, moving up and down slowly.

Iris swallows. I watch her throat ride up and down and a single bead of nervous sweat trickle past her cheekbone. She watches me masturbating with an animalistic stirring in her eyes. She’s started fidgeting slightly, as though she doesn’t quite know what to do with her body anymore.

“Run from this, Iris,” I growl. “I dare you to run from this.”

She flinches when I speak, but she doesn’t answer. I spit onto my open palm and continue to touch myself. The flush spreading over her body is almost hot enough to burn me, too.

“Answer me,” I growl.

She gulps.

“Say you want to. Say you’re going to. I dare you. I fucking dare you, Iris.”

She opens her mouth to answer, then lets it fall closed without a single word passing her lips.

Beautiful. That’s the best thing she could’ve possibly said.

I smile darkly at her. “Take off your shirt.”

“Kon…”

“Do it,” I snap.

Her face—surprised, aroused, fearful and lustful all at the same time—that’s the only thing I need to get off. I could do it right now; that’s how painfully erect I am. I could decorate her pretty little outfit with my seed to let the whole world know who she belongs to.

But I hold back. I’m starving for the chase. The anticipation needs to build before I can justify letting go.

And I’m nowhere near done with her yet.

Grimacing against some internal anguish, she pulls off her top, revealing a simple beige bra with half-cups that reveal part of her flawless breasts. She doesn’t stop there, either—she unhooks the bra and pulls it off her shoulders. It dangles in her hands for a moment before she lets it drift to the floor.

“Keep going.”

She chews at her lower lip as her hands flutter uncertainly to the clasp of her pants. A few long strands of her dark hair spills over one shoulder, caressing her right breast. Then, as if reaching a decision, she nods once, unbuttons her jeans, and wriggles out of them.

I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of her almost-naked body. Her panties are nude, close enough to her skin tone to melt right into it. Working quickly, as if she’s afraid that slowing down will let the bad thoughts in, she steps out of those, too, and casts them aside.

She’s wet. I can see it from here; I can smell it. Her desire glistens in the thin, gray light filtering in through the window blinds.

“Kon, I—”

“Touch yourself,” I command.

She gnaws again at that lip. Her left hand floats down. Past her breasts, past her ribs, past her hips. It comes to a rest hovering just above her pussy.

I start to stroke myself faster. My dick is at full attention. Every drop of blood in my body engorging it. I’m not even touching her and it’s the sexiest fucking thing we’ve ever done.

Iris lets her fingertip graze her clit. I see her eyelids tremble, her breath catch. But she doesn’t look away.

“That’s a good girl,” I croon approvingly. “Keep your eyes on me while you fuck yourself with your fingers.”

I plant a hand on the closed door next to her head. She slides a tentative finger between her folds. The little gasp that passes her lips is delicious enough to feast on.

Her legs must be getting shaky, because she sags back against the door like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her rhythm starts to pick up to match mine. Our breath entangles between our faces, inches apart but still not touching.

How long can we go like this? We’re here, we’re right here, we’re each right fucking here for the other to take.

But we’re keeping ourselves apart. Why?

She’s doing it because she thinks that my touch will corrupt her.

I’m doing it because I know it will.

“Tell me,” I rasp gruffly through the spirals of pleasure rushing through my body. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” she whimpers. “Ah, Kon, it’s so… so good…”

“Tell me what you want now,” I say. “Tell me what you’re so afraid to say out loud.”

Her eyes are fearful again. The pleasure is there, it’s surging up like the tide, but the fear is too dominant to let it pass just yet.

“Say it, Iris. It’s the answer to one very simple question: what do you want?”

For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to defy me with her silence. Then her lips part and another warm exhale escapes, along with words whispered so quietly I barely hear them.

“I want… I want…”

“Go on,” I urge. “Finish it. You’re almost there.”

Her fingers slide in and out of her pussy. I can hear just how wet she is. She’s going faster and faster. And now that the dam on her silence has been broken, it seems the little kiska has more to say.

“I want… ah, I want… you inside me…”

I step closer and aim my cock right at her pistoning fingers. She’s panting. Her breath blooms hot against my bare chest.

I grab her wrist with my free hand and gently pull it away from her. She moans in frustration but lets me pin it to the wall next to her head.

“Good girl,” I croon again. “You’re being such a good girl.”

The first touch is a light graze. Just the head of my dick brushing almost imperceptibly against the lips of her throbbing pussy. Both of us hiss at the same time. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.

I start to rub myself up and down her slit without venturing further. She’s so deliciously ripe for the taking.

Her arms are splayed out on either side of her face as though she’s surrendering to me. I sluice my cock against her tight entrance, and pinch my fingers around her right nipple. I massage it gently, increasing pressure as her eyes spark and burn with desire.

“Fuck,” she moans, writhing around. “Kon, fuck me… please… fuck me…”

It’s sweeter than I imagined it would be to hear her beg. It’s what I intended from the very start of this, right? I wanted to twist those words out of her defiant little mouth, didn’t I?

And now, I have them. So it’d be so easy to finish what I’ve begun. To fuck her up against this wall until she’s coming undone the way only she can do for me.

But that would defeat the purpose.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Yefim says that all the time. It’s truer than I would’ve guessed, because I’ve shown Iris the world she could have, I’ve practically drowned her in it time and time again, and she still keeps trying to wriggle away.

I have to show her the bliss—and then I have to step aside and let her reach out to take it for herself.

She’s reaching now. I wonder if she’ll keep reaching after what I’m about to do.

I take one last look to memorize this face of hers—desperate, pleading, wide open and vulnerable, the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life—

And then I step back.

“You should never have run from me,” I tell her coldly.

Iris’s eyes flare open with disbelief. “Wh-what?”

My cock is screaming at me, You idiot, what are you doing?! My erection will probably last the whole way back to Los Angeles. I force myself to smile cruelly down at her. She looks so small and fragile when she’s trapped in a corner like this.

“Did you have any more lies to throw my way?” I ask. “Or shall we start finally being honest with each other?”

“You first, asshole!” she hisses. She grabs my shirt, which has gotten entwined with hers, and flings it at me.

“Mom! We’re back!”

“Fuck,” Iris gasps, looking panic-stricken towards the door. “Get out now!”

She reaches for her panties where they’re lying discarded on the floor, but before she can, I lunge forward, snatch them up, and stick them in my pocket.

“A little memento for me,” I say with a chuckle.

She stares daggers at me, but there’s no time to argue. She hops into her jeans commando and shrugs her shirt on as fast as she can.

I, on the other hand, take my time. I’m in no mood to sneak out like I snuck in.

She’s mostly dressed when the door opens and Max clomps in. “Mo—Dad? Dad!”

“Hey, buddy,” I say calmly, while Iris throws me a furious warning glare. “Thought I’d drop in and see you. Your mom was giving me a tour of the house.”

Max grins. “It’s not as nice as yours.”

“Ours, remember?” I say, even as I sense Iris vibrating with anger behind me. “It’s our home.”

“When are we going back to it?”

“As soon as I can sort out this one problem I’m having.”

“What’s the problem?” asks Max. “Can I help?”

Iris shakes her head with a frantic “no” just over Max’s shoulder, trying to tell me to keep my Bratva dealings away from him.

I sigh. “It’s complicated. All I can say is that there’s this woman who’s being very, very stubborn. So getting you two home is taking longer than I would’ve liked.”

It’s not exactly subtle. Iris’s vibrations tick up a notch.

“Max,” she says, interrupting us pointedly. “How was the auto shop?”

“Oh, it was okay. Grandpa had some beers and got into a fight with the head mechanic.”

“Jesus Christ,” Iris groans. “Are you alright, honey?”

He shrugs. “Fine.”

She suppresses a sigh. “You’ve got grease on your t-shirt. Why don’t you shower and come downstairs?”

Max turns to me. “And then we can go somewhere for a drive?”

I nod. “Sure thing, kid.”

He beams at me, grabs a towel and some fresh clothes, and heads off to the bathroom. Iris doesn’t say a word. She just points to me and then jabs her finger at the staircase.

My cock throbbing in my pants reminds me of what I could’ve had. But I’m not about to consummate my marriage in this fucking dump, surrounded by all my wife’s worst memories. Especially not with Iris still stubbornly refuting that what’s between us is real and eternal and undeniable.

When I finally do stake my claim, she won’t ever be able to deny that she’s mine.

I saunter downstairs. We get to the bottom of the staircase and Iris gestures to the door. “You can wait in the garden for—”

“Ah, I thought I heard voices.”

“Why can’t I catch a break?” Iris moans under her breath before turning to her father.

I’ve seen the man a few times, but always from a distance or in one of Yefim’s dossiers. He seems smaller in person. His eyes are rangy and skittish, his cheeks sallow and sunken. It’s a baffling miracle that this bastard is responsible for someone as beautiful as Iris.

“You must be the boy’s father,” he comments. “I’m Roy.”

“Roy,” I greet. “Kon.”

“Good strong name there. Iris,” he barks, “go fetch us some beers.”

Before Iris says a word, I intervene. “I don’t want a drink,” I say firmly. “Iris, sit down.”

She glances at me, and I notice that the anger in her eyes has softened just a little. We all sit in the motley collection of chairs and loveseats strewn around the living room.

Roy is eyeing me with interest, but his smile borders on simpering. “That’s a nice watch,” he grunts. “Rolex?”

“Hublot.”

“How much did it cost?”

“Dad!” Iris protests, sounding truly mortified. “You can’t ask that. It’s a rude question.”

“I’m not your runt. Don’t correct me like I am.” He rolls his eyes for my benefit, like I’ll be impressed by him belittling his own daughter.

Iris’s left leg has started jumping around nervously, but Roy is fixated on me. I wonder if he’s aware of the storm he’s conjuring. Probably not.

“So, what’s the story between you two?” he asks. “You got a li’l bastard, but you only just got married. Iris is silent as the night about it.”

“Because it’s not anyone’s business but our own,” Iris says firmly. I’m glad to hear a little bite in her tone.

Max hops down the staircase a second later, all revved up and ready to go. He’s wearing fresh new jeans and a t-shirt.

“What the fuck you wearing, boy?” Roy growls.

Max stops short. He looks down at his clothes and then up towards his last living grandfather. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, honey,” Iris says immediately.

“Huh? He looks like a fucking girl in that color,” Roy scoffs. “Ain’t no blood of mine gonna be seen out ‘n’ about lookin’ like that.”

I stand up, bringing Roy’s focus back to me. “Max, stay right where you are.” He slinks closer to Iris instinctively, and it reminds me that despite his height, despite his maturity, despite all the me I see in him… he’s still a little kid. He shouldn’t have to grow up before it’s time.

“Roy,” I say in a tone cold enough to raise goosebumps, “don’t you ever talk to my son like that again, or I’ll break you in ways that cannot be repaired.”

I turn to Max. “You look good, son. Let’s go for a ride.”

The old man gawks at me with his mouth hanging open. I put my hand on Max’s shoulder and we stride out of the house side-by-side.

When we’re on the porch, Max turns to look back over his shoulder. “Mom,” he calls back through the mesh screen. “Are you coming?”

Iris meets my eyes for only a moment. “Yes,” she croaks through a sob she refuses to let loose. “I am.”

11

IRIS

This is why I wanted to run.

This is why I didn’t want to see or speak to him again.

Because I knew he would slowly convince me that running was a defense mechanism. Nothing but my old traumas rearing their ugly old heads once again.

He would convince me not with words or promises, but with his actions. With his own infuriating self. With his unapologetic confidence and his completely, unfaltering self-assurance.

In so many ways, he’s the man I dreamed of.

In so many others, he’s my worst nightmare.

“Let’s walk first,” Kon suggests as we hit the pavement. “I want to see the town.”

“There’s not much to see,” I say, hearing and hating the bitterness in my voice.

Max glances at Kon. “Mom doesn’t like this town,” he whispers in that little kid way where he thinks I can’t hear.

I frown. “I never said that.”

“Roy did,” he explains.

“What else did he tell you?” I ask, feeling a little bubble of panic in my stomach. My father has his own agenda, I know that much. He’s not above using my nine-year old to see it through.

“Just that you couldn’t get along with anyone here. He said you didn’t have any friends.”

I bite down the defense on my tongue and try to give Max an explanation he’ll understand. “I did have friends,” I tell him. “But… we had a falling-out.”

“A falling-out?” he repeats, face scrunched up in confusion.

I’m aware that Kon is listening intently. “It means we had a fight and we stopped talking.”

“Oh. Didn’t you try to make up?”

“It was a big fight,” I admit, even though I can’t remember doing any real fighting on my part. It was more of a one-sided conversation.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Max says, slipping his hand into mine.

It’s such a tender gesture that I return pressure and find myself smiling despite the ache in my heart. Despite the fact that Kon is watching my face with interest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Things happen.”

“It was pretty cool what Dad said to Roy,” he says suddenly, chuckling a little over his own daring.

I laugh and Kon smiles. “Your grandfather can be a bully sometimes,” I say. “Just don’t let him push you around.”

“I’m not afraid of bullies,” Max says confidently.

“Good. Because there’s nothing to be afraid of,” I say. “Bullies are just broken people who are trying to—”

“Hide their brokenness,” Max finishes over me.

I smile down at him. “I guess I’ve said that to you before, huh?”

“Yup. A buncha times.”

“It’s good advice,” Kon chimes in, but he doesn’t offer anything more.

It doesn’t take us long to get to the main stretch of town. When we turn the corner onto Main Street—as unoriginal a street name as exists in this world—I freeze for a moment.

Some things change. Most don’t.

This place falls squarely into the latter.

I’d close my eyes and picture the day I left, but there’s no need to, because I can just look around and see everything exactly as it was. I could almost swear that the trash in the gutters is still the same, that the crows perched on the buildings are the ones who watched me go.

The café on the corner is still right where I left it. I had my first date there with a boy named Bobby Cosomo. We shared pumpkin pasta and a brownie for dessert, then he walked me home, kissed me on the porch, and told me he wanted to be my boyfriend.

I didn’t say a word to him for two weeks after that. When he finally caught up to me one day after school, he demanded to know why. I had to tell Bobby the truth: Stephanie Jacobson had made me swear not to do anything else with him, or she’d tell everyone everything.

“Iris?”

I blink and find myself looking into Kon’s haunting gray eyes. He’s watching me carefully, trying to pry my secrets loose with every blink of his eyelashes.

“You with us?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry,” I say, turning to Max. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just been a while since I’ve been here. Lots of… memories.”

Max shrugs and skips ahead to plaster his nose against the glass pane of a tattoo shop’s window display, gazing adoringly at row after row of inky black designs.

Kon stays by my side as we follow Max at a leisurely pace. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap before he can say anything.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he rumbles in reply.

I’m stewing in silence for a few moments, but that’s even more grating than conversation is right now. “What happened in Max’s room… It can’t happen again.”

“What happened in Max’s room?” he asks innocently.

“You know damn well what happened, Kon.”

“I can’t say that I do,” he insists. He’s not touching me, not even close, and yet my body is tingling like he has. “The way I remember it, you were the one who stood there and watched me.”

Heat pools between my thighs. I can still feel the head of his cock against my slit, probing my lips without ever breaking through to give me what I so badly needed.

The point had never been to seduce me. He was just playing more games. He wanted to teach me a lesson.

Job well done, I guess.

“I hope you know you’re an asshole.”

“So you keep saying,” he chuckles. “Seems like that’s your type.”

Before I can reply, Max appears by my side and grabs my hand. “Mom! Can we go inside, please?”

I try to shake off the flush on my cheeks as I turn to my son. “Sweetheart, what’s the point? You can’t exactly get a tattoo.”

“But I want to see the art. That way I can decide what tattoo to get when I’m eighteen. Please, Mom, please? Just for a little bit?”

I sigh in defeat. “Okay then, go ahead. Dream your little heart out.” He does a little jump and runs inside the parlor.

I glare at Kon. “Is this my fault, too?” he asks, amused.

“Well, I certainly don’t have any tattoos,” I point out, eyeing the few that I can see from underneath his shirt sleeves.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he offers. “Not everyone can pull them off.”

He leaves me glowering on the curb and heads into the parlor after Max. I suppress a growl of frustration and turn to the café.

I have no idea where Bobby Cosomo is now. Same with Stephanie. I remember she had plans to move out of state for college. She wanted to be a hair stylist to the stars. Her room was always filled with vision boards cut out from fashion magazines and an endless train of packages delivering makeup products to her doorstep.

Maybe she’s in L.A., says a sick voice in my head. Maybe she’s been right down the street from you for all these years and you never even knew it. Didn’t run as far as you thought you did, huh?

I change my mind and turn away from the café. Some memories are better left dead.

I sink onto a nearby bus stop bench. A few moments later, Max and Kon come out of the tattoo parlor. Max’s cheeks are rosy with excitement.

“Mom! I know exactly what I’m going to get when I turn eighteen.”

I smile. “Eighteen’s a long way off, honey. You really think you’re going to want the same tattoo nine years from now?”

“Definitely,” he says confidently. “Dad helped me pick it out.”

“How wonderful.”

He misses my sarcasm, fortunately. “It’s the engine of a train,” he explains to me, pulling on my arm in excitement. “You wanna see it?”

I can’t exactly say no to all that hopeful excitement, so I let him drag me into the parlor. The tattoo artist turns at the sound of the door chime. His eyes go wide with interest when he sees me.

He’s a good-looking guy by the standards of Crosse Valley, which means that he has all of his hair and most of his teeth. He’s got enough tattoos to make Max’s eyes bug out of his head, too. Sleeves on both arms and both legs, an inked-up neck, knuckles that say something I’d prefer not to read.

“Maximus,” he chuckles, “you didn’t tell me you had such a hot girlfriend.”

“Gross! That’s my mom, not my girlfriend.”

He laughs again, a deep, booming sound. “Mea culpa,” he says. “My bad. You’re still a lucky guy, though.”

I feel Kon come up behind me and I tense without really knowing why. The smile falters on the tattoo artist’s face like my tension is contagious.

“You might not be so lucky if you keep looking at my wife like that,” he snarls.

It’s weird to be both turned on and annoyed by the exact same thing. But that’s where I find myself: straddling the line between swooning and telling Kon to stop butting in all the damn time.

In the end, I choose neither. I walk over to Max, who’s staring up at a fall of flash art designs.

“The one on the right, second row,” he tells me, pointing up at him.

“I see it.” It’s a beautiful, intricate image of an engine. Small enough to be understated and large enough to be unmistakable. “Pretty cool, I gotta say.”

He beams. “I told you so.”

“Only nine years to go,” I remind him with a wink.

“I know,” he says with a melancholy sigh. “Dad already told me the same thing.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and steer him out of the shop. Max waves to the tattoo artist as we leave, but he gets only a half-hearted nod in return. I don’t get so much as a glance.

“Where do we go now?” Max asks.

“If we keep walking straight, we’ll end up at a park. That is, if it still exists. They used to have these big monkey bars.”

“Let’s go!” Max says, taking off down the street like we have a deadline we need to catch.

I throw Kon a glare as we trail behind him once again. “What was that back there?”

“Back where?”

“Stop doing that. You’re not dumb, so don’t act like it.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t like his man bun.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, purposefully trying to get a rise out of him. “I thought it suited him.”

“Did you?” he asks calmly.

I know I’m treading dangerous territory, but I can’t help myself. He’s had the upper hand ever since he arrived in this town. Hell, he’s had the upper hand ever since we met. Just once, I’d like to feel like the one holding the reins.

“Yup. Thought he was kinda sexy, actually.”

Kon glances at me. No sign of anything brewing behind his eyes. Just the usual cold aloofness. “Why don’t you go back then?” he suggests. “Get his number.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re—

“An asshole?” he interjects. His mouth twitches in the subtlest of smiles. “If you say it enough times, I might even start to believe you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

“So you say, princess. So you say.”

We approach the playground. Max is already dangling from the monkey bars. I’m picking my way between equipment in search of a place to sit, not bothering to check if Kon is following, when I hear a voice.

“Oh my God! Iris Keller, is that you?!”

I pale at the sound of her voice. There’s no way Kon doesn’t notice. I turn towards the woman walking towards me.

She’s a little older, a little grayer, a little fuller in the waist and hips. But her face is unchanged. Pretty blue eyes, short blonde hair, and those unforgettable dimples in both her cheeks. She’s wearing beige pants and an off-the-shoulder white shirt.

My heart beats unevenly. I was so sure she would have left town. I wouldn’t have come back if I thought she was anywhere near here.

But here she is. And the past is here, too, sneaking its frigid fingers in somewhere between my awkwardness and her false smile and all the things we never finished saying to each other.

I swallow hard. “Hi, Stephanie.”

Some things change. Most don’t.

12

KON

The woman walking towards us looks as harmless and forgettable as it gets. To me, at least.

Not to Iris.

“Hi, Stephanie,” she mumbles.

The bright-eyed blonde turns to me, her eyelashes fanning as she takes in my face. “Who is this?”

“This is, uh—”

I offer her my hand. “I’m Iris’s husband.”

The woman’s eyes go wide, but the smile remains plastered to her face. “No way. You’re married, Iris?” She doesn’t sound very congratulatory.

Iris blushes and nods, her eyes downcast. “Yeah, I am.”

Stephanie nods. “I got married a few years ago, too. Remember Dennis Roddick?”

“I remember.”

“Yeah,” she says. “When I moved back home after college, we connected. We have a son. He’s a year old.”

She throws out her personal information like casual little ploys meant to disarm. I get the feeling they’re having the exact opposite effect.

“You had a huge crush on him, isn’t that right?” adds Stephanie.

The smile on Iris’s face looks pained. “That was a long time ago.”

Stephanie turns to me. “Iris and I used to be best friends. I’m sure she hasn’t told you anything about me, though.”

Her lips are pursed in a way that says she’s waiting for my reaction. Her words didn’t just come out that way; she chose them intentionally. Used to be.

“When did you two get married?” Her eyes linger on my face, before she forces them to Iris.

“Recently,” Iris replies. “Very recently.”

She doesn’t offer much more, including the fact of Max, who chooses this moment to run up towards us. “Mom, did you see me on the monkey bars? I got all the way up to the top!”

Iris gives him a tight smile. “I saw, honey.”

“Mom?” Stephanie repeats, looking back and forth between the two. “Oh, wow. You two have a kid together.”

“It’s complicated,” Max blurts, surprising all of us.

Iris pats Max on the shoulder. “Honey, we should get going.”

“But we just got here!”

“Come get lunch with us!” Stephanie chirps. “I’m meeting a few of the old gang at Gables.” Looking at me, she adds, “It’s this gross little pub in town. I gave Iris her first beer there. Pretty sure she spit it right back out into the glass.”

Iris’s jaw is thrumming with tension. “My father is a borderline alcoholic,” she says. “He’s the one who gave me my first beer. I bet he tried to mix baby formula into it, actually.”

Stephanie throws her a polite smile. “Right. I forgot how… unorthodox your family is.”

I’m about done with this bitch and her passive-aggressive politeness. I wrap my arm around Iris’s shoulder and draw her against my chest.

“We should be going,” I say. “Nice meeting you.”

“What’s wrong, Iris?” Stephanie demands, her blue eyes flashing ice for a moment. “Why shouldn’t you come? It’s not like you did anything wrong… right?”

The two women stare each other down. I frown. There are things circulating here that I don’t know. I don’t like that shit one bit.

“No,” Iris says in a small voice. “I didn’t.”

“Awesome!” Stephanie says brightly, as if she’s won. “Then you’ll come. I’m sure the gang will be surprised to see me walk in with you.”

“I doubt they even remember me,” Iris says, more hopefully than seems realistic.

“Oh, they remember you,” Stephanie says. Her eyes flash again. “Let me get my nanny.”

She heads off to the sandbox, where a petite Asian woman is playing in the sand with a skinny baby boy in red overalls.

“Fuck me,” Iris breathes through her teeth.

“If you don’t want to go—”

“If I make an excuse now, she’s going to think… she’s going to think…” Iris looks up at me, and the anguish in her eyes is enough to make me want to rampage through this town like a Viking and slaughter everyone who’s ever so much as looked at her wrong. “She’ll think that I was lying back then.”

Before she can explain anything further, Stephanie walks back up to us. Her nanny trails behind her, carrying the skinny baby. He’s inherited his mother’s baleful blue eyes.

“This is Arnold,” Stephanie says. “We named him after Dennis’s dad.”

Iris gives the baby a cursory smile. “He looks just like you.”

“I think he looks more like Dennis,” Stephanie says. “You remember how handsome Dennis was, don’t you, Iris?” She glances at me when she says it, almost as though she’s comparing notes.

“I honestly don’t remember much about high school,” Iris admits.

“Hm. I guess that must come in handy sometimes,” Stephanie remarks.

“Are we ready to go?” Max asks impatiently.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” Iris sighs.

Max falls into step beside me at the rear of the group and Iris ends up walking next to Stephanie with obvious reluctance.

“Where did you find him?” Stephanie asks Iris in a low voice assuming that I can’t hear them.

“Um… it’s a long story. Not really an interesting one, either.”

“Well, I’d love to hear it anyway.” Stephanie tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Dennis is going to be so shocked to see you. Farah will be there, too. She married Curt’s older brother, Marcus.”

Iris’s shoulders are tense, filled with unease and dread.

“Dad,” Max whispers to me, “does Mom seem weird to you?”

“Your mom’s a fucking warrior,” I say gruffly.

Max’s eyes go wide in shock and awe. “You said a bad word!”

“Don’t tell on me.”

He stifles a giggle. Iris looks back over her shoulder at the two of us. Her expression is both worried and defiant. As though she’s got something to prove, but she’s not sure she has the fortitude to stay long enough to prove it.

“What are you two talking about?” she calls back. I hear the repressed cry for help in her voice.

I can only help her if she asks for it. But she’s not there yet.

“Here we are,” Stephanie announces. She points to a weather-beaten wooden sign hanging from a pole jutting out of the building. Lucky’s, it says. Crosse Valley’s Finest Ale.

Iris waits for Max and me to catch up before slinking inside. It’s as Stephanie promised: gross and pubby. The place stinks of beer and sweat and the vinyl leather of the booths is cracked like an old man’s skin.

Max rushes right over to a mechanical bull in the corner, where two other children are waiting their turn.

“Oh God,” Iris breathes.

“Cool spot,” I say out of the side of my mouth.

She throws a sharp elbow into my ribs. “Don’t.”

“Look who it is, guys!” Stephanie calls to the table at the back.

“As I live and breathe… Iris Keller?” a new woman says, holding her hand up to her heart. “Is that you?”

Iris moves forward and gives the group a half-hearted wave. “It’s nice to see you guys,” she says. At least, that’s what she says with her words. Her undertone says something more like, Please put me out of my misery. I don’t care how you do it, just do it now.

The man that Stephanie has walked up to and encircled is looking right at Iris. “Iris… fuck me.”

“We didn’t know you were in town!” the new woman scolds. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I… didn’t plan on staying long,” Iris explains awkwardly.

“Oh please, isn’t it obvious?” Stephanie butts in. “She was trying to avoid us.”

I move forward and drape my arm around Iris. “I was taking up all her time,” I explain.

Everyone’s eyes bulge. Iris doesn’t exactly relax under my arm, but she manages to coax a smile onto her face. “This is Dennis, Farah, and Marcus. Everyone, this is Kon, my… husband.”

She tacks the last part on at the end. But it has the intended effect.

Farah giggles like she’s twenty years younger than she is. Marcus gives me a polite smile and a handshake. Dennis just looks gobsmacked.

“Dad,” Max says, running up to me, “can I get a dollar?”

I pull out my wallet and root through my cash. “I’m afraid I only have hundreds, kid,” I say, plucking out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “See if you can get change from the bar.”

“I’ve got a five,” Iris says quickly, shooting me a glare.

I look up and realize the table is looking at me with new curiosity. Apparently, not everyone walks around this town with a wallet full of hundreds.

Max takes the money and bounces back off towards the bull.

“We heard you had a son, Iris,” Farah says.

“We did?” Stephanie asks, feigning surprise.

Farah nods, clearly not taking the hint. “Yeah, Steph, we discussed it, remember? She was on TV.”

Stephanie lets loose a laugh with an unconvincing oh-silly-me kind of quality to it. “I must have forgotten.”

“Anyway,” Iris says, clearing her throat, “great to see you all, but we don’t want to intrude…”

“You’re not,” Marcus says. “Join us for a beer.”

“That’s nice of you, but—”

“Sure,” I say, speaking over Iris. She flashes me a glare that I ignore pointedly. “We have a few minutes until Max gets his fill of the bull.”

Left with no choice, she’s forced to take one of the empty seats that are drawn up for us. I drape my arm around the back of her chair, and despite her annoyance at me, she leans in just a little. Seeking comfort from me, even when she’s sworn up and down that she doesn’t need it.

Stephanie’s eyes flash yet again. I like it less and less every time I see it. “Still modeling, Iris?” she asks. “Because I honestly haven’t seen much of you lately. Not that I’m complaining.”

It’s the most aggressive salvo yet. Iris doesn’t respond to it, which I find odd. She’s a spitfire, and for her to just sit there meekly while this bitch throws attitude her way… It doesn’t add up.

“No. Not really.”

“Shame,” Stephanie tuts.

“Her husband’s got a wallet full of hundreds. I don’t think she needs to work anymore,” Farah says, wagging her eyebrows at her own husband in disappointment.

“Where’s your son, Stephanie?” Iris asks, clearly trying to change the subject. “Weren’t they coming here, too?”

“Somewhere with the nanny, I’m sure,” she says carelessly. “Today is all about having some grown-up time.”

“So… Kon huh?” Dennis asks, eyeing me with squinty eyebrows. “Is that short for something?”

“Yes.”

He waits for me to elaborate. I don’t. Iris bites her lip and looks down, and for a moment, I think I’ve succeeded in making her smile.

“What do you do?” Dennis asks, regrouping fast.

“I run some businesses.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence until Stephanie breaks it with her forced laughter. “A man of mystery huh? It makes sense that Iris would go for someone like you.”

“‘Someone like him’?” Iris repeats. “What does that mean?”

Stephanie shrugs. “Oh, you know, someone confident. With money.”

I can feel Iris’s shoulders tense up further. She gets to her feet. “We really should be going,” she says. “It was nice seeing you guys again.”

“I thought you two were gonna stay for a beer?” Marcus asks, sounding genuinely disappointed.

“Another time maybe,” Iris demurs.

“But we haven’t had the chance to catch up, Iris,” Stephanie says. “You haven’t even asked about my family yet. My daddy still lives in the same house, in case you were wondering.”

That taut muscle in Iris’s cheek goes steely rigid. “Enjoy your meal,” she grits out through stiff lips. “Max, come on!”

We walk onto the street. The moment the doors close on us, her face drops and all pretense is gone. “Fuck,” she wheezes, not bothering to hide her distress from me. “Fuck. Coming here was a mistake.”

I grab her by the shoulders and bring her to a standstill in front of me. “Take a breath.” When she doesn’t, I raise my eyebrows. “I mean it.”

She takes a breath.

“Good. Now, take another one.”

She does, and I feel some of the tension release. I pull her a little closer to me, but her eyes are fixed on the pub’s door.

“Iris, look at me.” Her green eyes veer towards me. “You are not this person.”

“Which person is that?”

“The scared one. The insecure one. The shrinking violet. So stop acting like you are.”

“You don’t know what happened…”

“So tell me. Or let it go. Those are your only choices.”

She frowns, just as the door opens and Max rushes out. “Phew, thought you guys left me.”

Iris wipes her expression free of anxiety immediately. “Had fun, sweetheart?”

“Yup.”

“Good, let’s go home.”

We’re a few steps away from the pub when the doors shoot open and Farah comes out. “Glad I caught you. I wanted to let you guys know that Marcus and I are hosting a party at Milton’s tonight. You should come. Stephanie didn’t think you’d be interested, but I would really like it if you swung by.”

I glance at Iris, but she doesn’t look back at me for support this time. She squares her shoulders. “We’ll be there.”

“Awesome! See you both tonight.”

She goes back into the pub. I turn to Iris with raised eyebrows. “What brought that on?” I ask.

She grimaces. “You said I had two choices. You were wrong. I went with Option 3: burn it all to the fucking ground.”

13

IRIS

Burn it down. It sounded like a good idea when I said it. Very quippy and brave of me.

Not so much anymore, though.

“You look pretty, Mom,” Max says, walking into the room.

“Thanks, honey.”

I’m sitting in the front of the dressing table, wearing a little black dress with my hair loose around my shoulders, as I put on green earrings I bought for ten dollars at a flea market. Weirdly enough, they match my wedding ring almost perfectly.

As far as the ring itself goes, I told myself it would just be weird if I showed up without it. I’ll take it off tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

Max is already in his pajamas, and for a moment, all I want to do is get into my own and crawl into bed with him. It’s been a long time since we’ve slept next to each other. When he was really young, he’d have nightmares, and I couldn’t help myself from breaking every parenting rule in the book by letting him sleep alongside me.

He hasn’t done that in a few years now. Once, when things with Jake were really bad, I’d dropped Max at school, then come home and curled up in his bed just so I could feel my baby’s heat and his scent and remember when things felt simpler.

“You better get to bed, honey,” I tell him.

“Can I come downstairs and say hi to Dad?”

“We’ll never leave if I say yes to that,” I say. “I promise you’ll see him tomorrow.”

Max nods and pushes away his disappointment. I kiss his forehead and send him off to bed. Then I walk downstairs to wait for Kon. He went back to his hotel to change after telling me he’d come pick me up at eight. Five minutes to go.

“That’s some dress.”

I turn to find my father on the sofa with—shocker—a freshly lit cigarette and a cold beer in hand. He’s changed into a gray wifebeater for the night, which passes for formal wear in his eyes, and his thinning hair is slicked back like he just took a shower.

“I… I’m going out.”

“Glad to see you’re making it work with the kid’s old man.”

“That’s not what this is.” I say that not because he’s wrong, but because I resent the idea that he might think for even one second that I’m taking his advice. “We were invited to a party.”

Dad’s eyebrows rise. “Whose party?”

“Farah Daniels,” I say. “We went to high school together.”

“I know who she is,” Dad says in a gruff voice. “Stephanie gonna be there?”

“I already ran into Stephanie this morning,” I tell him. “And yeah, she’s gonna be there.”

“Hm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought you were a smart girl,” he says, taking a drag of his cigarette.

I put my fists on my hips. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“If you think that Stephanie Jacobson has forgotten or forgiven what happened just before you skipped town, then you’re clearly not that bright.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“For you, maybe. Not for everyone.” The simmering resentment under his voice is impossible to miss.

Thankfully, I’m spared from the rest of this conversation when Kon’s sleek car pulls up outside the house. “I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Max is already in bed. Don’t wake him up, okay?”

He doesn’t respond, so I head outside towards the car. The wind hits me from the north and I shiver a little, despite the fact that it’s warm tonight.

Kon walks around to the passenger side door and opens it for me. I consider telling him I’m perfectly capable of doing it on my own, that I don’t need him for everything—or, as a matter of fact, for anything. Then I decide that that would make me sound like a raging bitch and he’s just holding a door, don’t get so worked up, yada yada. Clearly, I’m on edge.

He doesn’t say a word as he climbs back behind the wheel and we pull out. At one point along the drive, we brake at a stop sign, and he turns to survey me from the corner of his eye.

His gaze sweeps up and down, burning everywhere it goes. I expect him to say something. Something cruel and backhanded, maybe, or else something sweet, which is almost worse in its own way.

But he says nothing at all.

When we arrive at the bar, there’s music pumping through the night and spilling out into the streets. A few clusters of people stand talking on the sidewalk out front, but I don’t recognize anyone.

“Oh God…” I mumble to myself.

Kon’s confident gaze veers towards me again. “This is not like you,” he says.

“Don’t judge me,” I fire back. “I didn’t ask for your input.”

He doesn’t react at all to my unnecessary, misdirected anger. He just keeps staring at me, waiting for my secrets to pour out.

I want so badly to be able to tell him what happened back then. But that would mean making myself vulnerable to him. And I can’t afford to backslide. I’ve done far too much of that already.

I sigh and slump forward, resting my head on the cool leather of the dashboard. “There’s a lot of history in this town.”

“Really?” he drawls. “I hadn’t noticed.”

I glare at him, and his mouth pulls up in one corner. It’s not exactly a smile, and it’s not exactly comforting. More than anything else, it reminds me how badly we match.

He’s so composed. And me? I’m slowly devolving into a bigger and bigger mess. I’ve been doing that for ten years and I’m showing no signs of slowing down.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say, getting out of the car before my nerve fails me.

Kon walks around the car and slides his hand along the small of my back. I have half a mind to move out of his reach, but the moment his fingers settle on my back, I feel a little more centered. A little less uncertain.

It’s not fair that he should have such a huge impact on me, but here we are. I have no one but myself to blame.

We walk into the bar. The vibe is chaotic and familiar at the same time. I’d say it’s nostalgic, but that’s not quite the right word. Nostalgia implies longing. I don’t long for this shit at all. I’ve spent my whole life running from it, actually.

But now that we’re back in the place I swore I’d never return to, I find myself slipping back inside the shell of myself that I thought I left behind. It’s like nothing has changed. The fear is there, making itself known as a trembling in my thighs and a dryness in my mouth. It tastes the same as it did back then.

I spy Stephanie across the room in a green halter dress and a drink in hand. Eleven-plus years ago, she would’ve noticed my anxiety and whispered something encouraging in my ear. As of ten years ago, I’m pretty sure she’d rather spit in my drink and throw it in my face.

As if to remind me I’m not alone, Kon’s hand tightens around me. I take a deep breath.

“Oh my God, Iris!”

The girl that approaches me is a small redhead with mismatched features and a bright smile. Callie, that was her name. I barely remember her, but she seems to know a little too much about me.

“I’ve been following your career,” she starts blabbing immediately. “That music video was seriously sexy. The song is on the radio here, like, nonstop.”

“Oh, cool. I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t think it was possible to upgrade from Jake Nox,” she continues as her eyes slide to Kon. “But you look like you’re making do.” She winks cheekily at me.

Kon gives her a nod and something that resembles a smile. His coldness is dialed up high tonight. Even I find myself shivering.

Callie is oblivious to it, though. “You’re Iris’s husband?” she chirps.

He nods. “Yeah. Kon.”

“I’m Carrie,” she says, and I have to correct the name in my head. Carrie, not Callie. “I was a grade below Iris, but I idolized her.”

“Me?” I blurt stupidly.

She nods. “You were so beautiful.”

“Are you fangirling, Carrie?” Farah interrupts, approaching us with an excited smile on her face. “Iris was never one for undue flattery.”

Undue. Nice. Very subtle. I’d expected a sneaky jab like that from Stephanie, but not from Farah.

“Anyway, Kon, you don’t happen to have a single brother, do you?”

“Oookay then,” Farah laughs, grabbing my arm and veering me away from Carrie. “Iris has to mingle, Carrie. Go get yourself a drink. Or maybe a water, actually.”

As she pulls at me, I lose contact with Kon. His fingers leave my back and instantly, I feel lost. Like I’ve just been thrown into the deep end, dark waters closing over my head as the sharks circle below.

“Guys!” Farah says, waving to a small group of people standing by the bar with beers in hand, including Stephanie. “Look who’s here.”

Stephanie’s eyes spark. Then they narrow into menacing slits.

I’ve been a bitch to Kon tonight, but I still look around, searching for him. I don’t need or want to talk, I don’t need him to rescue me from this situation—I just want him around. As close to me as possible.

But somehow, he’s managed to disappear into the crowd. A man of many talents, I guess.

Or maybe, says a sinister voice in my head determined to twist things out of shape, he’s just straight-up abandoned you. If that’s the case, I can’t exactly blame him after today. I deserve no less.

I snap out of my reverie and focus on the faces of people I thought I’d never see again.

Dennis is here, standing awkwardly beside Stephanie. I remember Jay, Manning, and Jennifer fairly well, but the guy that really holds my attention is Langdon. Mostly because he’s looking at me with narrowed eyes and a smile that’s dangerously close to being a leer.

“Damn, Keller,” he says. He always called me by my last name, which I found irritating, mostly because he said it like it was something I should be ashamed of. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Down, boy,” Stephanie says impatiently. “She’s got a husband.”

Langdon’s leer just gets more pronounced. “What? I’m just being friendly.”

I smile back serenely. “And you haven’t changed a bit.”

I regret the words as soon as I say them. Not because I don’t mean them—I do, very much so—but because from the looks of it, this conversation and this night in general are about to go wildly off the rails. The only one who seems as uncomfortable as I am is Dennis.

“So where’s this hot-shot husband of yours?” Langdon asks, making a big show of looking around the semi-crowded bar.

It’s been maybe ten minutes since we arrived and I’m already so done with this night. I look around, trying to pick Kon out through the crowd. “Great question. Excuse me while I go find him.”

I turn and leave without waiting for a reply. They make no effort to hide their shit-talking as soon as I’m facing the opposite direction.

“Who the hell is she trying to impress…”

“… classic Keller, showing off her ass like she’s the hottest thing walking…”

“She really thinks she’s the shit…”

I walk around the whole pub twice over, but Kon is nowhere to be found. My heart is hammering hard against my ribs though, I’m sweating profusely, and I feel a vague kind of full-body nausea radiating from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. The whole time I’m searching, I feel eyes on me.

I shove my way out the door and onto the relative quiet of the pavement. “Jesus,” I breathe, sucking in huge drafts of air.

There’s no one standing outside anymore, and I’m thankful for that. I need space. I need air. I need to feel as though the whole world isn’t about to crush me under its weight.

“Lost your husband?”

“Oh, fuck me,” I groan, as I turn around to find Langdon smirking in my direction.

“That sounds like an invitation to me,” he says, lurching inappropriately close.

I place my hand on his chest and force him back. “Are you drunk? Stop it.”

“Jesus, chill out, Keller,” he laughs. “I’m just playing around. But,” he continues, going through the motions of drawing himself up tall and composing his face like he’s oh-so-serious now, “if you want a more serious manly man, I can be that, too.”

I shake my head. “You’re not what I want, Langdon. You never were.”

The smile drops off his face and his eyes turn into thin slits. “Stephanie’s right. You always did think you were superior to everyone else.”

I flinch. “I don’t think that.”

“Bullshit. Look at you, standing there in your little black dress, looking at me like I’m fucking trash. You may be some big time L.A. model now, but here, you’ll always be the town slut.”

His eyes shift away from me for a moment. That’s when I notice the shadow behind me. He moves past me so fast that I’m knocked off-balance.

When I look up again, Kon has Langdon hoisted up by the collar. Langdon’s feet are working invisible pedals in thin air.

“Jesus, Kon!” I gasp. “Let him go.”

Langdon takes a moment to find his voice, but when he does, he croaks out a similar sentiment. “Let… me… go…”

Kon’s answer is to shake him so aggressively that I hear Langdon’s teeth clack together. “What the fuck did you just say to my wife?” he growls.

A thrill of excitement scourges down my spine. It’s violent and fucked-up. But what I’m learning from every passing second I spend with Kon…

Is that maybe I am, too.

“I… I…”

“Listen to me, you little fuck. The next time you so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll cut your cock off and stuff it in your mouth.”

He drops Langdon the moment he’s done speaking, and without warning, sends a punch right into his face. Langdon tries to duck, but it’s already too late. There’s a crunch, a scream, and then Langdon eats pavement.

“Shit!” I cry out. “Kon!”

I rush over to Langdon and get down on my knees beside him. I check his pulse, but it’s still there, thumping along unevenly as gallons of blood and beer run simultaneously through his veins. That’s good.

On the other hand, his eyes are utterly blank. The lights are on, but no one is home. That’s less good.

Kon fixes his shirt sleeves. “I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

“You shouldn’t have hit him at all!” I yell. Thankfully, the music from inside the pub has drowned out the majority of this little drama. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Are you actually looking for an explanation?” he asks in his usual implacable manner.

“I could have handled him.”

“Like you handled Stephanie this morning? Like you handled the rest of them just now?”

“I was doing it my own way.”

“By that, you mean being the doormat and letting them say whatever the fuck they want to your face.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“You keep saying that, Iris,” Kon growls at me. “And Max is right: it’s getting old.”

I grit my teeth. As much as I try, I can’t help but get defensive. “Where were you, though, huh?” I demand. “You just disappeared on me.”

“I had to take a call,” he says. “I assumed you’d be happy to get some privacy with your friends.”

“They aren’t my friends.”

“Then I’m confused as to what the fuck we’re doing here.”

Langdon stirs uncomfortably. A timid little moan escapes his lips. I stand up straight. “You really hurt him, Kon.”

“And that upsets you because…?”

“Because it wasn’t your fight!” I cry out.

Kon gets right up in my face. “Wrong,” he breathes. “When it concerns you, it’s always my fight.”

“I’m not your damsel, Kon Aminoff,” I growl. “And you’re not my knight in shining armor. You can’t just assume I need rescuing. You can’t assume I’ll be happy about it.”

“What will make you happy then, Iris?” Kon presses. “Tell me that. If you even can.”

My cheeks burn. If anyone’s ever asked me that question before, I can’t remember it. My life has never been about happiness—it’s been about survival.

“Just… just help me get him inside,” I sigh.

He scoffs, his eyes turn dark, and his expression goes black. “Considering you don’t want a knight, I’ll let you field this one alone, princess,” he says with muted fury.

Then he turns and walks away.

“And you can find your own way home,” he throws over his shoulder. “My horse is busy.”

14

KON

“Are you still in fucking Wyoming?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus,” Yefim grimaces. “If you’re considering moving there, I’m going to have to stage an intervention.”

I scoff. “No intervention necessary. I’d rather nuke this town than live in it.”

I walk down the streets. The only signs of life are the pigeons picking at gutter scraps and cockroaches scurrying underfoot.

“Brother, what the fuck are you doing there?” Yefim asks. “You should be here. The Bratva needs you.”

“I’ll be back soon. There’s a few more things I have to sort out here first. Questions I want answers to.”

“Here’s a thought,” he suggests in a tone of voice that implies he’s about to piss me off. “What if you just—and I know this is crazy, so hear me out—what if you just asked her?”

I grimace and kick a broken beer bottle skittering down the silent sidewalk. “If only it were that simple.”

At the end of the block is another pub. This one is quieter, dimmer, which is precisely the kind of mood I’m in. I make my way toward it.

“How are things over there?” I ask.

“Quiet,” Yefim replies. “A little too quiet for my liking. I have a feeling that Nestor is planning something.”

“He’d be a fool to come at us again.”

“You embarrassed him,” he points out. “Humiliated him. He’s not going to forget that so easily.”

“He’s gonna have to, if he wants to live.”

“You realize he’s been don a lot longer than you have, right?”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“It frightens me!” Yefim bleats. “The man has allies, Kon. He’s got resources and he’s got decades of experience. And before you say—”

“I’m not impressed.”

“Yes, before you say that. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Stalin, sometimes, you can be as stubborn as…” He trails off, wisely for a change.

“Go on,” I coax him with a smirk. “Finish your sentence. You were saying I can be as stubborn as…?”

“As Stepan,” he sighs. “As stubborn as your father.”

“There’s stubborn and then there’s stupid, brother. Saying I’m anything like my father is the latter. Saying I’m not scared of Nestor fucking Kuzmin is the former.”

“Kon,” Yefim says, dispensing with the jokes, “this is not the kind of thing you can afford to be complacent about. Nestor is no small threat.”

I can tell he’s got more he wants to say than just that, but he’s also smart enough not to press when my mood is this sour. I stop right outside the pub. Behind the bar, a scrawny local wipes down glasses and pours stale beers.

“I gotta go,” I say. “Keep me informed.”

“When are you coming back?”

“When I’m good and ready to.”

Then I hang up and duck inside. I take the stool directly in front of the bartender. “Vodka. Neat.”

“Coming right up.”

I observe him as he makes the drink. He’s scruffy and unremarkable in every way. Pasty white, thin brown hair, a three-day-beard. The faded blue-black of old tattoos pokes out from under his shirt sleeve.

“There you go,” he says, setting the drink on a napkin in front of me. “Can I get you anything else? We have a snack menu, if you’re interested in—”

“Not hungry.”

“Got it. I’ll leave you alone,” he says, and moves away immediately. I appreciate the discretion. I’m not in the mood to talk.

I take a sip and let the liquor burn my throat on the way down. It’s not the best, but it’ll do for the moment.

I’m halfway through my drink when the door of the pub opens and a woman walks in and makes a beeline for the bar. She keeps one barstool between us, probably thinking she’s being subtle.

“Heyo, Bryan,” she says, giving the bartender a little wave. “Can I get a beer?”

“Mare,” he says. “You look like you’ve had enough to drink.”

“Not nearly enough, baby,” she says, but her gaze slides to me when she says it. “Was at Farah’s little to-do. But it sucked balls, so I decided to skip out on it. I noticed you did, too.” Her eyes fall on me, and for the first time, she’s able to stare without being forced to look away.

“Not my scene,” I say shortly, sipping my vodka.

“Me neither. I’m Meredith, by the way,” she offers. “Everyone calls me Mare.” She waits for a beat of awkward silence. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

She does a confused double-take, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “A man of mystery,” she says with an insipid giggle. “How intriguing.”

The bartender is lingering nervously within earshot. “Mare,” he interjects, “why don’t I get you a glass of water?”

“Only if that water has scotch in it,” she cackles.

Her lips are tart and red in order to match her dress. It’s garish and vaguely irritating—I assume in order to match her personality.

“So, Bry, guess who’s back in town?” she asks.

“I’m assuming it’s not the Pope.”

“The one that got away… Iris Keller.”

Bryan winces. The obnoxious Mare giggles at his discomfort.

“Iris is in town?” he asks quietly. “Cool.”

“Oh, don’t pretend like you’re too cool to care,” she scoffs. Then she turns to me. “Bryan had it bad for the girl. And when I tell you bad, I mean bad.”

“Mare,” Bryan says firmly, “I think I should call you a cab. You need to get home and sleep this off.”

“Fuck you, Bryan. I’m not done partying,” she says, swirling her stool towards me. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re—”

“Tell me about Iris Keller,” I interject.

She raises her eyebrows. “What’s got you so interested in her?”

“I might ask you the same question.”

Mare sighs and glances at Bryan. “She is annoyingly attractive. But just so you know, in case you’re getting any ideas, I heard she has a husband.”

Bryan rolls his eyes so hard that I notice even though I’m not looking directly at him. “Mare, seriously. You’re drunk. And you’re kind of making a fool of yourself.”

He says it gently, though, like he genuinely doesn’t want her to do that.

“Oh, Bryan, you’re such a stick in the mud,” she whines. “Is it just because your long-lost love is back in town and you still have no shot with her?”

He chuckles. “You know what, you got me. I guess nothing has changed.”

“Nope,” Mare says triumphantly. “You’re still a loser and Iris Keller is still a backstabbing whore.” She turns back to me. “Anyway, forget Keller. What’re you doing later, Mr…?”

I sigh and drain the rest of my vodka. “You’re not my type.”

“You’re saying no to all this?” she pouts.

“Ah, you’re right. Let me correct myself: fuck no.”

Her nose turns up in disgust. “Are you gay?”

“Whatever gets you into a cab and back home.”

Mare leaps to her feet and almost tumbles ass-backwards onto the sticky, dusty floor behind her. She manages to right the ship in time to fix both Bryan and me with a fierce, albeit cross-eyed, glare. “Fuck you both,” she says, followed by a burp.

Bryan rolls his eyes. “Always a pleasure when you stop by, Mare.”

She turns and totters out the door, bouncing off both sides of the door frame as she goes. “Sorry about that, man,” Bryan says when she’s gone. “She seems like a nightmare, but that’s only because… well, because she’s a nightmare. More so when she’s drunk, though.”

“That happens a lot?”

“Only for those of us who never left this town.”

“Iris left, though, huh?”

He nods, sort of sad and sort of proud at the same time. “Iris was the only person in this town with any soul. I’m glad she got out when she did.”

“Do you know why she left?”

He’s starting to look uncomfortable again. “Iris never told me what happened. She just… left. I’ve only heard the rumors.”

“Stephanie Jacobson,” I growl.

He nods in confirmation. “Best friends, those two. Really tight. Then all of the sudden, they weren’t anymore. Something to do with their dads, I think.”

I frown. That’s a new piece of information. “Iris’s father is a piece of work.”

“He used to work for Stephanie’s old man,” Bryan says. “Guess they had a falling-out or something. The ripple effect got nasty, from what I hear.”

“Interesting.”

“Anyway, I don’t pay attention to the gossip,” Bryan says, tossing a stained rag over his shoulder. “I just run my pub and keep to myself.”

I look around. “This your place?”

“My dad’s, originally. He passed, it fell to me, and I couldn’t let it go. It’s a shithole, but it’s my shithole.”

“It’s better than the circus down the street.”

He smiles. “Were you there for Farah’s party?”

“I was a plus-one.”

“Is that right?” he asks. “Honestly, I kinda figured you got lost or blew a tire on your way through town or something. Don’t look like you fit in here, no offense. Who’s your date?”

“Iris Keller.”

Bryan’s eyes go wide as he realizes who I am. “Fuuuck me. You’re the husband.”

I nod, secretly pleased with the reverent way he says the word. “That’s me.”

“Hope I didn’t offend you,” Bryan says, shifting cautiously in place.

“You didn’t,” I say. “But this town does.”

Bryan snorts. “Join the club.” He pours a few more drinks for another table, but when they’re collected, he walks back towards me. “How is Iris, if you don’t mind me asking? Heard she has a son.”

“Yeah, she does. He’s nine.”

“Now for the real money question: why did she come back?”

I grimace. “Lapse in judgment,” I mutter under my breath.

The door to the pub opens and I hear several men enter loudly. Bryan’s shoulders climb up around his ears right away, taut with wariness.

I turn to face them, cracking my knuckles as I go. I can smell trouble in the humid air wafting through the open entrance. The man at the head of the pack has an indigo bruise and crusted blood up and down the side of his cheek. Right where the pavement hit him—or vice versa, rather.

I’d say it’s an improvement to his face. But by the fury in his eyes, I’d guess he disagrees. All that false bravado and empty resolve in his eyes suggest he’s come looking for a fight.

Good.

I’m in the mood to break something.

15

KON

“Langdon,” Bryan greets, giving the ragtag group a curt nod in an attempt to head off what he can already sense is coming. “The corner booth is free. I’ll bring over some beers.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Langdon says. But he makes no move for the booth. Instead, he strides up to where I’m sitting, fists balled up at his sides.

Fucking fool.

His posse trails behind him. Four in total, all grimacing like I give a shit about their pitiful intimidation tactics. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing in their faces. But I don’t bother to hide my smile.

“You left awful early,” Langdon remarks, puffing his chest out.

“Wasn’t my kind of party.”

“Where’s Iris?” he asks, looking around. Clearly, she’d left before he’d woken up from his little sidewalk nap.

“None of your concern,” I say. “I thought I made it clear that you weren’t to so much as look in my wife’s direction again.”

He bristles furiously. “You may be someone back in Los Angeles,” he says. “But this is my town.”

I can’t hold my laughter back anymore. I laugh like I haven’t laughed in ages, and it has the intended effect. Langdon’s face turns dark enough to match his bruise. He’s just about to shoot his mouth off when Bryan steps in between us.

“Langdon, I don’t want trouble in my bar,” he says. “Take the guys and go.”

Langdon jabs Bryan hard in the chest. “Fuck off, wheezy. This is between me and him.”

I stand up slowly. One of Langdon’s lackeys swallows when he sees my full height.

“Let me tell you something, my friend,” I rumble. “When you step to a man and say things like that—that it is your town, that there is a thing between us that needs to be settled—you let something out of a cage that it can’t be put back into.”

“The fuck are you, Socrates?” Langdon spits.

I ignore him. “To say those things, you need to have power. You need to have presence. And you, my friend, have neither.”

Langdon glances subtly at his friends and shuffles on his feet.

I chuckle again. “Do I scare you?”

“I’m not scared,” he crows.

I lay five hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “Keep the change,” I say to Bryan as I get off the barstool. “Plus some extra to cover damages.”

“Dama—?” Langdon blurts. “What are you—”

I don’t give him the chance to finish his sentence. I lunge toward him, sidestep his feeble attempt at a straight jab, then use the momentum to slam him face-first into the bar top. I make sure he collides on the side of his face I haven’t already destroyed. For symmetry purposes. Let no one say I’m not a gentleman.

The clack of bone on wood is like a thunderclap. Langdon slips down to puddle up on the floor. He’s groaning and bleeding profusely all down the front of his shirt.

I offer a hand to help him up, but he spits at me. I sigh. “Apparently, I didn’t hit you hard enough the first time. A smarter man would have known to walk away.”

He gurgles something incoherent in response. Satisfied with my handiwork, I stride towards the door. His idiot friends part like the Red Sea to allow me through. The doorbell chimes, then fades away. I was right—it felt good to break something.

Outside, the streets are even quieter now.

I go find my car, which remains parked in the Milton’s lot. Farah’s party is still going, and I have no idea if Iris is somewhere inside the pub or gone home.

Stephanie and her husband are standing outside in a pocket of shadow with their heads pressed together. Despite their hushed voices, I can still hear them. I cut around back so that I won’t be seen.

“… the fuck did you bring her around this morning?” Dennis demands.

“I don’t know. I was trying—I wanted to—”

“You wanted to make her feel bad,” he says, cutting her off. “You wanted her to be humiliated.”

“You know what she did!” she cries. “It’s not fair that she gets to move on with her life. It’s not fucking fair.”

“You need to let it go.”

“Of course you would say that,” she hisses. “You always had a thing for her. I saw the way you looked at her tonight.”

“How did I look at her?” he says wearily.

“Like you wanted to fuck her.”

“Jesus Christ, Steph. You’re drunk and emotional. Let’s just go home.”

“You go home!” she snaps. “I’m going back inside.”

She storms back into the pub, and her husband follows soon after. I get into my car and start the drive back to my hotel. I intentionally chose a place forty miles away. I wanted to get as far as possible from the stink of this town.

I strip and shower as soon as I’m back in my room. Langdon’s blood is caked onto my knuckles. I watch as it sluices away down the drain, pink and frothy.

Once I’ve toweled myself off, I walk naked back into the bedroom and sink onto the bed. My phone starts to vibrate on the bedside table. I’m about to ignore it—when I notice the number.

I let it keep going. This won’t last much longer. But three, four, five rings persist.

Finally, I pick it up.

“Iris.”

I can hear her breathing on the other side, but she doesn’t say anything. The rattle of the wind spins around on her side of the line, so she must be outside.

“Where are you?”

Another few seconds of silence. She’s trying to figure out whether to talk or hang up. “I… I’m at home. Sitting in the garden.” She sounds anguished, off-kilter in a way she’s never let herself be in my presence.

“Have you been drinking?”

“It’s only beer.”

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I don’t,” she laughs bitterly. “But since it’s all the rage here, I figured I’d give it a whirl.”

I sit up. “And? What’s the verdict?”

“It’s disgusting. But after a few, you stop caring about that taste.”

“How many is a few?”

“Who’s counting? Dad brought a twelve-pack, there’s five or six left… you do the math.”

“Is he with you?”

“Nuh-uh,” she slurs. “He’s passed out in the living room with his mouth open. He won’t wake up ‘til morning.”

“I think that should be your last beer, Iris.”

“You’re not my father.”

“No, I am your husband.”

She hiccups into the phone. It’s almost pitiful. Tempting enough to make me want to get dressed again and drive over there.

“Husband,” she scoffs. “No, you’re not. Husbands don’t lie to their wives. Husbands don’t leave their wives on the side of the street.”

“You must not have met many married couples.”

I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You’re not gonna apologize for what you did tonight?”

“No. You deserved it. So did he.”

“You really are an asshole, Kon.”

I smile. “And yet here you are, calling me.”

“Because I wanted to tell you something important.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m going to get a job. A real one this time. And I’m going to stand on my own two feet. Max and I don’t need you. We don’t need anyone.”

Her words are passionate. I wonder if she’ll remember much of it tomorrow.

“You’re gonna stay here?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You have lots of choices. You’re just being stubborn.”

“So you’re the only one who’s allowed to be stubborn?” she seethes. “You’re not the only one with pride, Konstantin. I made it ten freaking years without you.”

“‘Made it’ is a relative term, Iris. You barely ‘made it’ ten minutes tonight before some drunk asshole tried to force himself on you and I had to intervene.”

“It wasn’t—He didn’t—It’s complicated, okay?”

“You’ve really got to retire that phrase.”

“Fuck me,” she breathes. “I don’t know why I came back to this town.”

“Something about running from me, I believe.”

She’s silent for another heady breath. “I can’t trust you.”

“Then why are you calling me right now?” I ask.

Another silence. She’s chewing on her lip, I can tell without even being there to see it. That plump, perfect lip, so soft and so sweet and so tortured.

“Because… because you’re the only one I wanted to talk to.”

My cock stiffens at once. It’s amazing, really—since when is that the kind of shit that turns me on? I need you and I want you, that’s what does it for me these days. But a woman in a bar throwing herself at me with gusto doesn’t stir me in the slightest.

I’m ruined for everyone but her.

Iris’s breathing comes slow, rhythmically. The chaos in her head abating with every passing second.

“Where are you?” she asks softly.

“In my hotel room. It’s a dump, in case you were wondering.”

I start touching myself. Absent-mindedly at first, then more and more intentionally. The sound of her voice is the only catalyst I need. Especially the way she sounds right now, all soft-spoken and pliant.

I can just imagine her, sitting in the garden. Her bright green eyes shadowed and her dark hair flowing behind her in the warm breeze. Moonlight dappling her skin.

“Guess this town isn’t what you’re used to.”

“No, it’s not,” I say bluntly. “I’m guessing it’s not what you’re used to, either.”

“Not anymore,” she admits. “But sometimes, I wonder if it’s where I belong.”

“It’s not.”

“You sound certain.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

I have to suppress a growl as I masturbate to her voice, to her pauses, to every breath she takes. I imagine that she’s sitting in front of me, her green eyes never leaving my face.

“You’ve got too much spirit to let this place shackle you to the dirt, Iris.”

“Once upon a time, that’s what I thought, too,” she laughs. Then she sighs. I start stroking myself harder. “I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you. I saw your gray eyes and I said those words out loud: There goes trouble. I just… knew. ”

“What did you know?”

“I knew you’d break me.”

I chuckle under my breath. “You’re going to regret admitting that in the morning.”

“Probably. Add it to the list.”

“Iris,” I rasp.

“Yes?”

I fist my cock hard, going harder and harder, building to the climax I didn’t know I needed tonight. “Say my name.”

“What?”

“Say my name,” I tell her, through gritted teeth.

She doesn’t ask me to repeat myself. She doesn’t even ask for an explanation.

She just does as I say.

“Kon,” she whispers. “Kon.”

That does it. Cum spurts out of my cock, splattering onto my legs and part of the sheet. I growl wordlessly as I lunge up to grab a towel and clean myself.

She’s quiet for a long time until the mess is taken care of and I’m settled back in bed. It feels wrong not to have her here next to me. But I’m aware that attempting to convince her of anything at this stage is fruitless. She’ll have to make her own realizations in her own time.

“Kon?” she says, whispering my name for a third time, the only words that’ve been spoken in the past ten minutes.

“Yes, kiska?”

“I should go.”

I’m not sure if she’s looking for me to stop her, but I don’t. I’m done telling her what to do. “Okay.”

She hesitates, then adds, “I never thanked you.”

“No,” I say. “You didn’t. And do me a favor: don’t. Goodnight, Iris.”

“Yeah. Okay. Goodnight, Kon.”

I hang up, drop my phone onto the bed next to me, and snuff out the lamp. But when it’s dark and I’m lying on my back staring up at the ceiling, I realize sleep is not coming anytime soon.

The memory of her saying my name floats through my head. Kon. Kon. Kon…

Like she wanted to say it. Like she was looking for an excuse to say it. Like she found in it the solace she never knew she needed.

And just like that…

I’m hard again.

16

IRIS

I wake up with a splitting headache and a blank space where my memory should be. My bed is damp with sweat, so I force myself to get up. I brush my teeth, shower, and get dressed, and still the headache persists.

When I slump my way downstairs, Max is playing in the garden and Dad is leaning against the sink with a coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

I notice the distinct tang of brandy mixed in with the coffee smell. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” I ask.

“You the fuckin’ clock police?” he grumbles.

I ignore his sharp gaze as I open the fridge door and peer inside. I’m standing there dumbly for a full thirty seconds before I realize I’m nowhere close to hungry. In fact, the thought of eating is making me nauseous.

I close the fridge door and grab one of the mugs off the drying rack by the sink. I fill it to the top from the pot. I’m reaching for the cream and sugar when Dad says, “Drink it black. Better for the hangover.”

“This is not a hangover.”

“Sweetheart, you’re lyin’ to the wrong guy.”

He looks suspiciously clear-eyed and level-headed. “How are you not feeling this?” I ask.

“Keep drinking for long enough and it becomes medicine.”

I plunk myself down at the table and bury my head in my hands. I feel like someone is chiseling at my eyeballs from the back. The last thing I remember is getting two random guys to half-carry, half-drag Langdon back into the pub. I hadn’t even said goodbye to anyone; I just left.

Because I did not want to be the girl whose husband just went around punching people in the face.

I’m already the girl who—

“You gonna tell me why you showed up last night in a cab?” Dad asks.

I stare into the black lake of my coffee. “I was done for the night. What’s it to you?”

“You got into another fight with him, didn’t you?”

I’m trying to string enough coherent words together to form a denial when I remember something. I grab my phone and go through the call log. “You gotta be kidding me,” I moan when I see that Kon is the last dialed number.

Now that I think about it, I vaguely recall talking to Kon last night, but the memory is hazy, the words indistinct. Maybe it’s better that way.

“So?” he persists. “What happened?”

“None of your business.”

“Considering you’re living in my house now, I’d say it’s my—”

“No,” I hiss over him, “and while we’re on the topic, I’m not even so sure it’s ‘your house’ anymore. How much money have I sent you for ten fucking years, Dad? How much of your mortgage have I paid?”

His mouth twists up all sour. “Yeah, well, I figured you were trying to assuage your guilt.”

I wince. Honestly, I’d prefer he slapped me. It would hurt less.

“Maybe I was doing it to be… nice,” I say softly, trying desperately to keep calm. “Maybe I was doing it because you’re my father and I wanted to. If you think I was making amends for some perceived—”

He snorts audibly. “Ain’t nothing ‘perceived’ about it, ‘Ris. How long you gonna live with your head stuck in the damn sand? Pretending like shit ain’t what it is?”

“I’m not pretending anything. I’m just telling you what really happened. Same as I did back then.”

He stubs out his cigarette angrily in the ashtray beside the sink and turns his back on me. As if he can’t bear to look at me any longer. As if I’m the problem in his life.

And despite the fact that I’ve been telling myself over and over again that his opinion doesn’t matter, it still hurts. It hurts so much that I’m in danger of crying.

Instead of succumbing to tears that won’t change a thing, I take a huge gulp of coffee and cringe as the bitter taste taints my tongue.

“Fine,” he spits abruptly, as if we haven’t spent the last five minutes stewing in a hot silence. “Don’t tell me shit; I don’t care. I’ll say this much, though: don’t fuck this up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got a good thing going with this guy. Don’t fuck it up.”

“You have no idea who he is or why I left in the first place,” I reply coldly.

“And if history is any indicator, you’re not gonna fill me in, neither. But whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. You love him, don’t you?”

I do a double-take. I wasn’t aware my father even knew the word “love.” Lord knows he never said it to me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quietly as I gaze at my reflection in the coffee. “I have to protect myself. And my son. Especially my son.”

“Who better to do the protecting for you than a man who gets shit done?”

“Ha!” I laugh miserably. “That’s one way to put it.”

“It’s the only way. You women say you want sensitive types, but that’s a crock of shit. You want men who get things done. By any means necessary. If he were all soft and sensitive, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day. But he isn’t, is he? He’s hard. He ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”

“Don’t lecture me on my life,” I whisper weakly. Christ, my head hurts so bad.

“You really gonna take the boy away from his father?”

For some reason, that’s what sets me off. I lurch to my feet and the chair topples to the linoleum floor behind me. “If that’s what it takes to keep Max safe, then yes, I am! And if Kon tracks us down a second time, then I’ll do it again. And a third, and a fourth, and on and on to fucking infinity. I’ll run with him as many times as it takes to keep Kon out of our lives forever.”

I hear a squeak from the kitchen door that leads to the garden. I stop short when I see Max standing there, gaping at me with a heartbroken look on his face, framed by the crumbling paint of the very door I stormed out of when I left this town for the last time.

“You… you’re taking me away from Dad?” he says, choked-up.

“I… no, Max… That’s not—”

“I was right,” he insists. “You lied to me.”

“You don’t know the whole story, sweetheart.”

“Because you won’t tell it to me!” he shouts.

“Max, honey—”

I stand up fast and knock over the cup of coffee in my hand. It singes my hand, then the mug falls and cracks against my bare toes.

“Shit!” I scream. The distraction gives Max enough time to turn and run away from me. “Goddammit!”

“Glad to see the boy’s got some balls on him,” my father remarks, cool as could be. “Glad to see he’s got some fight in him.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snarl, whipping around to face him. “Did you know he was standing there?”

“I might have.”

“You are… you’re just—”

“What?” he snaps. “Tell me. Go on then, say what you’ve been dying to say since you showed up on my doorstep.”

“You’re a monster,” I say. I’m too angry to think of anything better.

“I’m just tryin’ to help you,” he says calmly, as though I’m being the impossible one.

“Help me?” I repeat. “Help me?! If you really want to help me, then maybe you can find it in yourself to have my back for once in your goddamn life.”

His eyes narrow. I already know I’m fighting a losing battle. But I still keep fighting. Because apparently, I’m a masochist that way.

“Are we back to that again?” he mutters.

“Back to what, Dad? We never actually landed on that in the first place. We circled past it once, you called me a liar, and I left town. End of story.”

“You were hysterical. You misunderstood—”

“I didn’t misunderstand jack shit, Dad. I know exactly what happened and the moment it did, I came home and I told you. And you… you believed him. Not your own daughter. Him.”

His face is impassive. A craggy cliff of rock worn down by one hard year after the next.

“You always liked attention,” he says quietly.

I can feel the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I should never have started this conversation, because now, we’re in too deep. Now, we have to finish it.

Unless we wring each other’s throats first.

“What are you saying?”

“Everyone talked about you Iris. How pretty you were. ‘Pretty as a picture’—you know how many times I heard that? And you ate it up. Your mama, she retreated into her room so life couldn’t get to her. But you were out there, living yours like there wasn’t a damn thing wrong.”

I want to tug my hair out and scream until I can’t scream anymore. “I was a kid, Dad. I just wanted to be left alone. No one has ever just left me alone.”

“You’re saying you never encouraged what happened. That don’t ring true, ‘Ris. I think you liked the attention. I think you liked his attention, and when you got it, I think maybe you got more than you bargained for.”

It’s revolting, the things he’s saying to me. Such a blatant rewriting of the nastiest part of my history, as if it wasn’t bad enough just the way it happened.

Dad must read the expression on my face, because he scowls and drops his empty mug into the sink with a harsh clatter.

“Don’t stand there and play victim,” he growls. “You’re no victim. I’m the one who lost my damn job.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since,” I fire back through the knot in my throat. “Maybe that was my mistake. I acted as though I was the one to blame. I acted as though I wanted forgiveness. When you should have been the one asking for it.”

He makes a dry, scratching sound with his throat. Then he grabs another cigarette and lights it up. “That right there is your problem, Iris,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “You act as though the whole world owes you something. It doesn’t.”

“I’m not talking about the whole world, Dad,” I say fiercely. “I’m talking about you. Yes, I expected something from you—because that’s what it means to be a parent. You will always have someone expecting things from you. That’s the cardinal fucking rule of parenthood.”

Then I turn and storm out into the garden, desperate for some air because it feels like no matter how hard I try, I just can’t breathe in this town.

The adrenaline pumping through my veins is toxic. It doesn’t make me feel strong or powerful; it makes me feel restless and lost. Like I want to punch through a wall, but I’m not sure if I’ll survive the rubble.

I have no idea where Max is. I need to go find him, to explain things and make this right. But for this second only, I’m glad he’s not around to see me unravel.

Because I can feel the threads loosen. I can feel myself coming undone. It doesn’t help that the ache in my head won’t subside and the sparse memories from last night are fracturing into even more unrecognizable pieces.

I wonder what I said to Kon on the phone. Did I call to say I loved him? That I hated him? Did I call to make peace or start a fight?

Did I call to tell him to leave town, or to take me with him when he left?

I start walking with some vague hope of outrunning my demons, though ten years of running has yet to do that. Sure enough, I hear those same demons whispering vile things in my ears.

She really thinks she’s the shit…

You always liked attention….

You’ll always be the town slut.

I stop in place and squeeze my eyes shut for so long that the fireworks behind my closed eyelids start to take shape. I see Langdon’s face crunching against the ground. I see Kon’s perfect silhouette looming in front of me, his fist raised and his expression as black as the night.

I meant what I said to my father—no one has had my back for my entire life.

Until him.

Until Kon.

And I fled from him. Why? Because I was so angry.

Angry that I needed him. Angry that I wanted him. Angry that I loved him.

Most of all, angry that I wasn’t brave enough to say all those things out loud.

17

KON

The backyard is eerily quiet when I pull up.

I spy Max sitting under the shade of a leafy elm, but his shoulders sag and his head is turned down. The air is stale with tension.

“Hey, kid.”

“Dad,” he says with none of his usual enthusiasm.

I sit down on the ground next to him. “Talk to me, son.”

He looks uncertain. “I wish Mom would stop hiding things from me,” he says in a sort of haunted, cracked voice that belongs to someone decades older than him. “She thinks I’m a baby.”

“You’re her son. You’ll always be a baby to her.”

“I’m your son, too,” Max points out. “You don’t treat me like a baby.”

“No two people are the same in this world. She loves you in the way that she loves you. I love you in the way that I love you. But we both love you, Max.”

He scrunches up his face angrily. Then, as if it’s getting to be too exhausting to hold onto his frustration, he sighs and slumps forward against my side. “She and Grandpa had a fight this morning,” he says quietly. “I think it was about you.”

“Hm.” I frown and glance toward the house. The curtains are drawn tight over the windows. Nothing stirs. “I’ll talk to him. Where’s your mom?”

“She went for a walk. I don’t want to see her.”

I nod and stroke his hair before I go indoors to see Roy. I find him on the sofa in the living room with a lukewarm beer clasped in his fingers. He’s got the television on, but the picture is staticky and indistinct and the sound comes from miles away.

“Roy.”

The old man blinks up at me stupidly. “‘Ris isn’t here.”

“I’m not looking for her. I’m looking for you.”

He makes no sign of surprise other than a slight twitch in his brow. I sit in the ratty armchair at his side and cross one ankle over the opposite knee. I say nothing, just observing him.

“TV’s shit now,” Roy rasps without quite meeting my eye. “Need to buy a new one. They’re expensive these days.”

“So I hear,” I say. “Turn it off.”

He doesn’t miss the command in my voice. He turns it off immediately and takes an extra-long swig of his beer. “Beer?” he asks.

“No.”

Roy nods. “I’m glad ‘Ris found you,” he says, making an attempt at civility. “The boy needs a man in his life.”

I ignore that and lean back in the chair. I need to lull him into a false sense of security. It’s not my strong suit, especially considering the way I’m built, the things that have been bred into me. I’m not one for setting people at ease. Especially not men I want to crush beneath my heel like cockroaches.

“How long have you lived in this town, Roy?”

“Since the day I was born.”

“You met your wife here?”

“Mhmm. She was an army brat. Bounced around to hell and back every few months, you know how it goes. She moved here when she was seventeen, and we met. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. ‘Ris looks like her.”

“I see.”

Roy gets up abruptly, beer still in hand and goes to a cabinet next to the sofa. He pulls the drawer open and takes out a small framed photograph that was resting there face-down.

“That was her. Margaret,” he says, handing it to me with something resembling affection.

I take the picture and look down at the faded photograph. He’s right, Iris does look like her. Their hair is the same intense black, though Margaret’s eyes are sadder, more sunken in. It makes her beauty depressing, in a weird kind of way. Like seeing rats and weeds take over a building that was once beautiful.

“You married young?” I inquire.

“I was a bit older than she was,” Roy admits. “She was eighteen when we got hitched. I was thirty-one. About a year later, Iris came along. Margaret’s the one that named her. She wanted a pretty name, so she chose between flowers. Holly, Rose, Petunia, that sort of shit. I hated Iris the least.”

He takes another long sip of his beer. I can sense him start to loosen up. “Having Iris changed things. Margaret suffered from… fuck, what’s the word, where you’re all sad ‘n shit after the—”

“Postpartum depression.”

“Yeah, that,” he says. “She started crying a lot, refusing to eat, refusing to hold the baby. It got so bad that I took her to a doctor. Doc told me to give her space, be patient. The fuck did I have time to do all that and take care of the child, too? But hell, I did the best I could. I was patient with Margaret. Maybe that was my mistake. She sure as hell didn’t get better. Got worse, matter of fact. All the setbacks didn’t help.”

“Setbacks?”

“Her daddy was killed in action,” Roy says. “Then her brother overdosed a few weeks later. She refused to step foot out of the house after that and she wanted nothing to do with ‘Ris, either. Used to complain that she got terrible migraines when the baby was around.”

The baby. Something about the way he says that depersonalizes Iris. It strips her of her personhood. Makes her just another obstacle in the man’s life. Another injustice he’s had to suffer through.

I don’t like it.

“But I worked hard,” he boasts. “I kept my head up and I worked hard for both of them.”

“Then something happened.”

Roy looks up at me through shrewd, squinted eyes. “Why do I get the feeling I’m telling you stuff you already know?”

He’s not wrong. I know bits and pieces. But the story keeps dancing just out of my reach. I want to hear it in its entirety right from him, even if the years have withered it into something that doesn’t quite ring true.

“What happened next, Roy?” I prod gently.

He sighs and peels the wet label off his beer. “I went to work for a man named Kyle. Kyle Jacobson.”

“I met his daughter yesterday.”

“Stephanie,” Roy confirms with a nod. “Nice girl. Pretty. She and Iris were good friends.”

“I’m not so sure you’re right about that.”

Roy’s expression sours. “You sure she didn’t tell you this stuff?”

“I’m asking you about it.”

He’s starting to look nervous now. He can feel a noose slowly tightening around his neck. But he waltzed right into the snare. He has only himself to blame.

“Listen,” he says, rubbing his hand against the dirty leg of his jeans, “Iris, she’s a lot like her mother. She has a penchant for drama. Didn’t help that she was always such a looker. People noticed her. Men, especially. Men always looked at Iris.”

I can feel my eyebrows knitting together in slow-growing anger, but I need the old man to keep talking. We’re so fucking close.

“And she can deny it all she wants, but she liked it. The attention, I mean. It didn’t always do her that many favors, though. She didn’t really have a lot of girl friends ‘til Stephanie.”

“What does this have to do with Kyle Jacobson?”

“Let’s just say she created a lot of trouble for him,” Roy says. “At least she tried to.”

“How did she try to?”

“She… made an accusation. Claimed that he had been… inappropriate with her.”

I tense, feeling the anger slowly seep out of my veins and into my face. Roy seems to take notice, because he waves his hand in the air as though it’s of no consequence.

“It was all bullshit and lies,” Roy says. “It wasn’t true.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I knew Kyle. The man was a stand-up guy. He was happily married, beautiful little girl. A real family man who I was not only friends with, but who I worked for, for nearly two decades. ‘Til ‘Ris ruined all that, of course.”

“Ruined it,” I rumble. “Iris was the one who ruined it.”

“Yeah, hell yeah. The kinds of things she was saying would break up any kinda partnership. We managed to keep it contained just between us, more or less, but Kyle wanted me out of his business, out of his life. I couldn’t even really blame him for that.”

“So you blamed her instead.”

“Well, it was her fault, wasn’t it? She’s the one who lied. And after that, wasn’t nobody in town gonna hire me. But I couldn’t afford to move, either. That’s when shit really fell apart. Money dried up. And Iris… well, she just ran. Couldn’t handle owning up to her own mistakes.” He glances up at me, chin held proud. “There’s two sides to every story, Kon.”

“Did you even bother to hear hers?” I snarl, my anger gleaming through.

Roy hesitates, his eyes going wide for a moment when he realizes how badly he’s pissed me off. “She was—shit, man, she was sixteen! A fuckin’ kid. Kyle told me what happened, what really happened. Iris just babbled some bullshit.”

“Iris doesn’t lie,” I growl. My hands are squeezing the armrests hard enough to snap them off.

“She was bored of this town. Wasn’t getting enough attention, I guess. She was looking for a way out.”

“And you think this was the way she chose?” I say. “Does that seem likely to you?”

“I don’t know what she expected.”

“She probably expected to be believed, for starters.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “I did what I could for her. I looked after her even when I didn’t know how. She—”

I stand up. “You’re a fucking coward, Roy Keller,” I spit at him. “You’re a sad, pathetic little man too afraid to face himself in the mirror.”

Anger flits across his face, the kind that precedes flying fists, but he’s not a young man anymore. It would be signing his death warrant and he knows it. So he sits in place, glowering and withering as time and self-pity sap him of everything that ever might’ve been worthwhile about who he is.

“She’s putting on an act for you,” he insists. “But sooner or later, you’ll see what I mean.”

“I suggest you stop talking now.”

“She can be stubborn.”

“So can I,” I tell him.

I get to my feet and head to the door. Just before I leave, I stop and look at him. He’s still plastered to the couch, with the label of his beer flapping from the bottle like a pitiful flag.

“I will take care of her the way you failed to,” I intone.

“I did my duty as—”

“You did fuck all,” I growl. “You didn’t deserve anything she gave you over the years. You don’t deserve her now.”

He shoves himself off the sofa, the beer clattering to the floor, and for one brief flash, I see a glimmer of the man he used to be. Or rather, the man he might’ve been if he wasn’t so weak.

“I’m her fucking father!” he bellows.

“You stopped being her father the day she was born,” I intone. “Now, you’re just another man who failed her.”

I shake my head and walk out of the house, leaving him twisting miserably in the wind. Max is standing by the pavement, tossing his ball against the wall. “Hey, Max, I’m gonna go find your mother, okay?”

He nods. “And then what?”

“Then we’re going back home.”

Max’s eyes go wide. “All of us?”

“All of us.”

“But… Mom?”

“You leave her to me,” I say. “Go upstairs and pack. I’ll be back soon.”

Max rushes into the house. I climb into my car and start driving.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I find her in the park, sitting on a bench that faces away from the road. Her black hair is floating dreamily in the wind like the dark sails of a pirate ship.

I park the car and walk over to her. She doesn’t notice me until I sit down right next to her.

“Jesus!” she gasps, as jumpy as ever.

“Deep in thought?”

“You didn’t make a sound.”

“I’ve practiced.”

She relaxes a little, but not all the way. She stares out at the expanse of greenery in front of her. It’s a nice day. Warm, but not sweltering. There’s no one else here.

“No one really goes out in this town, do they?” I observe.

“I thought I needed to get away from L.A. I thought I needed a real change of scenery. I think I overshot the mark.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

She sighs. “I called you last night.”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“I guess I’m just trying to figure out what I said to you.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t usually drink. Last night was just… I needed—I needed help.”

“Did you?” I ask. “That’s new.”

She eyes me warily. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not usually open to accepting help from anyone.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and she launches herself to her feet and starts to pace in circles in front of me “I can fight my own battles,” she says at last. “I didn’t need your help last night. I can handle this place. These people.”

“Yes, you can. You just don’t. Or won’t. I’m not sure which.”

Her eyebrows furrow down. “I’ve handled it perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“If you really believe that, then you’re delusional.”

Iris’s face falls. “Yeah, well, that’s a popular opinion in this town.”

“Sit down.”

“Don’t boss me around.”

I jerk forward, grab her by the arm, and pull her right onto my lap. She gasps with shock and tries to get back up, but I hold her tightly, refusing to let her go.

“We’re never going to be able to have a damn conversation if you keep fighting me at every turn.”

“So your answer is to force me to listen? How diplomatic.”

“No. My answer is to force you to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps. She wriggles again, and the friction on my dick is almost enough to make me bend her over this park bench here and now.

“Your father had plenty.”

Her eyes go wide. “What did he tell you?”

“Why do you care?” I ask. “It’s not like you give a shit about my opinion.”

She frowns, and for a moment, she stops struggling. She just kind of sits there on my lap, staring down at me as though she’s trying to figure something out.

“What did he say to you?” she asks again.

“I’m more interested in hearing your version of events.”

“Oh God,” she breathes, twisting around in my lap. “Kon…”

“No more excuses, Iris,” I tell her firmly. “You can’t expect complete honesty from me if you refuse to give the same in return.”

Her hand flit tremulously near my chest. “My past has no bearing on our future.”

“Bullshit,” I pronounce, harsh enough to make her wince. “You carry that shit around with you everywhere you go. You don’t just have scars—you have open wounds where your heart should be. You really think it wouldn’t have bled into our lives? You really think it hasn’t already?”

Her anger recedes behind a fog of uncertainty, combined with insecurity. “Kon…”

“Tell me.”

“Kon…”

“Keep saying my name like that, and I will fuck the life out of you right here and now. And then I’ll still make you tell me.”

She pushes herself off me, and this time, I let her go. I can sense the defeat in the fall of her shoulders and the sadness in her eyes.

She never wanted to tell me this story.

But she’s going to.

Some cuts can’t heal until you show them the light.

18

IRIS

He stands and comes to a stop in front of me. His hand rises to my lips and he traces them with two of his fingers. I exhale shakily. He captures my breath in his palm.

“You can tell me anything, Iris,” he murmurs. “Anything.”

His gray eyes are steel and ice. This man has seen things, done things, that will never again see the light of day. If there was ever a person I could trust with this story, it would be him.

But the irrational fear that’s nestled in my gut since the day my father turned his back on me… it’s still there. Crying out to me to be quiet, to be fucking quiet. Stifle the story and then maybe, in time, it’ll cease to control my every waking nightmare.

“Iris.”

I blink hard and a tear falls down the side of my cheek.

“Do you trust me?”

I don’t have to think about my answer. “Yes.”

He nods. “Good.” He wipes the tear away with one stroke of his thumb. “Then tell me.”

So I do.

“High school was hard for me,” I start, cringing at my own words. “I… That is to say… I just didn’t fit in, more or less.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to figure out what I need to say. More importantly, what it’s necessary for me to say. Somehow, I can’t seem to get around the minutiae of the story.

It makes me realize just how much memory I’ve retained. Suppressed doesn’t mean erased, I’m learning. It’s all there, tucked away in that dark place I’ve avoided for more than a decade.

“Boys liked me,” I admit. “Maybe that’s why the girls didn’t. I was isolated a lot in school. It was easier when I was younger. People knew about my mom, and that made them a little sympathetic. But then, a few months after her funeral, people started forgetting again. They didn’t look at me like the girl who’d lost her mother. They looked at me like a threat. Not Stephanie, though. She was nice to me.”

“The Stephanie we met?” Kon asks.

I nod. “I know it doesn’t seem that way, having met her now. But it’s only because she’s still angry with me. She’s still hurt. I can’t really blame her.”

Kon frowns but says nothing.

“I’d just lost my mother, and she was there for me. Suddenly, I wasn’t so lonely anymore. She made other people be there for me, too. Not that people suddenly liked me or anything. They just… forgot that they hated me, I guess. Mostly because she made them.”

I take a breath, trying to keep my head above the dark water of the past. But with every word that passes my lips, I feel a little lighter, a little less frantic. Maybe what I needed was to talk about all this. Maybe I should have done it a long time ago.

“So we hung out a lot. Her house was better than mine, or at least, I felt safer there. Dad was drinking so much after Mom died. Honestly, he preferred when I wasn’t there. It let him slowly kill himself in peace. None of that bad stuff was there at the Jacobsons’, though. It was just her sweet mom baking us cookies and her dad teasing us about boys. When I was there, I could pretend my life was normal.”

“But stuff changed,” he guesses.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Stuff changed.”

I stop, take a breath, and dive back in. “The first time I felt… uncomfortable in the Jacobsons’ house was a few months after I turned fifteen. They’d just gotten a pool installed and Stephanie and I were breaking it in. We’d saved up for months to buy these bikinis we’d earmarked in the display window of this store downtown.”

I remember that bikini clearly. It had string sides over the hips, with a black bottom and a white top. It was sexy, probably way too sexy for a teenager, but I didn’t exactly have parents who would tell me otherwise.

“So we got them, and we were lounging by the pool one Saturday. Stephanie went into the house to get us some popsicles. While she was gone, Mr. Jacobson came outside. I caught him… staring at me. Not the way he usually did, like I was his daughter’s friend. He was looking at me like… like I was a woman, and he’d just noticed that.”

I stop talking because my hands have started shaking again. Kon looks calm as ever, but when I look down, I realize his hands are clenched into fists and his knuckles are white.

“Go on,” he grits.

“When he noticed me looking back at him, he gave me a smile and walked back inside. But that moment stuck out in my head. It felt like… an invasion of my privacy, somehow. Even though I was the one in his house, lounging by his pool. He can look wherever he wants, right?”

“No,” Kon snarls. “He can’t.”

I swallow hard. “Then Stephanie came back outside, and I pushed that uncomfortable feeling away and forgot about it. Life went on. I felt stupid for feeling uncomfortable.” I look up at Kon. “Can we… can we sit?”

Without a word, he pulls me down at his side on the bench. My legs feel suddenly wobbly and my throat is dry.

“But then it happened again. Maybe a year later. I had a part time job bagging groceries, and he drove past when I was walking home one day. It was getting dark, so he pulled over and offered me a lift. By this time, I’d forgotten all about the way he had looked at me by the pool. So I got in, he drove me home, and on the way there, we talked. He asked me a whole bunch of questions about school, my job, my dad, the kind of music I listened to. I thought he was just making conversation. But…”

“But?”

I take a deep breath. “He would look at me a little too long. The way he smiled at me was… different. It felt like he was really, really interested in my answers. I told myself I was being stupid, but I also wanted to get out of the car as fast as possible. Then, when he parked outside the house, he didn’t unlock the doors immediately. I just sat there while he looked at me. He told me that if I ever needed anything, I could come to him. I remember what he said verbatim: ‘I’ll always be here for you, Iris. If you father can’t take care of you, I will.’”

I knead my fingers together. “Then he told me that I was… the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.”

I notice the way that Kon’s body braces. It’s a head-to-toe shiver and stiffening.

“And you felt threatened.”

“I wasn’t sure how I felt at the time,” I admit. “I made excuses for him. I convinced myself everything was normal, everything was the same, nothing had changed. For another few months, it was.”

I shake my head. That familiar old clawing feeling in my stomach is back with a vengeance. “A few months after I turned sixteen, I was spending the night with Stephanie. Mr. Jacobson was supposed to be on a business trip. Her mom was sick, so she turned in early, and it was just Stephanie and me. We broke into Mr. Jacobson’s liquor cabinet downstairs, and between the two of us, we finished a bottle of wine. Stephanie was the kind of drunk that got sleepy. I was the kind that got wired. She passed out in the den, and I sat beside her watching stupid shows on TV for a while. I saw car headlights outside the window and realized that Mr. Jacobson had come home early.

“I was freaking out about getting caught. So I cleaned up everything in a hurry. I was washing the wine glasses in the sink when he came in. He said hi really casual, totally normal. Asked me where everyone was, then didn’t bother listening to the answer. He got kind of close, like not too close but closer than he should’ve been, and asked if me and Stephanie had gotten drunk.

“I felt so guilty, I confessed immediately. He just laughed, which took me by surprise. Then he asked me to make him a cup of coffee. It felt strange to walk around his kitchen and get him something he could have done himself.”

“He wanted to watch you,” Kon growls, his eyes dark with anger.

I nod. “It felt weird, but I wasn’t thinking too hard. I was still kinda drunk, and it was easy to tell myself everything was fine. I’d known Mr. Jacobson for years. He’d watched me grow up. He employed my dad. I was his daughter’s best friend.

“So we sat there kind of quiet. I was still worried that he was going to get mad about the drinking. But he just drank his coffee, then handed me the empty cup and asked me to wash it.”

I trail off, feeling myself being pulled back into that moment. It’s been so long since I allowed myself to fall back into it. And now that I’m halfway in, it feels like there’s an anchor tied to my ankles and I’ve just been thrown into the ocean.

“I… I was rinsing it out when I… I felt him. Right behind me.”

Kon’s jaw tightens. He looks scary, but somehow, that comforts me. As though that scariness is reserved for the rest of the world. Not for me.

“I felt him breathing on my neck and, like, crowding around me. And I could feel his… his erection. Touching my leg. I dropped the cup in the sink and it made this huge sound. I thought it was loud, but no one woke up. No one came to save me.”

“Fuck,” Kon growls. His eyes pinch closed. It hurts me to hurt him like this.

“I wish I could tell you I fought him,” I whisper. “But I didn’t. I just froze. It felt like I wasn’t really there at all. Like he was touching someone next to me and there was nothing I could do but watch.

“He slipped his hands under my shirt and touched my boobs. When I started crying, he spun me around and forced me to look at him. He told me that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he’d take care of me. He told me… a lot of things.”

Don’t cry, my beauty.

I’m not going to hurt you.

I’m only ever going to take care of you. Why do you think I gave your father a job? I wanted to make sure that he could provide for you.

Think of me as your guardian angel. Think of me as your protector.

Think of yourself as mine.

“He raped you,” Kon growls, so low I feel it more than I hear it.

I’ve never used that word before. I’ve actively avoided using it. Because maybe if I never had to admit what happened, I could erase it from my past.

Like everyone else did.

“Yes,” I say with a tired nod. “He raped me.”

19

KON

In a lifetime of anger, this is the blackest fury I’ve ever felt.

There’s so much rage coursing through me that I break out in a sweat hot enough to burn. My hands shake uncontrollably. I tighten them into fists and focus on Iris.

She’s pale and distant, her expression lost in old memory and fresh pain. Her voice, when it finally emerges from whatever horrible fucking chasm of the past that she was thrown into, is soft and timid enough to break my goddamn heart.

“Do… do you believe me?”

I recoil from her. “What?”

She’s holding her breath, I can tell, because my body is mirroring hers, in tune with hers, and my own breath is leaden in my chest. “Do you believe me?” she asks again.

“Of course I do,” I rasp. “Of course I do.”

“No one else did,” she murmurs.

“Who did you tell?”

“You know who I told.”

“Tell me again.”

She’s starting to look nervous. She’s known me long enough now to know that those who have wronged me must be shown the error of their ways. And they must be shown painfully. Old Kon might’ve said that Iris isn’t me, sins committed against her don’t affect my own life.

But Old Kon was a fucking moron.

New Kon knows that I’d go to war against anyone who ever made Iris feel for one fraction of a second like she doesn’t deserve every single thing in the world.

“Kon, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It all matters, Iris. It all fucking matters,” I growl. “Tell me.”

Her eyes melt behind tears. “I told my father first,” she whispers. She blinks hard and I see her irises emerge, heartbreakingly green.

“What did you tell him?”

“Everything.” Her voice is still so tiny, so frail. “Exactly the way I told you.”

“And he didn’t believe you?”

“He believed that there was…”

She flinches and her body seems to spasm as though she has no control over it. I want to touch her, hold her together the way she needs. But I’m scared that with the amount of anger raging inside me right now, I’ll crush her instead.

“He believed there was sex,” she forces out. “But… he didn’t think it was… rape.”

“And how the fuck did he come to that conclusion?”

“He asked me if I struggled, or screamed, or fought him off. I told him the truth. I told him I was crying, that I froze up… He said it meant that I must have encouraged it.”

I’m torn between storming off to kill Kyle Jacobson and storming off to kill Roy Keller. The only thing keeping me in my seat right now is the woman sitting next to me.

She needs me for a purpose other than vengeance right now.

“He told me to forget it ever happened and continue with my life.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she admits. “I cried myself to sleep and stayed in bed for a week. Stephanie called me a lot, but I ignored all of it. Then she started coming over to the house asking to see me. But I couldn’t face her. Dad made excuses for me, but in the end, she snuck into my room about a week and a half after… after it happened. Dad was at work and I was home alone. She wanted to know what happened.”

“And?”

Her eyes are downcast in her lap, where she’s stroking one lonely finger against the back of the opposite hand over and over again. “She was my best friend. She was the sister I never had. It was naïve and stupid and probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I told her, believing she would… understand.”

Her eyes meet mine for a second, before she lowers them. “She didn’t.”

“That fucking cunt.”

Iris’s roving finger stills. “Just for the record, I didn’t tell her that it… it went… all the way. I told her that he kissed me. That he tried to do more than just kiss me, but it stopped before that.”

She bites her bottom lip like she’s trying to chew it off. Then she closes her eyes for a moment. “But the details didn’t matter to her. She just went pale. Then she went quiet. She started pacing, and then she started talking so fast I could barely keep up. She told me that she didn’t believe it had happened. That I was probably drunk and had dreamed up the whole thing. I told her I hadn’t. She grabbed the framed picture I had of my mother and threw it at me. Then she stormed out.”

I can’t contain it anymore. With an angry roar, I bring my fist crashing down on the bench. It splinters, cheap old bullshit, and shards of wood go flying everywhere. One shard cuts open the side of my palm. I see blood but I feel no pain. The anger is too hot for that.

Iris looks blankly at my blood dripping onto the broken plank. Plink. Plink. Plink. She seems mesmerized by it. “Maybe… maybe a small naïve part of me thought that coming back here would repair some things.”

“What needs repairing?”

She shrugs. “My relationship with my father. My relationship with Stephanie. I took it as a good sign she didn’t spit at me when she first saw me.”

“She did worse,” I snarl. “She smiled to your face while her claws came out behind your back.”

“It’s justified.”

“You told her that her father raped—”

“No, I told her—”

“Fuck the details!” I roar, standing up, chest heaving. “Fuck the X’s and O’s of this bullshit. Does it matter if he came at you from front or from behind? Does it matter if he kissed you first or just tried to unbutton your pants? Of course not. He touched you in a way you never gave him permission to do. He will burn in hell for what he did. I’ll send him there myself.”

Under any other circumstances, my rage flowing out like lava might’ve intimidated Iris. But she’s borderline catatonic right now. She just regards me from her seat as my spilled blood soaks into the wood next to her.

“He was her father,” Iris says with a far too casual shrug. “She loved him.”

“And what about your father?” I demand. “Explain that. Justify that. Defend that.”

“Kyle was his only friend at the end. He lost his job because of me.”

“Fucking hell, Iris!” I growl, spinning on my heel to pace back and forth. “You should never have come back to this town.”

“I had no choice.”

“You had every choice,” I storm at her. “You chose to run from me. To the worst place on earth.”

“Because you lied to me!” she says, her flaring up again.

“You knew who I was,” I tell her. “You knew what I was. I never made a secret of my last name.”

“That doesn’t mean you explained it, either. Did you really think I would know exactly what it means to belong to a Bratva, much less run one?”

“I figured I had time enough to teach you.”

“You figured wrong.”

I shake my head at her. “All this strength. All this fire. Where was it with your father, with Stephanie Jacobson? With the people who failed you? For God’s sake, Iris, all I’m trying to do is show you that you need to fight for yourself, because it’s a godless fucking world and everyone in it is a wolf. Skin the ones who dare to bite you.”

The silence is ominous and claustrophobic. It’s like trying to breathe underwater. The dust in the air, the intermittent cracking of the broken wood—all of it grates on my nerves.

“I… I should get going,” she mumbles. “Max will be waiting for me at home.”

“That is not your home. It’s not his, either.”

“It’s all we’ve got.”

I lunge forward and kneel next to her. A spar of shattered wood lying on the ground stabs my knee, but fuck it, I couldn’t care less. Let it bleed, let it break, because pain is the only thing that makes sense right now. Giving it, taking it—that’s the language I speak. That’s the life I live.

But Iris? Iris doesn’t have to bear that weight. That’s why I’m here—to take it from her. Every last ounce of pain she’s ever suffered belongs to me now.

Good. I want it.

She hesitates a moment. I take one of her hands and pull her to me. She steps into the circle of my arms, against my body and I stare down at her.

“Do you really think that’s all you’ve got?” I whisper.

Her eyes are bright with tears. She blinks them away, and their color goes from mint to forest green.

“You’re too terrified to rely on anyone,” I tell her. “You’re afraid that I’ll let you down like they did. It’s why you felt so betrayed when you heard about Anika.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” she snaps, though her voice is feeble. She glances away. “Will you please just take me home now?”

“Because you want to go?” I press. “Or because you’re scared to be alone with me?”

“I’m not scared—”

“Then look at me.”

She sighs and does as I ask. I want to dive into those eyes. I want to taste that swollen lip. I want to love her in all the ways she should’ve been loved from the start.

Something occurs to me. “Iris…”

She flinches at the sound of her name. “What?”

“After what he took from you… when was the next time?”

She knows what I’m asking, even though I chose my words delicately. She’s suffered enough, and some words have teeth on them.

She sucks in her breath. That alone gives me an answer. “I… I didn’t have sex for a long time after that,” she admits.

“When?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell me.”

I think I already know the answer. I just want to hear her say it.

“The next time I had sex… was with you.” She takes a long pause and her hands tighten around my biceps. “Sometimes, I like pretending you had been my first. Instead of him.”

Slowly, I stand up. She’s so tiny and frail in my arms—physically, at least. But the fear in her eyes is undeniable. She thinks she’s weak, she thinks she’s broken, and my God, she’s so fucking wrong.

She’s the strongest person I know.

I just have to make her see it.

“Do you want me to take you home?” I rumble.

She shakes her head. “No.”

In response, I claim her mouth with mine. I walk her backwards, under the shade of a sprawling elm nearby, and we tumble onto the soft grass.

She gasps when my hands slides up her dress and finds the soft material of her panties. I push the fabric aside and graze my fingers over her slit. She’s wet, but not nearly enough for my liking.

While I continue to touch her, soft and teasing, I bend my lips down to her shoulder. The straps of her white dress are thin. I bite down and tease one off her shoulder, then the other.

She’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts spill free of the dress and I bend to take a nipple into my mouth. “Oh God…” she murmurs as I start sucking on her plump nipple.

I roll over and pull her to a straddling position on top of me. The wet heat of her is blissful torture against my throbbing cock.

“Kon… we’re in a… fuck, a park!” she gasps as my lips move from her nipple to the curve of her neck.

“What about it?”

“If someone… if someone walks in…”

“Let them,” I snarl right into her kiss. “Let them watch.”

Then I pull my dick out of my zipper, line up, and slide right in her. She’s so wet now that I’m buried to the hilt instantly. I was hoping that I could slow things down, but with every thrust of my hips, I want more of her. Her arms are wrapped around me, her nails clawing at the back of my shirt, while little moans burst through her lips.

“Kon,” she gasps. “I’m falling…”

“No, you’re not,” I promise her between thrusts. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

Her fingers graze against my cheek and I can see her inhibitions float away the moment I pull her out of her head. I grab her ass tightly and drag her down onto each thrust. I’ve never been this deep in her before.

“I… I can’t…” she gasps. “I can’t…”

I watch her near her peak. This woman is pure fantasy. Even her collarbones are made of poetry.

I grit my teeth and try to keep my orgasm at bay. I want this to last a little longer. I want to witness her crumble. I want to watch her bite down on her plump bottom lip while she tries to stifle my name on her tongue.

“Fuck,” she exclaims. “Fuck… Kon…”

And that about does it. She makes this desperate gasping moaning sound and explodes on my cock. When she comes, it feels like a chain of explosions is going off inside her. Her legs tighten around my hips and her body jerks spasmodically.

I release a second later, and we come together, our bodies falling into each other until I can’t differentiate between the two.

I slow my thrusting, letting her ride the wave back down. When she goes limp, I pull her off of my dick and tuck her against my side. Her chest rises and falls, her nipples beautifully inflamed. The fabric of her dress is bunched up around her waist and her long black hair flutters down her back like liquid night sky.

When her breathing is quiet again, I start to talk. “I gave you space. I gave you time. But this self-torture ends now, Iris. We’re leaving tonight. We’re getting our son, and we’re going home, and we’re never, ever coming back here.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and falls silent. Her fingers stroke through my chest hair. I notice the glinting emerald of her ring and I reach out to touch it.

“You never took this off,” I observe.

She blinks slowly, as if she’s surprised to see it there. “No. I suppose I didn’t.”

“Iris.”

She meets my gaze at last. “We’re leaving tonight,” she confirms.

I nod, satisfied, but her eyes are still burgeoning with intensity. There’s something else on her mind and she’s not willing to let it go.

“Kon, what I just told you… you can’t do anything about it, okay?”

I know exactly what she’s trying to get at. She just doesn’t want to spell it out in case it gives me ideas. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her.

“Because I’ve put it behind me,” she insists. “What he did to me, it’s in the past. I’ve moved on.”

I nod. “Okay.”

She frowns. Her discomfort is palpable. She wants assurances from me that I won’t do anything to the people who hurt her. But this time, I can’t give her what she wants.

Sometimes, we lie to hide from the ones we love.

Sometimes, we lie to save them.

20

IRIS

I’m spent in every way possible. My body, my heart, my tear ducts.

But it’s a good kind of spent. The exhaustion of running a race until your lungs burst. I feel like I crossed some sort of finish line.

“It helps, you know,” I say to Kon once I’ve rearranged my clothes. “Sharing my story, I mean. It was more cathartic than I expected. I feel lighter.”

“You look lighter,” he acknowledges, although I can still see the edge of darkness in his eyes.

It’s getting easier to notice things like that the more I get to know him. He’s a master at keeping his inner thoughts and feelings under wrap, but there are still signs if you know where to look.

“You can’t do anything about what I just told you, okay?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Is there a reason you feel the need to repeat yourself?”

“I just get the feeling like you’re not really hearing me.” I sit up straight, one hand planted in the grass, and look at him.

“I’m hearing you. But in this life, you reap what you sow. People always get what’s coming to them.”

“Very philosophical of you,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were a believer in karma.”

“I’m a believer in justice,” he corrects.

“Says the Bratva don,” I snort.

“Killing a man who deserves to die isn’t a sin, Iris. It’s a mercy. It’s a cleansing.”

“I can’t wrap my head around that,” I admit. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to wrap my head around that.”

He glowers beautifully. “You’ll learn.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you married the wrong man.” It’s not exactly said in anger, but there’s a snap to his tone that gives me pause. “Some mistakes can be undone. This one can’t.”

“Meaning you won’t let me go?”

He smirks. “If I thought that’s what you really wanted, I would.”

“You’re far too cocky for your own good, you know,” I inform him.

“Noted.” His eyes flicker over my body. A light sheen of sweat coats my skin and blades of grass stick to my bare, flushed thighs.

“What about Max?” I ask.

“What about him?”

“How much is he going to be exposed to your world?”

Kon raises his eyebrows. “Is that a serious question?”

“My son is the most important thing in the world to me, Kon,” I say firmly. “And I will fight anyone I have to fight to make sure he’s safe. Including you. And before you say something else arrogant, just know that I’m prepared to fight dirty.”

He leans in and snakes his tongue over my bottom lip. “The dirtier, the better.”

I shove him off of me, even though my core is already ready to go again, that greedy little bitch.

“You’re not answering my question,” I say, refusing to be distracted.

He pushes himself to lean back against the tree trunk. “Max isn’t just my son, Iris. He’s my heir. My life is his life.”

“And what is your life, Kon?” I demand. “Shooting guns, violence. Big deals, lots of money. Arrogance, cockiness, and a severe sense of entitlement. Did I get all that right? Am I missing anything? Because if you ask me, that sounds like the recipe to raise a monster.”

He looks at me sharply, his eyes intense and filled with icy resolve. “Even the Bratva has a code.”

“How cryptic.”

“It’s not something I can teach you in one sitting,” he sighs, his eyes skimming over my breasts again. “But you’ll learn. There’s time.”

He gets to his feet and offers me his hand. I feel like he’s avoiding the conversation, but I sigh and let him help me up anyway. His chiseled jaw is tight, and it makes me wonder what exactly he’s thinking right this second.

“Will I ever be able to know what’s on your mind without asking?”

He chuckles. “Probably not.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that.” I brush the grass and dirt from my knees and fix my hair. “What if Max decides he doesn’t want to be your heir?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He reaches out and plucks some pollen from my shoulder, pulls a leaf from my hair.

When he’s done, he bends his lips to my shoulder and kisses the skin there. “You’re seeing the boy,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m seeing the man.”

“He’s nine years old.”

“Time has a funny way of changing that.”

“Kon, I—”

“Shh.” He presses one huge finger to my lips, more delicately than I thought possible. “I get it, Iris. You’ve been in control this whole time. You’ve had to be. But you can relax now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

I stare at him, trying so hard to believe in those words the way I’ve never believed in anything before. Can I relax? Can I let go? I’ve been holding my breath for so long, it feels wrong, unnatural to let go. It feels like asking permission to drown. Like the grief is precious all on its own right now, if only because I’ve held it for ten endless years.

“Come on,” Kon says, taking my hand. “Our son is waiting on us.”

* * *

When we get back to the house, however, Max is nowhere to be seen. We walk around to the backyard. Nothing. Upstairs into his room. Nothing.

“Dad!” I call. “Dad!”

“What?” he shouts back, emerging from the bathroom between his room and Max’s.

“Where’s Max?”

He shrugs as he does up his belt. “Hell if I know. Kid was in a mood, so I told him to fuck off and come back to this house when he’d adjusted his damn attitude.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Jesus, he’s nine years old, Dad. Why do I have to keep repeating that? He’s a child! He—”

“You know your problem, Iris?” he scowls, speaking over me. “You and your generation are too soft. World’s tough and so you just bitch and pout your way through it. Sure as hell describes you, so it’s no wonder you’ve raised a boy that—”

“That what, Roy?”

We both turn to the staircase to see Kon stepping down, his eyes laser-focused on my father. He’s wearing an expression that would turn even the bravest man into a coward.

And my father is very far from brave.

He mumbles something unintelligible and scampers back into his room. The tension lingers in the air behind him. I move quickly to Kon and stand at the foot of the stairs, blocking his path onto the landing.

“We need to find Max,” I plead. Kon’s eyes are still trained on my father’s closed door. I put my palm against his cheek and steer it towards me. “Kon. Please.”

He nods reluctantly. We go back outside, get into his car, and start driving around. The whole time, I keep scraping at my nail beds and biting down on my bottom lip.

“We’ll find him, Iris,” Kon promises.

“He’s never been out on his own alone before,” I say, feeling my right leg start to bounce on top of everything else. “He doesn’t know this town, either. What if he’s in danger? What if the wrong people find him?”

“Who are the wrong people?”

“How about your almost father-in-law?” I snap. “Surely, he’ll want revenge after what you did to his daughter?”

His eyes teeter to me for a moment. “We’ll find him,” he says again. It does nothing to soothe me.

“How are you so calm?”

“Because I’m confident in the boy,” he says. “He’s way more capable than you’re giving him credit for. When—if—something happens, then I’ll react.”

“Probably with dignity and gravitas,” I say irritably.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I was being sarcastic, actually.” I try to breathe through my panic, but I can’t seem to reach his level of serenity. “Drive by the pond in the park. He might go there. He always liked ducks.”

We turn the corner and Kon slows down by the pond. I’m looking and seeing nothing and my heartbeat is climbing up higher and higher, and then—

“There!”

I see him sitting at the edge of the pond, with his shoes kicked off and a couple of ducks swimming around in the shallows close to him. I jump out of the car while it’s still moving and sprint towards him.

Max looks up, slightly alarmed as I rush him. When I get close enough, his chin falls. “Grandpa told me to take a walk,” he mumbles.

“I’m sure he was much less polite than that,” I say, collapsing onto the grass next to him. I grab his head and pull it to my chest.

“Mom!” he complains, but I just hang on and breathe in the fruity scent coming off of his head.

“Let the boy breathe,” Kon says as he approaches. “You’re gonna suffocate him.”

I take a deep breath and let him go. The relief slowly settles into my bones, but the adrenaline is still pumping hard. Kon walks around us and sits on Max’s other side.

“Did walking help?” he asks.

“Not really,” Max answers.

“What are you upset about?”

He turns to me. “I’m upset that you won’t tell me what’s going on, even though I know that there’s something going on. I’m not a little boy anymore, Mom.”

I stare out at the water. Two grown ducks lead a trail of ducklings in a big, lazy circuit around the surface. The little ones are soft and fuzzy, but I can see adult feathers beginning to peek through.

Before I can figure out what to say, Kon starts talking. “Your mom has been through some very difficult things in this town, Max,” he explains. “She lost her mother early, and—well, you’ve seen what your grandfather is like.”

Max nods.

“She also had a hard time in school. You’ve seen bullies in action, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your mom had to deal with bullies like that all the time. Except there wasn’t a person like you to help her.”

Max and I both look at Kon. Him in surprise, me in confusion. Max speaks first. “How do you know about that?”

Kon smiles cryptically. “I know everything, son.”

“Max!” I blurt, shocked. “You never told me you were being bullied.”

“No, Mom, they don’t bully me,” he corrects. “They were bullying other kids. I didn’t like that, so I stopped them.”

I swallow a taste in my mouth I’ve never sensed before. And when I look at Max, it’s like I’m looking at an optical illusion that just resolved itself into something else. I thought it was one thing this whole time, and now, it’s something new I never saw before.

A boy became a man, just like that. My heart aches and soars at the same time.

“I can take care of myself, Mom.”

I exhale slowly. “I’m beginning to realize that. You’re strong.”

Max nods. “Just like you, Mama.”

Given that Kon is sitting right there next to him, it means so much more to hear him say that. I wrap my arm around him.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been honest with you about my past,” I whisper fiercely. “It’s just hard for me to talk about. I’m working on it. One day, I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, seemingly mollified.

“I want us to always be honest with each other,” I tell him. “No matter what. So in the future, if you ask me something, I will try to be as honest as possible. Even if it means telling you that I can’t explain things right at that moment. Sounds fair?”

He tilts his head against me and thinks about that. “Does that mean I have to be honest, too?”

Kon and I exchange a glance over his head. “Yes, it does,” he says.

Max breaks away from me and looks between the both of us. “Then I need to say that I really, really hate this town,” he says. “And I want to go home. Like yesterday.”

Kon chuckles, while I place a kiss on his head. “We can go home,” I say.

“Together?”

I glance at Kon. His mouth warms up just one degree, into the ghost of a smile. It makes me shiver, like a breeze coming from somewhere unexpected.

“Yeah,” I say. “Together.”

21

KON

Iris pauses at the threshold while Max runs upstairs to collect his things.

“I’m just gonna grab my stuff, okay?” she tells me, glancing over her shoulder at her father. The old man is sitting at the kitchen table with yet another fresh beer between his hands, though this one is weirdly unopened. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” I reply.

She nods and heads upstairs, following Max. I walk towards the table and sit down adjacent to Roy.

“Beer?” he offers. His voice is flat and affectless.

“No.” I regard him coolly. “We’re leaving, Roy.”

He smiles like he’s proud of me for some reason. “I knew it. She finally found a proper man. I went to bat for you, you know. Knew you were good for her. Thought she was a damn fool for leaving.”

“You don’t know why she left.”

“Doesn’t matter. No woman walks away from a man like you.”

He’s laying it on thick, and I know exactly why. “What kind of man is that, Roy?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “A rich one?”

He hesitates suddenly, taking note of the warning in my eyes. “I… well, no, not exactly. I only meant a, like, a real man, a powerful man. It’s got nothin’ to do with money.”

His forced grin falters, and he looks around the kitchen as though he’s expecting something to jump out at him.

“Can I count on you to be honest with me, Roy?”

“Of course. I am your father-in-law.”

“How lucky,” I drawl. “Now, tell me: do you still have any contact with Kyle Jacobson?”

He chokes on his own breath. “What?” he splutters.

“You heard me.” I don’t change my tone, but I bring my voice down low enough for him to feel it in his bones.

“Wh-why do you wanna know?”

“Call it curiosity.”

Roy abandons his beer. “What did she tell you?” he croaks.

“Same thing she told you, from what I understand.”

“Listen,” he stammers, “Iris, she was always… she… the thing is—”

“I’d be very careful about what you’re about to say about my wife,” I snarl.

His eyes go wide and his Adam’s apple bobs with fear. He glances out towards the garden as though he wishes he were out there instead of in here.

“Kyle’s not that kind of man,” he sighs at last. “I know him. He ain’t.”

“And what about Iris?” I demand. My hands are clenched into fists, and it’s taking all my self-control not to flip this table on the old man and use it to crush him to death.

It would be so simple. A mess I would relish making.

The only thing—and I do mean the only thing—stopping me from doing it is the knowledge that Iris would never forgive me for it. I wonder if I should tell him that the daughter he refuses to believe is the last line between him and violent death.

“Do you know Iris at all?” I press. “Did she lie a lot as a kid? Was she a hypocrite? Did she deceive and manipulate?”

Realization dawns on Roy’s face. “Accusing someone of r—well, of what she accused him of—it’s no small accusation.”

“Exactly,” I say with a fierce nod. “And it’s no small thing to do to someone, either.”

“I… I…”

“You have nothing to say,” I spit. “You have no defense. Care to know why? Because what you did was indefensible. She came to you and told you about the most despicable violation of trust there is. And you chose to give her fucking rapist the benefit of the doubt. You’re a pitiful coward on your best day. You’re worthless on your worst.”

Roy’s eyes glaze over a bit. The denial sticks to him like a stink he can’t scrub away. Letting go of it would destroy him.

“She… she sent me money all these years,” he stammers. “She was obviously guilty—”

“It wasn’t guilt, you ignorant motherfucker,” I snarl. “It was kindness. Not that a creature like you would know anything about that.”

His eyes flash with anger. “You’re blind to what’s really happening here. She’s got you fooled—”

I leap up to my feet, sending my chair crashing to the ground behind me. “She came to you because you were all she had left. And you spit in her fucking face. Every man she’s ever known has abandoned her—starting and ending with you.”

His Adam’s apple rides up and down once more. The truth is hard to swallow, but I will ram it down his throat again and again until this son of a bitch finally takes it. He will get no mercy from me.

I turn, snatch a pen and paper off the counter, and slam it down in front of him. “Write down Kyle Jacobson’s address. Now.”

Roy hesitates, but he knows it’s too late. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll know when I do it,” I say. “But trust me, it’ll look like an accident. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

He understands instantly. The fear settles into his eyes and never leaves.

“You hear me, don’t you, Roy?” I ask.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Good. Because I wouldn’t want an accident to befall you,” I say. “That would hurt Iris, and I won’t do anything to hurt Iris. So if you behave, I think it’s safe to assume you might live longer. At least, a little longer than Kyle Jacobson.”

Roy stares at me for a long time. Then he hurriedly scribbles chicken-scratch down on the paper. I rip off the sheet and tuck it into my pocket as he plucks up his beer, cracks it open, and drains the whole thing in one desperate gulp. When it’s gone, he stares longingly down the opening like salvation is hiding there.

It’s not, though. Salvation for him isn’t anywhere he’ll ever find it.

I hear the sound of running footsteps on the stairs. “Max,” I call over my shoulder, keeping my eyes on Roy. “Come say goodbye to your grandfather.”

Max moves forward and offers Roy his hand. The old man shakes it with a distracted glaze over his eyes.

“Take care of yourself, boy,” he mumbles.

Max glances at me, puzzled. I gesture for him to wait outside. He seems only too happy to grab his things and head towards the car.

A few seconds later, Iris comes down the stairs. I go over, take her bags from her hand, and wait by the door as she turns to her father.

He’s not looking directly at her, but his body is pointed in her general direction. As though that’s all he can offer her.

It’s no more than I would expect from the craven fool. If I weren’t here, I’m sure he’d have one more caustic scar to burn into her heart. One more parting remark to belittle her.

But as long as I’m around, that will never happen again.

“Dad,” Iris says, oblivious to the conversation he and I just had. “We’re leaving. Max and I are going back to Los Angeles with Kon.”

He nods, still not making eye contact, still staring into the middle distance at things only he can see. “Uh-huh.”

“Thanks for letting us stay here.”

“Well, it’s your house, too.”

She sighs. “You know what’s funny? It never really felt like my house. Not even when I was growing up in it.”

“I suppose you think that’s my fault, too.”

“I didn’t say that.” Then she sighs again. “I just meant I never really fit in here. In this town, in this family.”

“Well, you’ve got your own family now,” he says brusquely.

“Yeah, I know,” she says softly. “I do.”

He risks a quick glance my way. “Does that mean you’re gonna forget all about your old man?”

I know he’s not asking out of affection. He’s not asking out of a desire to stay in contact either. He’s just angling for the money that Iris has been sending him over the years. Money he’s come to rely on. It’s been keeping him afloat even though the tides of karma and his own sins have pulled him way out to sea.

“I didn’t forget about you the first time I left this town,” Iris reminds him. “Why would I forget about you now?”

She moves forward and puts her hand on his arm. A gesture of comfort to a heartless man who deserves none. She’s too good for him by miles.

“Why don’t you head over to the car, Iris?” I interject. “I’d like to have one last word with your father. Alone.”

She raises her eyebrows. “About…?”

“My gratitude for sheltering you in your time of need,” I say with sarcasm that only she can sense.

Iris frowns, but she kisses her dad on his whiskered cheek, then turns and heads for the door. On her way out, she lingers by me.

“What are you going to say to him?” she whispers.

“I’m letting him know that I will take care of him,” I say grimly. “I don’t want you to have to worry about him anymore. You don’t have to think about Roy Keller ever again.”

She glances back at her father, who’s watching the two of us warily. “Go on,” I tell her. Surprisingly, she listens. I watch her walk down towards the car, admiring the gentle sway of her hips, the way her feet seem to float above the ground she walks on.

The woman looks too ethereal for this world sometimes.

I tear my eyes away from her. They land on a much less pleasant sight.

“So this is it, then, huh?” Roy says. “My punishment. Cut off my lifeline, make sure I never see my daughter or grandson ever again.”

“If she wants to see you, I won’t stop her,” I say, against my better judgment. “But the money will continue.”

His eyes snap to mine. His mouth flops open and shut like a landed fish. I just nod crisply. I don’t particularly care about anything else he has to say.

“Glad we got that covered. Goodbye, Roy.”

Then I turn and head out of this ramshackle house, leaving behind all the toxic memories seeping into its bones and the sad old man slowly poisoning himself to death all alone inside of it.

I load up the car with Max and Iris’s suitcases and then I get into the driver’s seat. Iris turns to me curiously. “What did you really say to him?” she asks.

“Exactly what I told you.”

She sighs and chuckles at the same time. Then she looks towards the house as I pull away. “He’s a bad man,” she muses. “But he’s still my father.”

“I understand,” I concede, thinking of Stepan. “Which is why I will make sure there’s money in his account every month. It’s no longer your burden.”

“You don’t have to defend my honor, Kon,” she says softly. “You don’t have to fight my battles for me.”

“I’m your husband, Iris,” I tell her firmly. “It’s my job.”

22

KON

“So where is the dearly beloved wife?” Yefim says in that strangely choked tone of his he uses whenever we talk about Iris.

“Are you intentionally trying to annoy me today?” I snap.

“I never set out to vex you, my esteemed don,” he says with an impish grin. “It just comes naturally.”

I roll my eyes. “What’s going on with the Kuzmins?”

“As far as I can tell, absolutely fuckin’ nothing. Things have been radio silent on that end. I have a team surveilling the Kuzmin estate, and according to my reports, Nestor hasn’t left the property since your impromptu visit with him.”

“So I scared the bastard good.”

“As you no doubt intended.”

“Then why do I get the feeling that you’re not satisfied?” I ask curiously.

Yefim falls into one of the armchairs with a melodramatic sigh of weariness. “We haven’t had a guys’ night out in a long time, you realize?

“A guys’ night?” I scoff. “We’re not twenty-one anymore, Yef. And I’m married.”

“So you keep reminding me. Incessantly.” He strokes his chin. “Tatiana was asking after you the other night. Remember Tatiana? Girl had a mouth like a vacuum cleaner.”

“Ever the charmer, Yef. Truly a feminist’s dream.”

He sighs again for at least the fifth time since he arrived in my office. “This is the real deal then, huh?” he asks rhetorically. “You and Iris.”

“Was there an actual question in there?” I ask.

“I just want to make sure she’s worth it.”

I set aside my budding anger and press my temples. “Worth what, exactly?” I ask. “I advise you to answer carefully, my friend.”

“Worth whatever trouble is coming our way,” he says.

“So you don’t think Nestor actually got my message then?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Well,” I say, “it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been wrong.”

“Excuse you! My record is flawless.”

I start rattling off on my fingers. “The docking mishap with the Ritornellis. The time you thought banking with those French gangsters was a good idea. Last year, the whole ordeal with the Albanian—

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “Point taken. Jesus. Less than flawless.”

“I’m not saying that Nestor will never make a move. I’m just not going to sit around and wait for it.”

“What if we go on the offensive?”

“Lions don’t hunt flies, sobrat.”

“You must’ve read that on a fortune cookie,” Yefim grumbles. “Alright then. We lie low for now.”

“Not that, either,” I growl. “We’re going to go about our business, loud and proud. Show Nestor who’s in charge.”

Yefim brightens up. “I like that plan.”

“Good. Now, get out.”

He stands grumpily. “Marriage has changed you, man. You used to be fun.”

I laugh and point towards the door again. He slumps out, then I turn back to my files. I have seven business meetings in the next week, and I’m uninterested in all of them.

The only thing I really want to do right now is throw a ball around with my son. And once he’s in bed, fuck my woman until she lets go of this obsessive need to control everything around her.

I’m fantasizing about feasting between Iris’s spread legs when my phone rings. Anonymous caller. Frowning, I answer.

“Hello?”

“K… Kon?”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Anika.”

Her breath catches like she’s either just started crying or is about to. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“You called to curse me out?” I ask. “Scream obscenities at me? Then do it. I will accept your anger.”

“Well, I have none to give you,” she says with another sob. “Only hurt. And pain.” She’s silent for a long time, broken up only by her sniffling. “Is… is it true?”

I grimace. Of course the news would have gotten to her by now. “Yes.”

“Who is she?”

Iris had asked me the same thing about Anika, not long ago. “She’s my wife now,” I say with finality.

“Are you punishing me?” she asks. “Did I do something wrong? I know my father shouldn’t have—He did something terrible, I know that, but I—”

“This wasn’t about punishing you, Anika. I wanted to set you free.”

“You mean you wanted to set yourself free. Don’t pretend that you did anything for me.” She takes a long pause. I’m not sure if she’s calming down or spinning out. “Does she make you happy?”

I’m quiet. Whatever answer she’s looking for won’t make her happy, even if I did give it to her.

“She’ll hate your guns and the violence of your world, you know. She’ll hate you before long.”

I nod. “You might be right about that.”

“And when that happens, you’ll regret that you didn’t marry me like you were supposed to. You threw away power, but you threw away your own happiness, too.”

“Time will tell. Goodbye, Anika. Don’t call me again.”

The line goes dead. I let the phone slip from my fingers and onto my desk. With any luck, that’s the last time we’ll ever speak.

But luck has been in short supply lately.

It’s been a few days since we returned from Crosse Valley. Iris is… complicated, to use a favorite word of hers. She insisted on scheduling a handful of auditions for new modeling jobs as soon as we got back to town. I thought of nixing it, but something in the desperation with which she fought back made me reconsider.

She needs it for reasons I don’t fully understand.

Max has adjusted quickly, though. He’s brighter and fuller, stands taller and looks me dead in the eye when I speak. That tightness in the chest I feel every time I see him hasn’t gone away. I’m starting to think I don’t want it to.

Unable to concentrate on my work any longer, I head out towards the gardens. I turn the corner and run right into Max.

“Dad!” he chirps. “I was coming to see you.”

I grin down at him. “Want to throw a ball around?”

He looks over his shoulder like he’s nervous. “Mom’s not back yet, is she?”

“No, she’s still at an audition. Why?”

“Well, because I want to do something and she’s not gonna like it.”

I chuckle. “Then we best not do it.”

“Aw, come on, Dad. I really need to learn.”

“Learn what?”

“How to shoot.”

I raise my eyebrows. “A gun?”

He nods. “I was talking to some of the guys in the garden and they all have guns.”

“They’re all trained, grown men, who are skilled at shooting and practiced in gun safety.”

“That’s why I want you to teach me.”

I think about that for a moment. “I was the same age when I started learning,” I murmur.

“See?!” Max proclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Your mother definitely won’t like it.”

“Maybe we don’t tell her then?” he suggests innocently.

I bite back a laugh. I can see the little rebel inside him, the warrior eager to test himself. It reminds me of myself at this age. I put my hand on his shoulder and twist him around towards the garden.

“Okay, kid, let’s learn how to shoot.”

“Really?” he gasps. He’s like a dog that’s been chasing a car, finally caught up, and now doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Really.”

“Yes!” he cries, jumping with his fist in the air.

We stride out toward the garden and Yefim appears from a side hall. He takes one look at the kid’s face and starts laughing. “He got his way, huh?”

“He was persuasive. I assume you encouraged him.”

Yefim nods with approval. “It’s right he should take an interest in this. After all, he is the crown prince now.”

“Crown prince?” Max asks, looking up at us.

“Ignore him,” I tell Max. “Go get your shoes.”

Max shrugs and zooms into the house.

“He’s a miniature version of you,” Yefim says, looking after him. “Though much better looking, of course.”

“Gets that from his mother.”

Yefim’s eyes turn soft. “I know I wasn’t always encouraging when you decided you wanted a relationship with Max, but I get it now. He’s a great kid.”

I nod. “You were always a little slow on the uptake.”

He flashes his middle finger. “Uptake this, asshole.”

I chuckle. “Anika just called me,” I mention.

“No way,” Yefim breathes. “Seriously?”

I nod. “She needed closure.”

“And did you give it to her?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. Not like she wanted, at least.”

“So what do you reckon?” Yefim asks. “She gonna be a problem?”

“Oh, she’s gonna be a problem alright. I just don’t know how.”

23

IRIS

“I don’t understand,” I say, looking at the brooding young receptionist. Her black lipstick seems to match her current mood. “I have an appointment.”

“Do you?” she asks, sounding exceptionally bored. “Strange.”

This agency is small, subletting offices from a building that also rents out to chiropractors and accountants. There’s an Indian restaurant right downstairs, so the smell of spicy curry and naan bread wafts up the stairs and into the poorly ventilated room.

“Iris Keller,” I insist, trying to peer over the glass-topped desk that’s hiding her clipboard from view. “At three P.M. I called yesterday to confirm. I’m pretty sure you’re the one I spoke to.”

“Huh. How ‘bout that? Crazy.”

“Are you Madison?” I glance at her nametag and sure enough, MADISON is stamped right there. “You are. You confirmed my appointment.”

“Right, well, that was yesterday,” she says. She turns her heavily lidded eyes up at me like it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done.

I take a deep breath. “Okay, well, can I reschedule?”

“No.”

Her answer is too swift. That’s what clues me in—this isn’t just a coincidence. “Did a man named Atelier Sorbonne call your boss, by any chance?”

“Don’t know who that is.”

“You’re in the fashion industry and you don’t know who Atelier Sorbonne is?”

“That’s what I just said, didn’t it?”

I glance over my shoulder at the magazines fanned out across the coffee table in the waiting area. “That’s him,” I say, pointing to the third magazine on the right.

He’s the face of this month’s cover. They shot him sitting in a white armchair against a pure black background, wearing a red power suit and a million-dollar watch encrusted with diamonds, all of which are catching the light and somehow casting it up against his face.

He’s a vain man who looks every bit the part.

“Must be important,” she drawls as if she couldn’t care less.

“He’s evil,” I correct firmly. “He’s an egotistical, controlling asshole.”

“Well, tell me how you really feel.”

“What I feel is pissed. I want to speak to your boss.”

“Sorry, no can do. My boss isn’t interested in meeting you anymore.”

“Goddammit,” I curse under my breath. “Well, thanks for nothing.”

I leave the office in a huff and head down the narrow stairway. The smell of Indian food hits my nostrils and my mouth starts to water. I haven’t eaten anything all day.

I’d left the house on a piece of dry toast and a strong cup of coffee. I’d been nervous but hopeful this morning. Now, I’m just pissed off. Pissed enough that I ignore the rumble in my stomach and keep walking.

My next appointment is in two hours and it’s only fifteen minutes away from here, but I head there anyway, trying to fight the sinking feeling in my gut. Sorbonne is going scorched earth. It was a foregone conclusion that he’d talk to anyone who’s anyone to blackball me. But he was thorough—he even walled off anyone who’s no one.

It’d be so easy to pick up the phone and call Kon. He’d solve it all with the snap of his fingers. But I’m stubborn to the core—I don’t want his help. I want to do this on my own.

I say to myself what I’ve said again and again since we got back to Los Angeles: I don’t need a knight in shining armor.

I end up going into a convenience store to grab a bottle of water and maybe an energy bar. I meander slowly up and down the aisles, eyes lazily unfocused at the mesmerizing wall of bright candy wrappers, trying to kill time.

At the end of the aisle is a rack of entertainment news magazines. I see Brad, J-Lo, all the usual suspects.

Then I notice Jake’s face staring back at me from one of them.

Then I notice the headline.

In a nauseating all-caps all-bold, it reads, JAKE NOX’S TEN GIRLFRIENDS: RANKED!

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. I pluck the magazine off the shelf and flip through the pages until I find the cover article.

According to the little blurb that precedes the meat of the article, Jake’s top ten includes six model girlfriends and four actresses. I skim through the ridiculous countdown and find a shot of myself under number three.

They’ve used one of the headshots from the Atelier Sorbonne campaign. I look good—Sorbonne, despite all his flaws, is very, very good at his job—but I don’t feel good right now. Especially after reading the caption that accompanies my picture.

Iris Keller. It’s no surprise why this relatively unknown model landed at number three in our rankings. She may not be a household name, but those emerald green eyes can skewer their way into even the most apathetic soul. If last year’s nasty cheating rumors hadn’t reared their ugly head, who’s to say these two wouldn’t still be together? Then again—maybe it’s for the best that Jakey is rubbing elbows with people more on his level these days.

I throw the garbage rag back onto the rack with disgust. It’s bad enough being subtly blamed for blowing up the relationship and not-so-subtly ID’d as a complete nobody. But the overall conceit is worse: that I’m no better than some famous guy’s arm candy. That any woman is no better than some famous guy’s arm candy.

I take a deep breath and try to remember that being famous had never been on my bucket list at all. It had been about getting out of Wyoming, standing on my own two feet and providing for Max as best I could.

Which I’ve done. Better at some times and worse at others, but I’d done it, goddammit.

I choose a protein bar and a bottle of water at random and go up to the cashier. The girl at the counter does a double take when she sees me.

“No way,” she says. “You’re Jake Nox’s ex, right?”

Normally, I’d deny it. Today, I just don’t have the energy. “Yeah,” I sigh. “Call me ‘Number Three.’”

She gives me a confused look, but I just thank her, pay up, and make my way over to my next appointment. As I leave, I notice a beautiful black car parked right outside the convenience store. It looks extremely out of place in this modest part of the city.

I’m at the end of the road when I notice the car turn onto the same street. Weird but harmless, I’m sure. That doesn’t exactly keep my heart from ticking a little faster.

I reach my destination and duck inside to the frigid lobby. This one is decidedly nicer than the last. The chairs are filled with other models here for the go-see.

“Hello!” chirps a skinny guy with a bowtie from behind the reception desk. “How may I help you?”

“Hi,” I say, “I’m Iris Keller. I’m here for the go-sees.”

“Of course,” he says as he squints down at the clipboard in his hand. “Let me just… Oh.”

I practically lunge over his desk before he can say what I know he’s about to say. “Listen, Mr… Anderson,” I say, reading off his nametag, “I I know that there’s a black mark next to my name—

“Well, I wouldn’t say—”

“I know that you’ve been told to strike me off the list for whatever reason, but I’m telling you right now, I’m not going without seeing the higher-ups.”

He tugs at his bowtie like it’s suddenly too tight. “I’m not sure that’ll be possible, Ms. Keller.”

“Make it possible,” I order, surprising myself by how much I sound like Kon. “I’m getting into that room one way or another. Even if I have to break my way in.”

He looks at me with distinct discomfort. “Um, I really don’t have the upper body strength to fight you.”

I smile prettily. “Then I suggest we don’t fight at all.”

The kid sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

He leaves his desk empty and uses his keycard to get access to the room on the other side of the sand-blasted door. I take a seat next to a girl wearing a tight pink dress in the latest horrifying trend of latex, which makes zero sense in a state that gets three-hundred-sixty-four days a year of sunshine.

She looks new and nervous. I remember those days. I’m nervous now, but in a different way and for a different reason.

“I’m Iris,” I say.

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised that I’m even making an introduction. “Kira.”

By the looks of it, Kira can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen. I scan the room only to realize that I’m probably the oldest one here. I’m also the one wearing the least amount of make-up and the most amount of clothes.

My outfit is understated, in high-rise jeans and an oversized white blouse underneath a tight black vest cinched in at the waist. I’m wearing my favorite pair of booties, too, the same ones that started my adventures with Kon ten years ago. God, that night still feels like yesterday. I wonder if it’ll always feel that way.

“You been at this long?” I ask.

“Modeling?” she asks. “About six months. It’s… hard.”

“Did someone tell you it was easy?”

She frowns. “Well…”

“Let me guess. Everyone in your hometown told you you’d be sure to get signed because you were just that beautiful?” Her nervous giggle is all the confirmation I need. “There’s a lot of pretty girls out there, Kira. And they all come here.”

“Are you telling me to give up?” she asks in a tone that’s twisted with bitterness already.

“I’m telling you that if you want this badly enough, then you can’t give up.”

She nods like she needed that more than she knows how to express. “I know I can’t. I have a three-year-old,” she whispers.

My eyebrows raise. “You must’ve been young.”

“Fifteen,” she confirms. “My boyfriend and I were madly in love. We—shoot, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

I pat her reassuringly on the arm. I know as well as anyone that some stories need to be shared so that they don’t become a millstone hung around your neck. “I’m listening,” I say. “Go on.”

She bites her cheek, then continues. “We thought it was a good thing. The baby, I mean. We even got married. Went down to the courthouse and everything.” She pauses for a moment. “Then we dropped out of high school, moved into his parent’s garage, I had my daughter and… slowly, piece by piece, things started to fall apart. One day, it wasn’t the three of us anymore. It was just me and my baby girl versus the world. That’s why I’m here. For her.”

I give Kira a smile that tries to say all the things that I wish someone had told me when I was the one in her seat.

That it will be hard, but worth it.

That you should savor the little moments of perfection, because it’s easy to let them get lost in an ocean of bitterness.

That you can’t stop fighting, not even for one second.

That you can’t stop loving, not even for one breath.

I notice the receptionist re-enter the room with pursed lips. I know what that means, so I decide to move to Plan B. “It was really nice meeting you, Kira. Give me a call if you ever wanna grab a cup of coffee or something.”

I scribble down my number on a scrap of paper, give it to her, and then make a beeline for the receptionist. His face drops when he sees me coming.

“Well?”

“They’re really busy today,” he says apologetically. “I’m afraid—”

I move quickly. I snatch the lanyard hanging from his neck and make a run for the door. He shouts after me, but I don’t pay him the slightest bit of attention.

I swipe the card over the scanner. The moment the security light flashes green, I’m through the door and into a large white room, facing a sofa that holds three people with varying degrees of horrible plastic surgery.

The receptionist races in behind me. “I’m so sorry! She… she stole my keycard.”

I pass it back to him. “Sorry about that,” I tell him. “But I did warn you.” Then I walk right up to the three astonished people staring at me, and sit down on the vacant chair opposite them.

“Hi,” I announce, “I’m Iris Keller. But I think you know that already.”

The three of them exchange glances. The first one to speak is the woman on the far left of the sofa. Her bright blue eyes regard me curiously from behind bejeweled glasses.

“Ms. Keller, we canceled your appointment.”

“Except you neglected to tell me that until I walked in here,” I say. “And since you are seeing models, I figured, what’s one more, right? Especially when that one more has an appointment.”

“Um… Ms. Keller,” the man on the right interjects in a high-pitched voice. “This is highly irregular.”

“Which one of you did he speak to?”

Again, the three of them exchange glances. But this time, it’s the woman sitting in the middle of the sofa that speaks.

“He called me,” she sighs. I can’t help but admire her honesty. “I’m Lucille Perego; I own this agency. It’s just… It’s not personal, Ms. Keller.”

“It’s all personal, Ms. Perego,” I say fiercely. “This is my life.”

She sighs again, and I almost believe her sympathy. “I wish I could help you.”

As apologetic as she may or may not be, she’s definitely not wavering. She’s not going to risk getting involved with me. And knowing what Sorbonne is capable of, I can’t exactly blame her. I only charged in here to find out just how far the rot goes. Well, looks like I found my answer: all the way.

I collect what’s left of my pride and get back to my feet. “Thank you for hearing me out,” I say. “There’s a girl waiting out there named Kira, by the way. She’d be great for you.”

Then I walk towards the door where Smith is standing stiffly, hands clasped together behind his back. He escorts me back into the lobby and holds open the glass door of the exit with a pointed glare. I give the stunned occupants of the lobby a little wave, then whisk my way out.

I’m lost in my thoughts for a while. I want to walk, to clear my thoughts, so that’s what I do.

Which is probably why I make it half a mile before realizing that the black car I’d noticed earlier is following me.

I wonder if Kon is the one having me followed. It seems like the kind of overprotective thing he would do, even after I told him the first night we got back that it was important to me to do this on my own.

Since my mood is already teetering on the brink of a meltdown, I swing around and march right up to it. The windows are tinted, so I can’t see anyone but the steely-faced driver through the windshield. I pass by him and stop at the back. Then I rap my knuckles hard against the glass.

The window rolls down after a moment. I feel goosebumps prickle my skin, even though I don’t know why quite yet.

There’s a woman inside. She stares at me with the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen and a halo of perfectly styled blonde waves. She’s wearing a stunning gray dress and a focused sort of hatred on her face that makes my stomach twist with discomfort.

“You’ve been following me,” I say, refusing to show my nervousness.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to see the woman he abandoned me for.”

24

IRIS

Fuck.

“I know this must be a shock to you,” she says.

“I… um, yeah,” I stammer. “You could say that.”

The woman gets out of the car and steps up onto the pavement beside me. The steely gray satin of the dress brings out the blue in her eyes. I was just in a room full of professional models and she would put every single one of them to shame.

The dress, her jewelry, her hair, her makeup—it must’ve all cost a fortune.

But I’m willing to bet that Anika Kuzmin doesn’t spend much time thinking about the cost of things.

She tucks a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear and smiles pleasantly. “That’s a beautiful emerald,” she says, eyeing my ring. “I’ll bet he got it because it matches your eyes.”

She doesn’t sound bitter or resentful, though, like I might’ve expected. She just sounds… hurt.

I drop my hand. “Listen… It’s Anika, right?”

“Yes, Iris. My name is Anika.”

“I just want you to know that I had no clue that you existed. I didn’t find out you existed until… well, the day we got married. Right after the ceremony, actually.”

She purses her lips. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

“If I’d have known—”

“What?” she says sharply and suddenly. “You wouldn’t have married him?”

I hesitate. “I would have at least thought twice about it,” I admit.

She nods as she takes that in, turning to regard the horizon before looking back at me. “I… I probably shouldn’t be doing this at all,” she admits. “But I was curious about you. I guess if I thought I saw you, then maybe I…” She trails off. “I don’t really know what I thought, actually.”

“I was curious about you, too,” I say timidly.

She seems so lost and fragile, and yet dangerous at the same time. “What did he tell you about me?”

“That you were beautiful and accomplished and… raised in the same kind of family he was,” I say.

She frowns skeptically.

“I’m not lying,” I promise. “That’s what he told me. And from the looks of you, he was right.”

She gives me the smallest of smiles. “So you’re beautiful and kind,” she says. “That makes it so much worse.”

“Anika—”

“Will you have lunch with me?” she asks abruptly. “Please? I know it’s a lot to ask. I know this is completely insane. But I just… I need closure. I need to be able to put this behind me.”

“How will lunch help with that?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe if I like you, it’ll make it easier to let him go.”

“That implies that if you don’t like me, you’ll shank me with a butter knife,” I laugh nervously.

She smiles. A real smile this time. It’s luminescent. “Well, you don’t have to worry,” she says. “I’m already starting to like you.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why you’d want that, though,” I say. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to hate me?”

“You would think,” she agrees solemnly. “You would certainly think.”

I blink as I process all this. I can’t even begin to imagine how Kon will react to the news that I had lunch with his ex-fiancée, the daughter of the man who murdered his father.

Still, she had nothing to do with those politics, right? She was as much a pawn as I was. If I was ever even a pawn to begin with.

“Please, Iris,” she says in a soft voice. “One hour.”

One hour. It’s hard to argue with that. “Okay,” I sigh. “Lunch. One hour.”

She smiles. “Great. Get in.”

She gets back into the car and slides over to make room for me. I hesitate at the door. “You’re not going to, like, drive me someplace remote and then kill me, are you?” I ask with another anxious laugh.

She giggles. “If I were, I wouldn’t be on the scene myself,” she says. “I let other people commit my murders for me.” She takes one look at my face and her expression twists into horror. “I’m only kidding, Iris!”

“Fuck,” I gasp, putting my hand over my heart. “For a second there—”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in mafia novels.”

“Is there such a thing?” I ask.

“I’ll give you my reading list,” she says with a very girl-pal kind of wink. “Are you going to get in?”

I take a deep breath and get into the car. It smells of expensive leather and citrusy perfume. “This is quite a car,” I remark.

“It was my twenty-first birthday present.”

“Good Lord.”

She cringes. “Was that an obnoxious thing to say? Shit, it was, wasn’t it?”

“No,” I say with a smile. “In your case, it’s just a fact.”

Anika wrings her hands in her lap. As beautiful and composed as she was when she first pulled up, I keep getting glimpses of a nervous little girl hiding beneath that aura of confidence.

“I hope this isn’t coming off as creepy,” she says suddenly with a glance toward me and then away.

“No, I usually find stalking to be flattering,” I joke.

She winces again, but laughs. “So you really didn’t know about me,” she says in amazement.

“I really didn’t.”

Her skeptical expression gives way to grudging belief. “I suppose I shouldn’t be angry with you,” she says. “He’s the one who made the choice.”

“Can I ask you something? Woman-to-woman?”

She nods. “Go ahead.”

“Why stick to this?” I ask. “Why spend so much of your time mourning a relationship that wasn’t real?”

Her brow crinkles and she looks away from me for a tense moment. Instead of answering me, she revs down the partition that separates us from the driver.

“Mick, turn at the next corner. I’m feeling like Genova’s today.”

Genova’s. I know that name. It’s a real place, and therefore probably not the sight of a likely mob-style execution.

I hope.

The driver pulls up right in front of the double doors of the chic restaurant. I slide out of the car and wait for Anika. She climbs out gracefully, like a woman who’s been taught exactly how to move in every situation.

When she’s on the curb next to me, she smooths out her dress and runs her fingers through her hair. Everyone standing in line is gawking at her.

Meanwhile, I’m gawking at everyone standing in line. “Might have to pick somewhere else,” I observe. “It looks like there’s a long wait.”

Anika smiles. “There’s always a table reserved for me,” she explains.

It’d be easy to resent her obvious privilege if she weren’t so pleasant about it all. It’s not meant to make me feel inferior—I mean, it does, but it’s not meant to—it’s just a statement of fact. I got this absurdly extravagant limo for my twenty-first birthday. The nicest restaurant in town has a table reserved for me. The President and the Pope both FaceTime’d to wish me congratulations when I graduated high school and Drake DJ’d my first communion.

I trail behind her like an ugly little duckling into the restaurant. We’re greeted like royalty and immediately seated with a plentitude of bows and complimentary drinks and multiple choruses of “So good to see you, Ms. Kuzmin.”

“I’ll have the walnut salad,” Anika tells the waiter after we’ve wiped our hands with lavender-scented towels. “And my friend will have the menu.”

“Uh… I’m actually not very hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten anything all day,” she points out. “I’ve been stalking you, remember?”

I laugh awkwardly. The waiter stands at patient attention next to us. “Um… I’ll have what she’s having, then.”

“Excellent, madam. We’ll be back with that right away.” He vanishes, leaving us alone in our quiet, flower-walled little corner.

Anika takes a delicate little sip of her lemon water. “It was nice of you to accept my invitation. I thought it was a long shot.”

“This morning, I would have told you the same thing,” I agree. “But I’ve had one hell of a day, so at this point, anything is possible.”

She nods. “How were your appointments?”

I wonder if she realizes that it’s creepy, the way she’s asking me these things. By the look of her face, I’d say no. Same as with the car and the reservation, it’s second nature to her to know anything she wants, to get anything she desires. It’s like I’m talking to an alien unfamiliar with the concept of limits.

“Technically speaking, they were go-sees, not interviews.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Maybe a small one,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. They refused to see me.”

“What?” Anika demands at once, seemingly outraged on my behalf. “Why?”

I wave her away. “It’s not important.”

“I could call—”

“No!” I blurt. “No, that’s very sweet of you, but no. It’ll be just fine.”

She settles back in her seat, though she stays frowning. “You’re not used to this life, are you?” she asks quietly.

“No, not really. Everything and everyone in it is pretty much incomprehensible to me.”

Anika nods again, more thoughtful than ever. “Is it naive of me to think that we could be friends?”

My eyes go wide with shock. “Why would you even want to be friends with me, Anika?”

She shrugs. “I suppose I didn’t know what I wanted when I came looking for you today. But now, it seems like a friendship would be the most mature way of handling this.”

“Why are you handling this at all?” I ask.

“I’ve loved him for a decade,” she explains softly. “I can’t just turn it off now that I know he’s no longer an option.”

“How can you love a person you don’t even know?”

The moment I ask the question, I feel like a hypocrite. Hadn’t I fallen for Kon after a mere couple of hours with him? Can I afford to judge Anika for the depth of her feelings, when mine weren’t so far off in the beginning?

“That’s the thing—I feel I do know him. I know his life, his upbringing. I understand his world. I know what a man like him needs. I know how to be his wife, Iris. I trained for it since I was a little girl.”

“Don’t you want to be more than someone’s wife?”

“I never wanted to be someone’s wife. I wanted to be his wife. From the very beginning.”

The waiter returns with our salads then. I sit quietly until they disappear. I’m starving, so I start to eat, but Anika sits with her hands folded primly in her lap, the picture of elegance.

I chew, swallow, and set my fork back down. It feels like we’re on the precipice of something important somehow, although this whole interaction has been so out of left field that I could be completely wrong about that.

“What beginning?” I ask.

She smiles like she’s glad I asked. “The day we met. Well, we didn’t actually meet that day, but I did see him. I hid by the staircase and watched him with our fathers. They were having a meeting. I was supposed to be in bed.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve,” she says.

“Twelve,” I breathe. “So young.”

“We mature fast in the Bratva,” she says with a certain sense of pride.

But I have a feeling that that’s not exactly true. The very fact that she’s clinging to the idea of Kon even after everything that’s happened makes me believe that she hasn’t matured past the point of hating the word “no.”

“My father had sat me down earlier and told me that he was trying to broker a deal with his friend, and an ally to our Bratva. The deal involved me marrying his friend’s son one day.”

“Sounds like one of those novels you mentioned.”

She laughs. “I thought so, too. But even still, it struck me as… romantic. And then I saw him, and I knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That I wanted him,” she says with an air of possessiveness that makes my skin crawl. “He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”

I can’t exactly fault her for that. I’d had a similar thought when I’d first seen Kon. But I’m starting to feel my stomach tighten with jealousy nonetheless.

“But it wasn’t just that,” she continues. “It wasn’t about his looks alone. It was the way he carried himself. The way he spoke. He wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. My father bombed him with question after question, and he took them all in his stride. He answered every one. He never faltered. Kon knows who he is, Iris. He always has.”

I play with the hem of the flawless white tablecloth. I feel weirdly nauseous all of a sudden.

“You didn’t see the deal for what it was,” I say quietly, more to myself than to Anika.

“Which was what?”

“A trap. A cage. One you might very well outgrow. But they were never going to give you the key.”

“I’ve always known I was going to be a Bratva wife,” she says defiantly.

“Knowing is one thing,” I point out. “Wanting is another.”

“I suppose what I want doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “He made his choice.”

“And people died for it,” I say. “There’s hurt on both sides, Anika. A man died…”

She sighs mournfully. “I always liked Stepan. He was a good man. Strong, like my own father.” Then she relaxes and picks up her fork to start eating her salad. “I hope you have what it takes.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

Anika shrugs. “It’s not easy to manage men like Kon.”

“You know, I’m starting to realize that.”

She gives me a small smile. “Maybe I can help you?”

“Why would you even want to?”

She sighs. “Because I get it now.”

“What exactly do you get?”

“Why he chose you in the first place.”

It sounds like a complement. At least, it strikes my ear that way at first. But then it twists and I find myself wondering if there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. A threat I can’t see.

A thorn hiding beneath the petals of a rose.

25

KON

Max and I are eating blinis in the kitchen when Iris comes home. She’s wearing a strange expression. Like she’s trying to hide something from her face but read mine at the same time.

“How was your day?” I ask.

She takes a seat at the table, but she stays perched on the edge of her chair, ready to sprint away at a moment’s notice.

“It was… interesting,” she says.

“Did you get a job, Mom?” Max asks enthusiastically as he reaches for his third pastry.

“No, sweetheart, I didn’t. Today was a bust. It’s okay, though,” she adds with a wink. “I’ll wear ‘em down.”

She shoots me another look. I like this one even less than the first. “Max,” I say, “why don’t you go take a shower? It was a long day for all of us.”

Max shrugs, stuffs the majority of a fourth pastry into his mouth, and lopes off for the stairs. He’s looking longer lately, leaner. Filling in and filling out. It’s strange, looking at him and seeing the blurred outlines of the man he’ll soon become.

He’d been a natural shot at the gun range today. We brought Yefim along for the ride and he’d been as proud as I was. All the kid needed was a few pointers and by the end of the two hours, he was shooting right at the target.

“You went somewhere together today?” Iris asks curiously when the kitchen is quiet again.

“Yeah. Skydiving, sword fighting, alligator wrestling.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m too tired for jokes, Kon.”

I sip my black coffee and regard her. “We went for a drive, Iris. That’s all.”

“Oh. Okay.” She lets her eyes fall to where her fingers are toying with the zipper of her purse.

“You look like you have something to tell me,” I say when she doesn’t volunteer the information on her own.

She hesitates. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to fly off the handle.”

“Uh-oh.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says quickly. “In fact, it turned out to be mostly harmless.”

My body stiffens instantly. “Nestor?” Fuck me, I knew I should’ve assigned her a security detail. I have her phone being tracked, but if that son of a bitch came anywhere near—

“No, no,” she says hurriedly. Then she lets her shoulders slump and adds, “Close, though.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Anika.”

“Jesus Christ,” I growl. “What happened?”

“She… well, she asked me out to lunch. She was actually very cordial. I’d go so far as to call her sweet.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Wait—are you telling me that you actually said yes?”

Iris has the presence of mind to look guilty. “I mean, she was pretty insistent, and she just looked…”

“What?” I demand angrily. “She looked what?”

“Like she needed a friend,” she finishes with a weary sigh.

I’m squeezing my mug so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap. “And you don’t think that it’s a pretty big coincidence that the person she wants to be friends with also happens to be my fucking wife?”

“Relax, okay?” Iris says, her tone turning snappy and impatient. “She was just looking for some closure.”

“And you’re the person she tried to get it from?”

“I don’t think you were exactly offering it up on a silver platter, Kon.”

I get up from the table and stare down at her. “You are not to talk to that woman ever again. Is that understood?”

“You are not to talk to me like that ever again,” she fires back, eyes blazing with new fire. “Is that understood? You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t talk to.”

“That ring on your finger says I do.”

Immediately, she starts pulling it off. “Take it back then. Silly me—I thought it was a wedding ring, not a dog collar.”

I round the table and grab her hand before she succeeds in taking the ring off. “When I put you on a leash, you’ll fucking know it,” I snarl. “Now, stop being stubborn and listen to me.”

“How about you listen to me, for once?”

“I would, if you didn’t insist on being so damn stupid all the time.”

“Being so—excuse me?” she cries out furiously. “That’s so fucking rich.”

I still have my hand wrapped around her wrist. Her pulse is hammering against my palm and the ring digs into my skin, a sharp-edged reminder of everything that’s at stake here.

“So running back to Daddy was a smart move?” I seethe.

“You act as though I had a lot of options!” she says, her voice rising. “Who else did I have?!”

“Me!” I roar, reeling her against me. “You had me, goddammit!”

“No! Anika had you. And you had me the way you have a pet or a couch—as an object to use and discard at your leisure. So no, Kon, I didn’t have you. I didn’t have anyone. I never have.”

“That’s your own fucking fault. You’ve spent your life pushing away anyone who ever tried to help.”

Her green eyes go wide, and she reacts without thinking. Her hand slashes across the air. I see the slap coming but I still do nothing to stop her. I don’t even move out of her way. I let her hit me.

She needs this more than she can possibly understand.

The moment she makes contact with the side of my face and the sound of the violence rings out into the quiet kitchen, she gasps in horror. She stares at her hand like it’s responsible for acting all on its own.

“Ow,” she whispers. Then, perhaps realizing how frightened and vulnerable she looks, she raises her eyes to mine. “Is this it then?” she asks. “Is this the moment you finally get rid of me?”

I gaze down at her for a long time. Then I shake my head. “No, kiska. When someone challenges me, I don’t dispose of them; I punish them.”

My threat takes a moment to sink in. But when it does, her green eyes burst with color and she tries to turn from me. Not fast enough, though. Not even close.

I grab her and hoist her over my shoulder in one swift motion. “No!” she screams. “Kon! Let me go!”

I take the stairs up to my bedroom two at a time. A pair of maids flees the second floor hallway as soon as we approach, disappearing into adjoining rooms without a sound.

I kick the door shut with an ear-splitting clang. Iris is beating her fists against my back, though it’s as useless as anything else she’s ever tried. I dump her unceremoniously onto the mattress.

Her hair flies around her head, and I see a flash of those sultry green eyes. “Oh, so this is how you do things,” she growls ferally. “Is this how you would have handled Anika if she fought back? Or am I getting special treatment?”

“Anika would’ve known better.”

“Because she is a child!” Iris screams. “She was born and bred to be your little toy. You’re sick for ever agreeing to let that happen.”

With that, she leaps back off the bed and starts to make for the door. But I slide smoothly into her path.

“Get out of my way,” she snarls.

“Make me.”

“Are you trying to get me to slap you again?”

I lean in a little and whisper in her ear, “Maybe I like it when you fight back.”

She jerks around in my grasp, but I don’t let go. Instead, I spin her in place so my cock is pressed up against her ass. I inhale her scent. It’s become a drug to me. My dick hardens, my pulse races, my breath comes quicker and shallower.

“You smell delicious,” I rasp.

“That’s probably Anika’s perfume,” she says bitterly. “No wonder you like it.”

“You are not to see her again.”

“You really need to stop telling me what to do.”

“You really need to start acting rationally,” I growl. “This woman is not the innocent little china doll she seems to be. She’s dangerous.”

“She’s twenty-two years old.”

“Do you know how many men I’d killed by the time I was twenty-two years old?” I ask quietly.

She tenses in my grasp. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s a fact, Iris. You’re the one in control of what it means to you.” I reach around, find the buckle cinching her vest in place and free it, then rip the garment off her torso.

“Let me go,” she says again, voice cracking with equal parts fury and desperation.

“I’ll let you go when I’m good and ready.”

She jerks against me, but all that does is grind her ass against my erection. At the same time, I slip my hand underneath her billowing white shirt.

“No bra,” I observe. “Interesting.”

Her breath catches when my fingers graze over her nipples. She tries to elbow me, but I push her against the wall and her face smashes into the smooth surface.

“You’re really doing this?” she asks.

“Your nipples are hard, your eyes are dilated, and I’m pretty sure if I touch your pussy right now, you’ll be wet.”

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

She cuts off when I rip the pants right down her thighs, revealing the lace black thong she’s wearing. When I slap her ass, she cries out—not with pain, but with lust.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, squirming beneath me.

“So you’ve said, again and again.”

“Yeah, well, it bears repeating.”

I reach around her and slip my fingers inside her panties. She gasps again, and her neck arches backwards. I stroke through her folds once, then withdraw my hand and bring my glistening fingers up to my lips. I suck her juices off them slowly. Sweet and salty. Fucking bliss.

“Just like I thought,” I rasp. “Soaking wet for me.”

“Kon…”

“Is this what you’re scared I’ve done with Anika?” I ask as I find her clit and start to trace slow, lazy circles around it. “Are you worried that I’ve touched her like this?”

She moans and this time, the sound is unmistakable. There’s hot desire between her breaths. There’s rage, too, but the lust drowns it out like it never even existed.

“Fuck…” she whimpers. My cock bucks against her ass cheeks, and she shudders.

“Are you worried I’ve made her moan like I’m making you moan right now?”

“Mmf… you… asshole…”

“Try again, baby,” I growl into her ear. “Use your words. Tell me what frightens you.”

I jerk my hips against her ass, and she lets out this strangled little whine that nearly makes me abandon my plan and dive inside of her right here and now.

But I’m nothing if not determined.

I slide two fingers inside her, while keeping my thumb on her clit.

“Oh God…” she cries as I bear down. “Oh God…”

“You worried I made her come like this?” I ask as her body rolls and writhes.

“Yes… yeah…”

And then, just before the orgasm breaks, I remove my hand and release her all at once. Her hands clap against the wall and her knees buckle, but she manages to stay on her feet.

When she turns around, her eyes are sharp and wild and heartbreakingly desperate. I just smirk at her. “I told you, Iris: I don’t dispose of people. I punish them.”

“I look forward to returning the favor one day,” she snarls at me.

“Ah, yes. That’s the recipe for a happy marriage.”

I turn, adjust my aching dick in my pants, and saunter towards the door. Behind me, I hear her huffing and puffing as she struggles back into her clothes.

She brushes past me once she’s dressed, but she stops in the door and looks back. Her eyes are bright, her hair wild, defiance exuding from every pore—

And I’ve never wanted her more.

“You think you’ve got the last laugh?” she demands, before her eyes fall knowingly to the visible bulge in my crotch. “I’m going to go back to my room and finger myself until I come all over your expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. And you’re not the man I’ll be thinking of when I do. Enjoy your blue balls, Konstantin. They’re gonna last a lifetime.”

She slams the door closed and leaves me chuckling to myself.

The woman fights dirty.

Just the way I like it.

26

IRIS

I do exactly what I promised Kon I’d do. Back in my room, desperately trying to spite him with my own release.

But I couldn’t come while I thought about another man. I simply could not do it. Not for lack of trying, though.

I fall asleep mad as hell. I wake up feeling this strange hunger. But it has nothing to do with my stomach. There’s a hunger in my skin, in my body, between my legs.

I want Kon.

And my fingers just aren’t filling the void, no pun intended.

I sink to the floor of the shower and sit there as the hot water gushes down on me. It’s like a tropical waterfall, lush and private. Unfortunately, that makes it way too easy to let my mind drift into fantasies.

Sex fantasies, of course, since the greedy bitch between my legs can’t get enough no matter how much my head is screaming at her to zip it up. But it’s more than sex, too. Even the fantasies that start that way have another element to them.

Usually, that element involves me finally getting the upper hand. Kon tries some of his usual Kon shit and I flip it on him. I’m the one doing the pinning. I’m the one doing the taunting. I’m the one effortlessly in charge.

But if history is anything to go by, that will never be more than a fantasy. And all those beautiful little daydreams end the same way—with Kon’s naked body hovering dominantly over mine, ready to devour me whole.

“Goddammit,” I mutter as I reach up to snap off the water.

I towel off angrily and get dressed in jean shorts and a tight gray t-shirt. Then I swallow my pride and head downstairs. It’s not like I can avoid him forever. We do share a son who thinks we’re still married.

Max is in the kitchen with Imogen, the chef. He’s sitting on the counter, watching her fry up some sausage on the pan. The smell is mouth-watering. Which is saying something, given that I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment.

“Good morning, Mrs. Aminoff,” Imogen greets.

“Call me Iris, Imogen.”

“I can’t do that, ma’am.”

I sigh. “Well, then Ms. Keller is fine.”

“Mrs. Aminoff rolls off the tongue though, doesn’t it?” Kon asks, walking in and making me spasm in place.

Stiffening stubbornly, I turn and pour myself a glass of water from the jug in the refrigerator. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for the next act of defiance.

“Those sausages smell amazing, Imogen,” I say pointedly, without so much as a glance in Kon’s direction.

“Thank you, ma’am. They’re an old family recipe.”

“And you’re wasting it on your current employer?”

“He pays me well,” she says cheekily.

“I’ll bet,” I grumble. When I turn back around, Kon is sitting at the head of the massive slab of charred oak that serves as his dining room table. Max slinks into an adjacent seat. I take the farthest one possible.

“May I get you all something to drink?” Imogen asks as she approaches us.

“Orange juice!” Max chirps.

“Coffee for me, Imogen,” Kon rumbles. “Black.”

“Max will get his own juice, Imogen,” I say, glaring at my son until he gets out of his chair. “And I can make myself a cup of coffee.”

“No need, ma’am,” Imogen says uncomfortably. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“You’ve got your hands full making breakfast. Don’t worry about the drinks.”

She glances over at Kon, who gives her a crisp nod that I’m sure communicates something that’s really gonna piss me off. With a respectful bow and not another spoken word, Imogen turns back into the kitchen.

“Trying to prove something?” Kon asks me.

“That we’re not spoiled brats like you clearly are.”

Of course he doesn’t look the slightest bit bothered by that. “I won’t apologize for my lifestyle.”

“Maybe you should.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Do tell.”

“I’m just saying, you have so much wealth. Why not share it? There are great charities you can donate to. Programs that help disadvantaged people and struggling minorities. That kind of thing. Lots of people would kill for the stuff you throw away on a daily basis.”

“Interesting,” he says. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

I glare at him until my jaw hurts from clenching so tight. “Max,” I say without breaking from Kon, “why don’t you go see if Imogen needs some help in the kitchen?”

He hears the serious note in my voice, so he slides off his chair and bops into the kitchen to help her. I hear them strike up in a light conversation, peppered with laughter. Meanwhile, I’m gripping the edge of the table hard enough to crack it.

“You think you can make us into what you want us to be,” I start to snarl. “You think you can—”

“You realize that all our conversations are giant circles?” he interrupts, casual as can be. “We go around and around and always land in the same place. It’s exhausting, to be frank. And rather pointless.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No,” he says, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. He keeps his hands planted on the table, splayed wide like the weapons they are. “You are just trying to create more friction. More sparks to feed the fire you are so desperate to keep burning.”

“More friction—?”

“I think it’s easier for you to fight with me than to just be with me. You’re so terrified of getting hurt again that you’re trying to keep me at a distance because God forbid I get close. Then what would happen? Unseen horrors, I’m sure. The stuff of nightmares.”

I blink up at him, mouth agape. “I’m not—We aren’t—That’s not what’s—”

“Why don’t you explain it to me then?” he drawls. “I’m all ears.”

I’m spluttering with anger. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so infuriatingly right. Maybe that’s the reason for all of this: he’s always right and he’s always in charge and he always knows what he wants and what he’s doing.

But me? I’ve been helpless and twisting in the wind for ten years—

No, for twelve, ever since the night Kyle Jacobson asked me to make him a cup of coffee—

No, for fifteen, ever since my mom shut herself in that room and never came out again—

No, for longer, forever, since the day I was born, since my father’s hatred and my mother’s pain were both passed down to me before I ever took my first breath, hard-wired into my DNA in a way I can’t and won’t escape no matter how hard I try…

Kon doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know how that feels.

I say those words out loud to him. “You don’t get it,” I whisper. “You don’t know how it feels to be lost.”

“You aren’t lost, Iris,” he sighs, straightening up and letting that tide of violence retreat back into whatever hole in his heart he keeps it in. “You’re right where you’re meant to be. You’re just too damn stubborn to see it.”

With that, he turns and leaves. I stand trembling with a thousand different emotions tugging at me like fishhooks for a long few minutes before I sink back into my seat.

My phone starts ringing right then. It feels a little bit like divine intervention when I look down to see Anika’s name pop up on my screen. I answer cautiously.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Iris,” Anika says cheerily. “How are you?”

“I’m… good.”

“I just wanted to call and thank you for being so nice to me yesterday.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Anika.”

“No, I do,” she insists. “Not everyone would have been so nice to their husband’s ex-fiancée.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Still, the dynamic is weird.”

“Story of my life,” I mumble.

She gives a carefree laugh. “Listen, I didn’t just call to thank you. I called because I arranged a meeting for you. A ‘go-see,’ as you called it. With Lorraine Corale.”

My eyes go wide with shock. “Did you just say Lorraine Corale?”

“Mhmm. You know her? She’s designed a few gowns for me and we’ve become friends over the years. I mentioned that I had a friend who was a model and she agreed to meet with you. She’s launching a new campaign this fall and she’s looking for fresh faces.”

“I’m not sure I’m that fresh.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You’re beautiful.”

I frown. “Anika… why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Because… I like you,” she says in a small voice. “And if I can help you in your career, I’m happy to. I can finally put all my contacts to good use. It feels good to be helpful.”

I can feel my heart beating unevenly. I really do want this. I need to feel like I can stand on my own, apart from Kon. I’m no damsel in distress, no matter how hard the universe keeps trying to make me one.

“I can understand why you might be hesitant,” Anika chimes in when I still haven’t answered. “We don’t have to tell Kon about this if you don’t want. I’m just gonna make introductions. Nothing wrong with a little friendly chat, right?”

I take a deep breath and glance upstairs. No sign of Kon. There’s only Max and Imogen skipping around the kitchen, cooking up a storm.

“Okay then,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

“Awesome,” Anika says. “I’ll text you with the details.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

She hangs up and I set the phone back down on the table carefully. I run my fingers along the grain of the wood as I ask myself the same question again and again without so much as a hint of an answer in sight.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

27

KON

The round table never fails to make me laugh. The dons of the city gather around a table where no one ever sits at the head. It’s equal footing, it’s gentlemanly—and it’s very fucking stupid.

Because the others can pretend to ignore it all they want, but there’s a specific hierarchy in this city: I’m at the top of the food chain, and everyone else falls below me.

“Another cigar?” comes a voice from my right.

I take the cigar that Gorvic Magellan offers me. Mattias Kostas leans forward to light it for me. I inhale and let the sweet smoke fill my mouth before I breathe out a cloud along the surface of the table.

Magellan’s eyes stay locked on the asses of the waitresses as they clear the poker chips and refill our drinks. Once upon a time, I would’ve done the exact same thing. I used to find this kind of thing thrilling. Now, I’m fighting yawns.

The only thing that really interests me is the information flying across the table.

Every man here is a trusted ally. Or at least, as trusted as they can be without being a Vor bearing the Aminoff mark on their chests. For decades, they’ve followed our lead. Paid our tribute. Fought our wars. They have a lot to lose if the Aminoff Bratva falters.

So far, however, the men seem more interested in discussing my marriage and the ensuing chaos that followed as opposed to anything else. I’m almost at the limits of my patience, and we’ve barely been here an hour.

“So when do we get to meet your wife?” Kostas asks.

“Not yet,” I say shortly, taking another drag on my cigar.

“Wait,” Mattias says, raising his eyebrows at Kostas. “You mean you don’t know who she is?”

“Should I?”

“She’s a model. Used to date some douchey rock star.”

“A model?” Kostas says, eyeing me jealously. “I like your style, Kon.”

Magellan holds up his phone, which I see is displaying a picture of my wife. He’s picked the most modest photo of her, probably because he’s not a complete idiot.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lennon whistles. “There had to be a good reason you passed up Anika Kuzmin. Makes sense now.”

The other men chime in as well.

“She’s a ten.”

“Sexy as sin.”

“Legs for days.”

I glare at Mattias and he puts his phone away with a sheepish smile. “We’re not here to discuss my wife,” I say firmly. That silences the table at once. “We’re here to talk business.”

I snap my fingers at the women floating around us. They perk up instantly, ready to do anything I request. “The lot of you. Out.”

The women immediately file out one after another until there’s no one left but the eight men at the table. “Any news coming out of the Kuzmin camp?” I ask.

Mattias nods. “I saw Nestor himself out and about a few days ago.”

“Where?”

“The Black Suite,” Mattias says. “He was indulging in a couple of hookers. Had a pile of cocaine on his table the size of Everest, too.”

Kostas snorts. “Sounds like rock bottom to me.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” I correct. “Nestor doesn’t have the taste for that kind of indulgence. And even if he did, he wouldn’t do it where you could see him.”

“You think he’s trying to throw us off?” Yefim questions.

“I dunno, Kon,” Mattias muses. “He seemed pretty pissed to run into me.”

Jax Carver takes a long drag of his cigar. “According to my sources, the man’s been shitting himself ever since you dropped by. Beefed up his security, barely leaves the house, et cetera. He thought he was a goner.”

Kostas turns to me with his shrewd, watchful eyes. “Why wasn’t he a goner that day?” he asks. The other men grunt in agreement with the line of questioning.

I lean back in my seat and toy with the cigar. “I decided to be merciful.”

More grunts, some of them skeptical. I could easily stand up and remind these worms who the fuck they work for. But I decide to take the diplomatic route instead.

“How many of you here knew that my family was deep in debt to the Kuzmin Bratva?”

The shocked silence I’m greeted with gives me my answer: none of them.

I nod. “Stepan dug us into a hole. It wasn’t so deep that I couldn’t get us out, but it was deep enough that new alliances needed to be formed. Difficult decisions needed to be made. The original reason for my betrothal to Anika Kuzmin was as much a repayment of that debt as a political alliance between two allied Bratvas.”

“Fuck…” someone utters.

“Nestor Kuzmin is alive today for two reasons: firstly, because he poured money into the Aminoffs when he had no concrete insurance he would ever see it returned. And he continued to do so for years, with nothing but my father’s word to back him up. And mine.”

“I broke my word when I made another woman my wife. Nestor’s actions were unjustified, but his anger wasn’t. Which is why he walked out of there alive. Now, the Aminoffs are free of debt, all balances are cleared, and any attempt on my life or my Bratva from here on out will be met with the usual: an iron fist and no mercy.”

The men murmur their approval.

“Do you think he’ll try something?” Agassiz asks. He’s the quietest man at the table, which is perhaps why he retains the most information. His watchful eyes take in everything.

“Nestor is a proud man,” I say. “Proud men aren’t so easily cowed.”

“Especially by a guy he used to see in diapers,” Yefim whispers with a soft chuckle. I make a mental note to slug him as hard as I can when the meeting is over. For now, I ignore him.

“The point is to remain vigilant,” I tell them all. “If you hear anything, if you see anything, report it to me. Immediately.”

“What about the girl?” Kostas asks. “The Kuzmin girl?”

“The girl as well,” I say. “Maybe even the girl especially.”

Yefim looks at me with raised eyebrows. I haven’t yet mentioned her little lunch with my wife. “Anika?” he asks in surprise. “I didn’t think you wanted to include her in this.”

“That’s before I thought she would be a problem.”

“How is she a problem?” Yefim presses.

“That remains to be seen,” I say dismissively. “I think this game is almost at an end. As far as normal business, make sure payments are delivered before the end of the week. Meeting adjourned.”

The men get out of their seats and troop out towards the black door. The only one who stays behind is Yefim, although he does give the exit a longing look.

I smirk. “No one’s keeping you here.”

“That scowl on your face is,” he sighs. “Is there something you’re not telling me about Anika?”

I stub out the remnants of my cigar. “She made contact with Iris.”

“No way,” Yefim says, sounding a little too intrigued. “They met?”

“She tracked Iris down in the street. They had lunch.”

He freezes, his smile turning uncertain for a moment. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not.”

“Jesus,” he breathes. “Was it, like, a lunch-at-gunpoint sort of situation?”

“No. Iris went willingly.”

He stares at me for a moment and then a sharp laugh escapes through his pressed teeth. “So are you saying you have a chance for a threesom—”

I deliver the punch I promised him a few minutes ago, hard on the shoulder. Yefim howls in pain.

“Anika has an angle here,” I say as he grumbles curses under his breath in rapid Russian.

“Can you be sure about that?” he asks, still rubbing his shoulder.

“No, but it’s better to have a contingency plan in place. Anika might just be fishing, looking for inroads back to me. Maybe she really is sincere. I don’t know, but I don’t want her seeing Iris again.”

“Have you told Iris that?”

“Of course. It went about as well as can be expected.”

Yefim looks at me, his expression both amused and curious as he reaches for his bourbon.

“What?” I demand.

“It’s just funny, that’s all. Your wife spends half her time trying to bite your dick off.”

I sigh and lean back in my seat. My voice comes out almost reverent, though I didn’t intend it that way. “She’s the first thing that’s been real for me in a long time, Yefim. I’ll fight anyone to keep her close. Even her.”

“You’re not worried you’ll lose?”

“I never lose.”

“I never thought you’d get married, either, and yet here we are.”

“Some things change,” I murmur. “Most don’t.”

Yefim nods solemnly and raises his glass. “To your new wife and your ex-fiancée,” he says. “And their new friendship. And, y’know, maybe if they get a few drinks in them and they’re feeling open-minded one night, you can see if they wanna—”

I chuck a metal coaster at his head. “You are such a dipshit,” I snarl, though even I’m laughing.

Yefim cackles as he recovers from his duck. He throws back what remains of his drink. “Blyat’,” he gasps, wincing hard. “That burns.”

“Hope it fries your vocal cords clean out.”

“Not getting laid is making you irritable.”

“No, my second-in-command running his mouth is making me irritable. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, well, this is why you pay me the big bucks,” he says, unruffled. “The ever-helpful thorn in your side. I can put eyes on her, you know. Make sure she’s tailed wherever she goes. We can spin it as protection.”

I shake my head. “No. Not now. Right now, we need to establish trust. She needs to feel safe, and she needs to retain some semblance of a normal life. If I change too much too fast, she’ll start pushing back.”

“I think her lunch with Anika proves that she’s already doing that, bud.”

I glare at him. “Have I ever told you how much I despise when we unpack my life together?”

He chuckles. “I think I missed my calling as a shrink.”

I roll my eyes and get to my feet. “You need to find yourself a life so that you’re not so hyper-focused on mine.”

“Fancy another drink?” Yefim asks as he stands up with me.

“Go ahead without me. I’m going home.”

Yefim raises his eyebrows. “To a wife who won’t fuck you?”

I smile knowingly. “This might surprise you, but not fucking each other is part of the foreplay.”

He shakes his head. “Only you could not have sex and still manage to make me jealous.” His expression turns curious again. “Who would’ve thought you’d be capable of monogamous love?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“I’m sure they have. But right now, I can’t think of a single one.”

28

IRIS

No one ever believes me about this, given my choice of profession, but I’m not usually the kind of woman who finds herself staring at her reflection in the mirror. I don’t usually wonder if I’m wearing the right thing. Fretting if I look pretty enough, skinny enough, good enough. I don’t think too much about any of it.

Today feels different. Today feels like a turning point.

Maybe that’s why I’ve made an effort. I’ve really thought about every article of clothing I’ve put on. The dress is a taupe silk wraparound with a deep scooped V neckline that bears a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. The tie-up around my waist is thin, black, and lightly textured. A slash of color to break up the shimmering beige.

I’ve left my neck bare. But I’m wearing small hoop earrings and a matching handmade bracelet, both of which, like the rest of my jewelry, I bought in a flea market years ago.

I’ve taken care with my makeup, too. A light dusting of foundation, a quick stroke of mascara, a splash of milky caramel for eyeshadow. The lipstick, blush rose, is another pop of color amidst it all.

I turn slowly on the spot, looking for flaws I can fix. Maybe that’s why I don’t normally gawk and gape at my own reflection—it’s too easy to go looking for the scarred parts of me. But every time I get the urge to hate myself right now—to hate what this body has been through, what it’s done, what’s been done to it—I take a deep breath and force my eyes to keep roving.

That’s the only way I can stay sane.

When I’m finished with my pirouette, I sigh and check my phone. Nothing. No calls or messages.

I’ve been expecting a cancellation of my appointment all morning, but so far, it’s still a go. I decide to take the radio silence as a good sign. I shoulder my bag and turn to leave—

When I catch sight of his perfect silhouette leaning against the door.

I gasp and jerk to a standstill. One of Kon’s legs is bent back, his foot resting against the doorframe. He’s wearing a subtle smirk that makes my insides twist.

“Are you a ghost?” I complain, my heart still running a mile a minute. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“You were a little preoccupied staring at your reflection.”

I fight back the blush. “You should have knocked.”

“Why?” he teases. “Do you have a man hiding under the bed?”

“What if I did?”

“I’d kill him,” Kon says, so simply that it sends chills up and down my spine.

“Is there an actual reason you’re here?” I ask. “Other than to make unnecessary threats to imaginary people, that is.”

“I came to tell you that I’ve set up a meeting for Max at McMillian Academy for Tuesday.”

“A what at the where?”

Kon chuckles. “A meeting. At McMillian Academy. It’s the best school in the city,” he explains.

“I know what it is,” I snap. “Max already goes to school.”

“Not like this one.”

“Were you going to consult me about this?”

He shrugs. “Consider yourself consulted.”

I’m at a loss for words.

Kon, however, is not. He straightens up. “Tuesday. Ten A.M. The headmaster will show us around.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “How much did you have to pay for this interview?”

“Nothing.”

“Then who’d you have to hurt? You don’t just ‘get into’ McMillian Academy.”

“That’s true of most people,” Kon says. “But I’m not most people. And now, neither are you and Max.”

“Not sure how I feel about that.”

Kon sighs wearily. “Not everything has to be hard, Iris.”

“Nothing should be so easy!” I protest. “If there’s one thing I know beyond all reasonable doubt, it’s that whenever something good and unexpected happens, there’s a catch. There’s always a catch, Kon. Always.”

He spreads his arms wide. “Come pat me down then,” he suggests with a wicked gleam in his eye. “See if you find one.”

I blush again and try to hide it by turning from him. “I don’t really have time for this,” I say. “I have another appointment today.”

“Is that why you’re all dressed up?”

I turn away and fix my hair in the mirror. The heat in my face from Kon’s inevitable effect on me is enough to start smudging my makeup. “It certainly isn’t for you,” I snort.

“Liar.”

The whisper is right in my ear. I jump and stifle a scream.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasp. Somehow, he crept up from the doorway to whispering distance without me noticing. “I’m gonna get you a collar with a bell on it. You need to make noise when you move.”

“Why?” he asks, invading my space with his intoxicating presence. “So you can run from me?”

His hand glides up my arm. Barely touching me. Just teasing. Like I have to earn anything more than this. I can practically hear the thoughts running through his head: Good girls get more than feather-light touches. Good girls get anything. All they have to do is ask.

“I should have run a long time ago,” I murmur.

But I’m not really thinking about what I’m saying at all. Words rise to my tongue and I release them without thinking.

“When, exactly?” he asks. “If you could’ve run, when would you have chosen?”

“When I noticed you for the first time at that party.”

He doesn’t look annoyed. In fact, he smiles. “You noticed me, hm?”

“You’re a giant. It’s hard not to notice you.”

“What else did you notice?”

“Your lips.”

Okay. Definitely did not think about that statement before I released it into the wild.

His smile deepens as I try to think of a way I can walk back those words. Lord knows his head doesn’t need any more inflating.

“You were talking a lot,” I mumble.

He’s not buying it. I can see the spark in his eye, both challenging and disbelieving. “What was I saying?”

“I can’t remember now. It was a long time ago.”

I tense when his fingers dance over my collarbone. Weirdly enough, I feel it right in my stomach. Deep and so firmly rooted that it claws at my insides, desperate for something more than the tease he’s inflicting on me.

But I won’t lean in. I won’t part my lips. I won’t throw myself at him, even when every tiny fraction of my body is screaming at me to do exactly that.

Because it’s what he wants, and it’s just not fair that he always gets what he wants. He’ll take it all from me if I give it to him—my freedom, my independence, my sanity.

He’ll take my love, too.

That’s the scariest one of all.

I drag my gaze up to meet his. His eyes are burning unusually bright right now. It’s like staring into an eclipse, but I can’t bear to look away.

“You look beautiful,” he rumbles in that voice of his, uniquely rough and uniquely soft at the same time.

His fingertips graze the side of my face. Despite myself, my lips part. Kiss me, I hear the voice in my head cry. Please just kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

I’m the one who backs away first. “I have to go. I have an appointment.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Not necessary,” I say, heading for the door so I don’t cave and follow him into the mouth of hell. “You can pick Max up from school, though. I might be late coming back.”

“I’ll do that.”

I nod and pause at the door. I have no reason to linger other than to look at him for an extra few seconds. Then I slip out and rush downstairs.

Yefim is standing in the foyer, throwing car keys into the air before he catches them. He sees me and gives me a big smile. “Ready to go?”

I frown. “Go where?”

“Wherever you need to,” he explains. “I’m your chauffeur for today.”

“Where’s Roscoe? Isn’t this a little below your pay grade?”

“Not at all. You are Mrs. Aminoff. I’m transporting precious cargo.”

“I’m not cargo, and I’m sure as hell not Mrs. Aminoff. I’m Iris. Ms. Keller, if you really insist on the formality.”

“So many rules,” Yefim sighs. “And so bossy. Maybe you have the makings of a true Bratva wife after all.”

I purse my lips up to hide my smile as we make towards the garage. I’m not totally happy about Yefim being my chauffeur, but I have no doubt that Kon is the one who put him up to this. If I make a big fuss about it, they’ll get suspicious.

I get into the passenger seat and send a quick text to Anika, letting her know that I’m on my way to meet with Lorraine and thanking her again for setting it up.

“You look nice,” Yefim says as he drives through the gates. “Hot date?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s a pretty obvious question for a spy.”

“What makes you think I’m a spy?”

“You mean besides your general aura and decades-long history with my husb—with Kon?”

Yefim laughs. “Guilty on both charges. I’m not spying, though. Just keeping you safe. He’s protective of you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Protective?” I scoff. “Is that the word he’s using these days?”

“One of them. I’ve told him ‘hyper-anal’ would probably be more accurate, but he didn’t like that too much.”

I snort. “I’m sure you told him that.”

“I did,” he insists. “I’m always honest with Kon. Even when he doesn’t like it. Hell, especially when he doesn’t like it.”

“Name one time.”

“Like when I told him not to get involved with you.”

I turn to him sharply. “You… you did?”

He nods unapologetically. I have to admire his candor. “Yup. I thought he was going to blow up his life by snubbing Anika. And lo and behold, I was right. Not that he regrets it. He’s as stubborn a bastard as has ever graced the face of the earth, and the next time he admits he’s wrong will be the first. Doesn’t mean he isn’t, of course. From time to time.”

I’m not sure what to make of that. There’s no doubt he’s telling me the truth. He’s a straight shooter, I can tell. But is it right that his words sting a bit? A little more than a bit, actually?

“Maybe you’ll get what you want in the end,” I say, because I can’t say anything else. “Maybe I’ll leave and he can go back to the way things were supposed to be.”

Yefim glances at me, but he doesn’t say anything. I have no idea what he’s thinking. It seems to be a distinctly Bratva trait. A distinctly irritating one, too.

“What’s your deal?” I ask suddenly.

“Oh, honey, we don’t have time for that.”

I can’t help laughing. “I mean, do you have a wife? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?”

“I have a job,” he corrects. “I’m married to the Bratva.”

I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds lonely.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “I’m never alone when I don’t want to be. In fact, just last night, I enjoyed the company of a very beautiful, very bodacious young woman. Her name was Courtney. Or maybe it was Cassie. Not quite sure.”

“Charming.”

“I don’t want complications,” Yefim explains. “Women who understand that are the ones I like to spend my time on. With. Inside of. You get the point.”

“Even if you can’t remember their names after?”

“It’s what I like most about them. They don’t care what I call them.”

“So long as they get paid when it’s over?”

He shrugs. “What does it matter if some money hops from my wallet to theirs? I get what I want and so does she. Win-win.”

“And you don’t care that she’s pretending to be interested in you just to get money?”

“Nope.”

I frown. “Was Kon like that, too?”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What makes you think anything has changed?”

I feel my heart shudder painfully in my chest. I suppose it’s entirely possible that Kon is sleeping with other women—I’d just never even considered the thought.

When we’re together, everything just feels so… heightened. Intense. Deep. It doesn’t feel like there’s any room for another person in the heat of that fire.

Or maybe I’m just projecting. Maybe I’m caught in a fantasy that’s so naïve that I’ve managed to convince myself he feels the same way.

I can feel Yefim watching me as we drive. His eyes bore into the side of my face, but I don’t grace him with so much as a glance.

“You seem upset,” he remarks as he rounds the corner that leads to Lorraine’s office building.

“I’m not,” I snap. “You can drop me off at the curb and go. I don’t know how long this will take.”

“I don’t mind waiting. Already cleared my schedule and everything.”

“I’m serious. I don’t need a ride back. I’ll find my own way home.”

“You are upset,” he decides, sounding more amused than apologetic.

“I’m just trying to get in the right headspace for this interview and I need some quiet.”

“I’d say you look angry, not nervous.”

“It’s part of my process.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Almost never.”

“Jesus Christ,” I groan as I get out of the car and slam the door on him. “Seriously, leave. I’m fine.”

He nods his head and speeds off. I barely resist the urge to throw something at his fancy car. I have the feeling he’s going to park just out of sight, but there’s not a single thing I can do about it.

Grimacing, I hoist my bag up and step into the building. I’m slapped in the face immediately with the floral scent of lavender and luxury. Everything is white, and not just white, but white white, the kind of gleaming ivory that costs a fortune to maintain.

I’m en route towards the receptionist when I hear someone call my name. “Iris!”

I turn to find Anika walking straight towards me. She’s wearing a yellow mini-dress with elegantly puffy sleeves and a short hemline that sets her long, tan legs on display.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise.

She looks at me apologetically. “I’m so, so sorry,” she says. “Lorraine called me a little while ago. She… she canceled the appointment.”

My heart plummets in my chest, taking the last vestiges of hope down with it. “Oh,” I mumble.

She grabs my hand. I have to try really hard not to flinch from her grasp. “I tried to ask her why, but—”

“I know why,” I say.

Anika looks at me with wide, curious eyes. “What do you mean? Do you have a history with Lorraine?”

“No, I have history with someone else.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you for your help, Anika. I think I’m gonna head back home now.”

“Wait… Iris.” She runs around and blocks my path to the door. “If you just wait here, I can try and contact Lorraine again. I can figure out—”

“I appreciate that, but there’s nothing to figure out, Anika. She won’t see me. I just assumed she was big enough in her own right to call her own shots. Not have him call them for her.”

Anika frowns. “Who are you talking about?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” she says fervently. “Whoever this son of a bitch is, you can’t let him get away with it.” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I can’t believe that Kon hasn’t done something about this before now.”

“He doesn’t know,” I admit. “I never told him.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be the damsel in distress,” I whisper sheepishly. I hate how it sounds out loud. “I didn’t want to have to be rescued. Again. Like always.”

“Stop it,” she says firmly. “Do you always give up so easily?”

“I’ve been fighting this fight for a long time, Anika. I’m just so tired of losing it.”

“Then let me help you.”

I force myself to meet her eyes, even though it feels almost impossible. “Why?” I ask bluntly. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You keep asking me that.”

“Because you keep avoiding the question.”

Anika sighs. Her pretty blue eyes sparkle a little. “Because it’s too embarrassing to admit,” she says at last. “It’s pathetic, in fact.”

“Try me. I’m the queen of pathetic.”

She sighs and looks down at her flawlessly pedicured toes. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Iris,” she says. “In fact, you’re the first woman I’ve felt comfortable with in years. Which is ironic, considering who you’re married to. But in a way… it helps. It makes me understand things better.”

“Anika…”

She shakes her head, waving off my sympathy. “I don’t want pity. I want to be friends,” she says firmly. “I guess that’s why I want to help you. Because that’s what friends do.”

I look at her for a few seconds, wondering whether to trust her or run screaming for the hills.

I know what it feels like to have no one. No one to call, no one to trust, no one to dry your tears. Friendship is not something I ever risked again after what happened with Stephanie. So maybe today’s the day.

“Okay,” I say. “Friends it is.”

29

KON

Max and I are standing at the foot of the stairs, both in suit and tie, when Iris emerges at the landing above.

I have to try very hard to control my expression. She’s wearing a smart white collared shirt underneath a black blazer that follows the curve of her torso. The matching black pencil skirt hugs her hips and makes her look like she’s gliding, and the shimmering mirage of her tanned calves in nude pumps makes my mouth water.

Whether she’s aware I’m gawking or not, she floats down the staircase like royalty. Every step is a masterpiece.

“Are you boys ready?” she asks with a tight smile, not quite meeting my eye.

She’s been strange since her go-see the other day. She told me it wasn’t a good match and refused to elaborate. Yefim only reported that she went in and came back out within a matter of fifteen minutes. Rather than press her for answers, I decided to wait. She’ll come to me.

But goddamn—if she keeps looking like this, I might have to come to her.

And in her.

“Yeah,” Max says, his voice warbling nervously. He’s been a little strange, too, ever since I told him about today’s meeting with the headmaster of McMillian. He’s inherited some of his mother’s fear that every good thing is just the prelude to another bout of pain.

I’ll teach him, though. I’ll teach them both.

I clap him on the shoulder and steer us all toward the foyer. As we pass the gilt-edged mirror hanging on the wall, I look over.

It’s a bafflingly gut-wrenching moment, actually. We make quite the family portrait. I loom over both of them, but somehow, Iris’s willowy frame is a flawless complement to my dark-suited bulk. Max is the best of both of us. And all three together, in one moment like this, free of arguing, free of fear…

It’s perfect in a way I never knew I needed.

It’s over too soon. Max fidgets, Iris clears her throat, and we all disperse. I trail behind to watch them walk to the car in front of me, admiring the way my wife’s hips sway while the skirt molds her ass to perfection.

As Max clambers into the back seat, Iris turns to me, catching me in the act of ogling her.

“I gather you approve of my outfit,” she says in a fake reprimanding tone with the faintest hint of laughter in it.

“I’m just wondering how you can walk in that.”

She turns to me and points to the slit at her right thigh. “That’s what slits were created for.”

I just arch my eyebrow. “The jokes write themselves when you say stuff like that, Mrs. Aminoff.”

Her cheeks flush with color and her eyes narrow. Then she gets into the car and slams the door on me. Laughing to myself, I walk around and get into the driver’s seat.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, we drive through rolling iron gates and up the slanted drive towards the school. A marble statue stands in the center of a fountain with water gushing from the tip of the carved umbrella in the statue’s hand. It’s every bit as pretentious as it sounds.

Still, I’m not here for the architecture. I’m here for my son. And this is the best place for him.

“Ready, kid?” I ask Max as we all emerge from the car.

I notice him slip his hand into Iris’s. She seems to be as surprised by the gesture as I am, because she stiffens immediately and then proceeds not to move, as though she’s worried she might spook him and he’ll let go.

He nods. “Ready.”

I go first. We walk up the stairs of the school. Waiting at the entrance is a short older woman in a skirt suit and bright red lipstick. “You must be the Aminoffs,” she says with a warm smile. “My, what a good-looking family you are.”

“Good morning,” I say, offering her my hand. “I’m Kon Aminoff. This is my son, Max, and my wife, Iris.”

Iris doesn’t say anything as she shakes hands with the receptionist.

“I’m Renee Connington, personal secretary to Headmaster Howell,” she says. “He’s been expecting you. Let me go get him. Please, take a seat.”

She leads us inside to a corner arranged with a smoke-gray sofa and a mid-century modern coffee table. Max sits down in an overstuffed leather armchair, looking more and more like he’s going to be sick.

Iris seems to notice the same thing, because she goes to sit beside him. “Hey,” she whispers, her tone low and comforting. “You’re going to be fine, Max-a-million. Just be yourself.”

“That never really works.”

“Yes, it does. And it will for you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re awesome. And you’re also the smartest kid I know.”

He beams through his nerves. “You’re my mom; you have to say that,” he mumbles with a choked laugh.

“No, I don’t. If you weren’t that smart, I’d be telling you how handsome you are.”

He bursts out laughing and I see the tension slide off his shoulders. He leans in and she hugs him hard, planting a kiss on his head at the same time.

“Love you,” she murmurs.

“Love you, too, Mom.”

I watch them both, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Pride and protectiveness, of course. And something else beneath it. Something soft, tender, and filled with hope.

The door opens again. Renee re-emerges, accompanied by an older gentleman in a checkered suit and silk tie. His blue eyes seem to land on all three of us at the same time. He shakes hands with me first, before turning to Iris.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Aminoff.” He turns his attention to Max, who’s standing at strict attention right next to Iris. “And this must be our young candidate. You’ve inherited your parents’ looks.”

Max blushes and fidgets in place. “Thanks,” he replies awkwardly.

Howell claps his hands together and beams around. “I thought we’d start with a little tour of the grounds. How does that sound, Max?”

“Sounds good,” he says in a small, shy voice.

Headmaster Howell gives him a comforting smile and stoops low. “I know this place can seem a little intimidating sometimes, but trust me, it’ll soon be a second home for you. Let’s go explore.”

He leads us through the school and starts pointing out this and that. Mostly, he talks to Max, pulling him into the conversation as though the tour is for him and him alone. That suits me just fine, especially since it places Iris at my side. She’s still trying desperately to ignore me.

“He’s nervous,” I observe.

“Can you blame him?” she whispers back. “Look at this place.”

“Are you telling me you’re intimidated, too?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Come on. You’d think I’d give Max anything less than the best?”

She glances at me. “How much is the tuition?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I want to contribute.”

“You can once you get a job.”

I don’t mean for that to be a jab at her, but she winces as though it is. Her expression goes blank for a moment and it makes me think she’s hiding something.

I sigh. “Even pride has its limits, Iris.”

“You prefer women without pride, is that it, Kon?” she asks coldly.

I frown, taken aback by the ice in her tone. I expect her to be stubborn. I expect her to fight. But there’s a note of desperation in this retort that feels somehow wrong.

“Is there a reason you sound so angry right now?” I ask calmly.

She shoots me a glare. “I just think it’s rich that you’re going around introducing me as your wife.”

“Last I checked, that’s exactly what you are.”

Howell is waiting for us with Max at the next bend in the corridor, so our little spat is forced to a pause. “And this,” he announces, gesturing through a huge plate-glass window, “is a grand view of our athletics facilities. We have a football field, two basketball courts, half a dozen tennis courts, and two swimming pools on the grounds. In addition, there is a performing arts center right over there, with a theater, music studio, and art labs.”

“You have quite the school here, Headmaster Howell,” Iris says with a forced smile.

He bows his head and grins. “We do our best, Mrs. Aminoff.”

Her jaw clenches at the title, but she doesn’t correct him.

“Can I see the music studio, Headmaster Howell?” Max asks eagerly, clearly having warmed up at this point.

“Of course, young man! I love to see a student interested in music. I’m partial to the drums myself…”

They head up the stairs, their conversation fading away as Iris and I lag behind. I wait until Max and the Headmaster get inside the music studio, before I grab Iris’s arm and twist her around to face me.

“Tell me what’s going on with you,” I growl.

She frowns. “Nothing. Let me go.”

“Bullshit,” I say, holding her hostage with my eyes on her face and my hands on her hips. “I hate all this passive-aggressive nonsense. If you have something to say to me, have some courage and say it to my face.”

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

With a snarl, I whip her around so her back is to my front and pin her against the nearest wall. Her ass in that tight pencil skirt is torture against my erection.

“Let me go!” she cries again. “Max and the headmaster could be back here any second.”

I tighten my grip on her. “Then you better talk fast.”

“Kon…”

“Say my name again, kiska,” I growl in her ear. “It’s really helping the situation.”

“You are insane.”

She pushes into me with her ass, but before I can coax any more answers out of her, we hear footsteps. I step back quickly. Iris does the same, smoothing out her crumpled outfit and trying to smile through her heated cheeks.

Max reappears first, followed by Howell. “Mom, Dad!” chirps Max. “Where were you guys? The music studio is awesome! And super big.”

“I’m sure it was, honey. We were just… admiring the view out here,” Iris grits out.

The headmaster looks between the two of us with shrewd eyes, but he doesn’t say a thing about our obvious state of discomfort. He gestures for us to lead the way back to where the tour began.

“Mr. and Mrs. Aminoff,” he says, stopping outside his office, “if it’s alright with you, I’d like to have a little one-on-one chat with Max here. The two of you are more than welcome to wait in my office and we’ll be with you shortly.”

I nod and glance down to my son. “Go easy on him, kiddo,” I say with a wink. Max laughs and we part ways.

Renee is waiting at the office door. “Can I get either of you some tea or coffee? Water? A snack?”

“Nothing for me,” Iris says.

“I’m good as well. Thank you.”

She bows politely and ushers herself out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

The room is exactly what you’d expect from the headmaster’s office in a ludicrously exclusive private school in Los Angeles. Heavy on the mahogany and leather-bound books. Iris makes straight for the windows against the back wall. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her back is arched straight and stiff.

“Iris.”

She doesn’t turn around. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

I cross the space between us in three long strides. “Ask me what you really want to ask me.”

She hesitates for a second, her eyes flitting to mine and then away again. “You’ll only lie.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” I say. “Try me.”

She turns to face me at last and her shoulders slump forward with exhaustion. Her voice sounds cracked beyond repair. “This… I don’t know what this is anymore. What are you to me? What am I to you? I’m just… I’ve been drowning in half-answers and maybes for so long, Kon,” she says, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I just want something certain. One certain thing. Is that so much to ask for?”

I reach out to cup her chin in my hand. It’s trembling with the force she needs to keep from crying. I let those vibrations ripple through me, and in their place, I return strength. Solidity. The foundation of bedrock she craves so bad after a lifetime completely devoid of it.

“Here is one certainty, Iris, the only one that matters: I’m your husband,” I tell her. “For better and for worse, ‘til death do us part. And there isn’t a man, woman, or beast on this planet that can take you away from me.”

30

KON

The drive to the restaurant I chose for dinner tonight is quiet. I spend most of it trying and failing not to imagine Iris naked beneath me.

She’s seated next to me. She’s been quiet since we left McMillian. I’m not yet sure what kind of quiet it is. Pensive or depressed or suspicious.

When we arrive, the valet opens her car door. She gets out gracefully, all legs and attitude, and offers the pockmarked kid a dazzling smile. He goes blush red and nearly stumbles over the curb.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Iris asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Uh, I… um… yes, ma’am.”

She releases him and he stares after her as she walks away. By chance, his gaze flickers to me, and he does a double take when he sees the bloodthirsty expression on my face. As soon as that happens, the blush pales to fear. He hurries around the car and gets inside. The engine revs loudly and he disappears towards the parking lot.

Iris is waiting for me outside the doors. The top half of her dress is made of sheer black lace, with nothing but two black pasties keeping the world from seeing her nipples. It descends into a shimmering hem just above her knees.

She’s wearing smoky black eye makeup, a blush lipstick, and her hair flows down her back like an obsidian waterfall. Her black stilettos are sharp enough to kill.

“Here,” she says as I approach. I look down to see she’s offering me a tissue.

I frown. “What’s this for?”

“The drool at the corner of your mouth,” she teases.

It’s good to see the glimmer of a smile on her lips. She slaps the tissue against my chest, forcing me to accept it and then she heads off into the restaurant on her own. I laugh in amazement as I watch her go, completely unashamed of my ogling.

Of course, my one problem with her outfit is the reaction it’s getting from other men. Women watch her walk past, too, but the men aren’t nearly as subtle. I silently start adding names and faces to my kill list.

The waiter shows us to our table. “Champagne,” I tell him as he pulls out our seats. “The best you have.”

“Champagne?” Iris asks. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Max did get into McMillian Academy.”

Her nose wrinkles up. “If we’re celebrating that, don’t you think he should be here?”

“No. Especially not with you wearing that dress.”

One corner of her mouth turns up in a rare smile. “You have a problem with my dress?”

“On the contrary, I’m enjoying it very much,” I say, my eyes flickering to her breasts. “I’m just not sure that a son would appreciate seeing his mother like this.”

“Like what exactly?”

“Like sex walking.”

She smiles as though she’s accomplished her mission. “Is it distracting?”

I glance around the restaurant, and catch at least two pairs of eyes fixated directly on Iris. Both glance away as soon as I catch them staring. “It’s certainly distracting to everyone here.”

“Is that a problem for you?”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the white tablecloth. “Is this payback?”

“Maybe,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Is it working?”

I reach under the table, grab her hand, and place it on my steel rod of a dick. “You tell me.”

She yelps deliciously and snatches her hand away. But that blush—fuck me, I’d go to war just to see her blush like that.

The waiter returns with the sommelier in tow, both of them toting a silver bucket of champagne on ice between them. As the somm pours, he starts describing the menu.

I drown him out and focus on Iris. She’s watching me right back, her eyes dark and alluring. She’s the very epitome of a siren. I can imagine a man happily welcoming death if it were offered in her hands. Lord knows I’d take it without question.

It takes me a moment to realize the waiter has stopped talking and is waiting for our reply. “You pick for us,” I tell him.

He bows, says, “Very well, sir,” and retreats.

We sip our champagne and sit in silence for a while. It’s shockingly easy to do that with her. There’s nothing that needs saying.

But then something floats to the forefront of my consciousness. Something that’s been chipping away at my calm like an icepick.

“Did you ever see him again?” I ask.

From her tense body language, I know that she knows exactly who I’m talking about. But of course she pretends like he’s the furthest thing on her mind.

“Who are you talking about?”

“You know who,” I snarl through gritted teeth.

Talking about the son of a bitch who violated my wife makes me want to use my bare hands to destroy things. Ten years ago, I might have split the table in half. But age changes a man. Today, I can sit here and stare at Iris calmly. Albeit while still plotting all the ways I can skin the bastard alive.

She flinches visibly, her eyes teetering from side to side. “Once,” she confesses. “Just before I left Crosse Valley for good.”

“And?”

“He looked right through me,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was as though I didn’t exist at all.” She blinks and a surprising tear slips down her cheek.

The moment she feels the moisture, she wipes it off like she’s embarrassed. She looks around the restaurant self-consciously, as though the act of crying in public is a shame she can’t stand to bear.

“He did it on purpose,” I growl. “To make you feel like you were the crazy one. To make you believe you made it up in your head. Or even worse, to make you feel like you asked for it.”

She nods. “I know. And you know what? It accomplished everything he wanted and more. I suppose that was the moment I realized that I couldn’t stay in that town anymore. He would always be the shadow looming over me. I would never be free of him if I stayed.”

“What about now?” I ask.

Her eyebrows crinkle together. “Now… he’s still there,” she admits. “A little part of every doubt I have in my head. I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly free of him.”

“I have another question.”

“Don’t press your luck,” she says with a half-hearted laugh.

“Why did you choose to sleep with me that night?”

She shifts her gaze away from me, trying to hide whatever emotion is flickering across her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. I want to hear you say it.”

She sighs. “I wanted… a good experience,” she admits, at last. “I wanted a nice memory to blot out the bad one. I thought that maybe I could pretend that everything that happened before… never happened at all.”

“And did it work?”

“Yes,” she admits. “It worked pretty well, actually.” Then she gazes at me through her long, sultry eyelashes. A look like that should be outlawed in that dress of hers. “I never did thank you for that.”

“You were a little busy fighting with me.”

She almost smiles. “You made it easy.”

We gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment. Like the silence before, it’s easy to do. There’s not the slightest desire to look away, to talk, to break the spell. I could just sit and watch and sit and watch forever and be perfectly content with that.

Then something behind me draws Iris’s attention and the spell shatters. “Fuck,” she mutters. Just like that, the tension is back in her shoulders.

“What is it?” I ask, glancing around.

Then I see what she’s seeing.

Jake Nox stands in the center of a motley entourage that’s just barged through the doors. There’s a lot of black leather, silver belts, chest-baring silk shirts, and expensive tattoos among them. Since I saw him last, Jake has swapped out his dark mane for a bleached blonde buzz cut that makes me want to roll my eyes at how desperately it’s screaming for attention.

“Hopefully, he won’t notice me,” Iris says, slipping a little lower in her seat.

“Everyone in the restaurant noticed you,” I rumble.

“Iris?”

Sure enough, there he is. I feel his presence. He steps to her side of the table without so much as bothering to greet me, then leans down and bumps cheeks with her. My knuckles are already twitching restlessly.

“Goddamn,” he croons, looking her up and down. Iris glances at me, and that seems to alert him to my presence. He turns and pales when he sees me. “You.”

I give him a careless smile. “Me.”

He jerks his head towards Iris. “You two are here… together?” he asks, clearly trying to figure out what was going on between us.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” I ask condescendingly.

“It’s nice seeing you, Jake,” Iris says. “But I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”

“They’ll wait for me,” he says abruptly, before turning to me with narrowed eyes. “Was that some kind of veiled threat?”

“I apologize,” I say. “It wasn’t meant to be veiled.”

“You fucking—”

“Jake!” Iris says, lunging forward and grabbing his arm. I don’t much care for that, but she drops it so quickly that I decide to ignore it. “Stop it. This is a nice restaurant and I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Why don’t you tell your buddy here that?”

“Actually, I’m her husband,” I say, truly relishing the taste of that word as it leaves my lips.

“You married this… this thug?” he bleats at Iris.

“Is that what you call every man who beats the shit out of you?” I ponder aloud.

“Watch it, man,” Nox says with that signature false bravado of his.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you regret pushing me.”

I laugh just loud enough for his friends to notice and pay attention. “Go ahead. You can have the first shot.”

“Kon,” Iris says warningly.

I ignore her and get to my feet. I tower over him. “I think you’ve interrupted our dinner for long enough. Time to go, Jim.”

“It’s Jake.”

“You won’t be here long enough for me to remember the difference.”

It’s surprisingly easy to get a rise out of this douchebag. Even more so because we’ve acquired an audience now. A few phones are pointed in our general direction.

“Jake,” Iris hisses, “people are watching. Please just walk away. Kon, sit down.”

Neither one of us listens to her. “Yeah, John,” I say. “Walk away. Or do you need some help getting going?”

“Why don’t you fucking try?” he spits.

I take a step forward, and the idiot decides to take me off-guard by throwing the first punch. I grab his fist out of the air before it’s even halfway up to my face.

I sigh. “You make it so easy to hurt you.”

Then, with a vicious motion, I rip his arm up behind his back and smash his face against the table. Cutlery clatters and onlookers gasp in shock.

“Jesus, Kon!” Iris screams. “Stop!”

I ignore her and lean close to Jake so I can whisper in his ear. He’s flopping around like a landed fish, but I have him skewered right where I want him. Not a single one of his friends lurking in my peripheral vision is particularly eager to intervene.

“This is not the first time you’ve come at me,” I snarl softly. “Last time, I let you go without too much harm. This time, you’re not so lucky. But I’m a generous man, so I’ll give you a choice. Would you rather have a broken hand or a broken nose?”

“Kon, you can’t be serious,” Iris hisses.

I continue to ignore her. “Choose, Jack.”

“Let me go!” he wheezes.

“Choose,” I press. “Your hand or your nose? One hurts your pride; the other hurts your career. Which is more important to you? I’m being kind by giving you a choice at all.”

“Can you please stop this?” Iris begs.

But I’m too angry to listen. Too many men think they can lay claim to my wife. Too many men think they can touch what’s mine. I’m about to set the world straight—one smug bastard at a time.

Jake shakes his head. I shrug. “So be it. I’ll choose for you.” Then I pick him up, spin him around, and slam my forehead right into his face. I hear the satisfying crunch of breaking bones.

When I let go of him, he crumples to the floor. People around us scream. I don’t give a shit.

This is a lesson—to him, to her, to all of them.

Never fuck with the don.

31

IRIS

The moment we’re outside, I tear myself away and glare at him with fury. “What the hell was that?”

“Which part did you miss exactly?”

I’m about ready to tear my hair out by the roots. “The part where that ridiculous dick-measuring contest was even remotely justified!”

Kon just rolls his eyes. “That stuffed peacock needed to be put in his place.”

“Is that it?” I demand. “Or is this just about staking a claim on what you think is yours?”

“I’m guessing you have a problem with that, too?”

“Of course I have a problem with it!” I shout. “I am not your property!”

He leans in until his breath tickles my nose. “Wanna fucking bet?”

Just then, the car pulls up. Kon growls as he grabs my hand and shoves me into the passenger’s seat. By the time I’ve caught my breath, he’s in the driver’s seat and the doors are locked.

“We ordered dinner!” I remind him. Not that it really matters, but I’m mad about everything at this point.

“I’ll have them deliver it.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?” he scoffs incredulously. “Don’t put this on me. This is on you.”

My eyes go wide with shock. “Excuse me—how is you punching my ex-boyfriend in the middle of a fancy restaurant ‘on me’?”

“You keep opening the door when you should be slamming it in his face.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “What are you really mad about, Kon?” I ask. “Are you pissed off that I had a life after we parted ways? That I moved on with another man? That I—oh, the audacity—that I slept with another man?”

I know I’m treading a dangerous path. He’s pissed already, but there are infinite levels to just how furious he can get. We’re barely scratching the surface.

Still, I can’t stop myself.

“Do you expect me to believe that you just spent the ten years we were apart pining for me?” I say, unable to stop the word vomit flowing out of me. I laugh without a drop of humor. “Yeah, I can just see you, turning your nose up at every girl you passed on the street because you were waiting for the day you would reunite with me. What a saint you are. What a—you know what? Fuck this. Stop the car. I want out.”

He ignores me.

“Stop the damn car!”

With a bellow, he slams the brakes as hard as he can and comes to a dead stop in the middle of five lanes of traffic. Cars around us wail on their horns in horror.

“Jesus Christ!” I scream. “Not like that. You can’t just stop in the middle of the highway!”

Kon is completely unmoved. “I can do whatever I want, Iris.”

“I know,” I whisper. “That’s what scares me.”

He looks at me, his expression searching, though God only knows what for. Ten years haven’t made a jarring difference, but if I look hard enough, I can see the small changes. The way his cheekbones cave in a little more. How much more prominent that makes his jawline. The new lines on his forehead. The chisel in his face.

“Just take me home,” I sigh at last. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

* * *

When we get to the house, Kon and I walk upstairs together. He’s silent, and I have no idea what to make of his mood. Hell, I have no idea what to make of my mood.

He stops at the foot of the stairs. I find myself hesitating, too. I glance back towards him. “Well, goodnight.”

He reaches out and grabs my hand. His eyes look spookily blue under the flickering lamps that line the walls.

“No,” he rasps. “Not yet.”

When he pulls me up the stairs, down the hall, and into his room, I go with him, completely unresisting. I let him lead me to the bed. He starts undressing, and I just watch him.

His shirt comes off and gets tossed aside. He pulls his pants off next. The V of his lower abs slopes down out of sight beneath the band of his black boxer briefs. With a subtle smirk, he grabs a tissue from his bedside table and hands it to me.

“What’s this for?” I ask, taking it with confusion.

“The drool at the corner of your mouth.”

My eyes narrow instantly and he chuckles to himself as he gets into bed. He doesn’t so much as try to touch me. Just another mind game. The latest in a ten-year-long war that neither one of us is anywhere close to winning.

“Why did you bring me in here?” I croak.

“You looked like you didn’t want to be alone,” he replies. “If that’s true, then you’re welcome to sleep here. But if I read you wrong—well, there’s the door.”

He waits patiently, eyes leveled at me without a hint of self-consciousness. But he’s right—I don’t want to be alone. I’ve had enough loneliness for a lifetime.

I nod slowly and reach behind my back to the long tie-up that’s holding the dress in place. When I pull the knot loose, it falls from my breasts. I peel off the pasties, wincing at the sting, and shimmy the dress down my hips. Then I slink up to the bed and slide beneath the covers, making sure to pull them all the way up to my chin.

Kon glances at me, but still makes no attempt to touch me. I can feel the heat coming from his side of the bed. It’s strange—even when I’m furious with him—how easy it is to relax here, next to him. It’s amazing how the knots in my back and neck just seem to melt away.

“I can’t believe you punched him,” I whisper into the dark ceiling overhead. “You broke his nose like it was nothing.”

“It was nothing.”

“He’s a rock star with access to the best lawyers in the country,” I remind him. “It was a lot more than nothing.”

“My lawyers will eat his for breakfast.”

“What does it feel like?” I ask. “To do whatever you want with no thought of the consequences?”

“There are always consequences, Iris,” he says softly. “The only question is whether or not you’re prepared to deal with them.”

I take a minute to digest that. “Why didn’t you stop when I asked you to?”

He turns towards me. Not just his face, but his whole body. The sheet falls down to his waist and I can see all the indentations of his abs in the gloom. He is carved from stone, every part of him. Body. Mind. Heart.

“Because that fucker didn’t deserve to be protected. Especially not by you. And deep down,” he adds, “I think you know that.”

I grimace. “Still… it caused an unnecessary scene in a nice place. It was supposed to be a nice night. It was a nice night, until all that happened.”

“You think I was trying to prove some sort of point?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Iris, I’m not the kind of man who’s going to stop something just because you tell me to. I’m not going to back down just because you don’t like confrontation. I’m not changing who I am for you. This is what you get.”

He reaches out and twists a lock of my hair back behind my ear. I tense up, waiting for him to linger, to lean in, to kiss me.

He does none of those things. Instead, he collapses back against his pillow. “The world is scary, Iris,” he says to me. “You just have to be scarier than it is.”

We don’t exchange any more words after that. I drift off to sleep somewhere between thoughts of Jake and thoughts of Kon. Maybe it’s no surprise that there are nightmares waiting for me. They’re thorny, dark, and unrelenting.

* * *

I wake up once in the middle of the night with a large arm wrapped around me. “Shh,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m here. Go back to sleep.”

So I do. I don’t dream again.

* * *

But when I wake up, Kon’s side of the bed is empty. I sigh, yawn, and get dressed in one of his oversized shirts I find in the bureau. As I’m tying a knot in it, I hear a vibration from the black clutch I brought with us last night.

I guess I shouldn’t be quite so shocked to see Jake’s name on the screen of my phone. It’s more surprising that he waited this long to call.

I consider ignoring it, but on the seventh ring, I decide to just bite the bullet.

“Good morning, Jake.”

“Speak for yourself.” He sounds nasally, and also, super pissed. Both parts make sense. “Are you really with that fucker?”

“I’m married to him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“You’re the one who walked over,” I remind him.

“I just wanted to say hi!”

“No, you wanted to stir up shit.”

“He fucking broke my nose!” he crows, his tone rising with indignation. “Everyone saw.”

“Everyone saw you throw the first punch, Jake,” I remind him. “Or at least, they saw you try to.”

He’s silent for a few stormy seconds. “What are you doing with him?” he asks, as though I’m the one with poor judgment.

“I don’t have to explain or justify my decisions to you, Jake.”

“Did he force you? Because if he did—I just mean, I did some digging into this schmuck and—”

“I know who I married, Jake,” I say, interrupting him. “And I also know who I left behind. You were drunk last night. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your manager or your sponsor, but I smelled it on you. You were drunk and you were being stupid and you wanted to cause a scene. If I had been with any other man, it might’ve have worked. But Kon is not any other man. So yeah, I know him, Jake. I chose him. Now, I need you to hang up, and lose my number. This is the last conversation I expect to have with you.”

I wait. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four.

Then he hangs up.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve just put my phone back down, when it starts to vibrate again. “Damn it,” I growl, glancing towards it, expecting to see Jake’s name on my screen again.

Instead, I see Anika’s.

“Hey, Iris, are you alone?” she asks when I answer.

I look around the room to be sure. The coast seems clear. “Yep. What’s up?”

“I have an appointment set up for you today. At nine.”

“Nine?” I balk, glancing at the clock. “It’s 8:20.”

“I know, I know, it’s crazy late notice, I’m sorry. But I had to pull a lot of strings to get you this one, so don’t miss it, okay?” she says. “This is gonna be huge. The address is 22 Westham Drive. The office at the end of the street. Wear something model-y.”

“Okay—”

“I’m so sorry, I gotta go. I’m running late for a thing. Call me after and let me know how it went.”

She hangs up without waiting for me to say bye. I hem and haw for one minute before I make my choice. Then I rush to the closet and start pulling out possible outfit options.

I settle on a blush pink silk skirt and a black, scooped neck tank. I lay it all out on the bed, then duck into the bathroom, shower fast, and apply a little makeup. Nothing over the top. Just a fresh coat of lipstick, since my eye makeup from last night has held up pretty well.

I get dressed, grab my trusty satchel, and rush out of the house.

This will be it.

It has to be.

* * *

I knock once on the door of the office building at 22 Westham Drive. It opens immediately. I expect a woman, but the person on the other side is a sour-faced, older man with an unsettling leer in his eyes.

“Come in,” he grumbles.

I take three steps into the office, struck by how dark and austere it is. “Um, I’m here for a—”

Before I can finish my sentence, a black cloth bag is slammed down over my head. Panic clamps its hand around my throat so tight I can’t even scream.

This can’t be it.

It can’t be.

32

KON

The text message was simple and direct. Come meet me at my home. We need to talk. —Nestor Kuzmin.

Yefim was skeptical, but I saw it for what it was—an old man’s last-gasp attempt at saving his own pitiful life and legacy.

I left Iris sleeping and set out for the Kuzmin estate. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Yefim asks for the dozenth time as we park out front.

“Ask me again and I’m locking you in the car.” Then I climb out and take the steps two at a time.

Nestor is the first thing I see when I enter his office. He’s looking out the window at the sweeping horizon of his property, his back turned to me.

I raise my arm and send a bullet straight through the glass.

He drops down, shielding himself with his arms from the window splinters bursting everywhere. When he stands and turns to me, his eyes are wide with barely-contained fury.

“You better start talking, Nestor,” I growl. “Or else the next bullet is going to make contact with your skull.”

“A fitting end,” he says dryly. “Considering that’s how I took your father’s life.”

He dusts a few shards of glass from his hair. His skin is already luminescent with spots of blood, but he hardly seems to notice.

A quick sweep of the room tells me that he’s the only one in here. “Where are all your men?” I ask.

“Waiting in the gardens.”

“For what?”

“You,” he answers. “For their new don.”

I cock my head to the side. “What game are you playing here, Nestor?”

“I’d like to claim credit, but unfortunately, I had nothing to do with this game. It was played behind my back. It’s what forced my hand. What caused me to draft these documents.”

He reaches for something that’s on his table. He has to dust away more glass shards, but the papers seem to be intact. Holding them up, he explains, “These papers transfer ownership of my Bratva and all my personal assets, holdings, and dealings over to you.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he says with a confident nod. “Once you sign, it’s all yours.”

“This is a ruse,” Yefim says, coming up from behind me. “Don’t let this old fuck get in your head.”

“Why is your guard dog barking?” Nestor snaps, a spark of his old fire igniting.

I smile. “There’s the old don I used to know,” I say. “Yefim is right. There’s no way you want to hand over your legacy to me, simple as that.”

“On the contrary,” he counters, “that’s exactly what I want to do. In good faith.”

“Why now?”

Nestor walks over to the sofa in the center of the room and sits down. Then he throws the papers onto the glass-topped coffee table in front of me.

“Because I have a condition.”

I laugh in his face. “I don’t really give a fuck about your ‘conditions,’ Nestor. It might surprise you to know that taking your Bratva was never one of my goals. I have my own. It’s enough for me.”

“Then you’re unlike your father,” he says coldly. “Nothing was ever enough for him. Where’s your ambition? There are billions right there for the taking. All you have to do is sign.”

“I have ambition aplenty. But there’s only so much you can do with money.” I raise my gun. “You’re testing my patience, Nestor.”

Yefim moves forward and cocks his own gun. “Tell me when to take his fucking head off,” he growls.

“You don’t strike me as the type of man who wants to endure a painful end, Nestor,” I say. “And why should you have to? You are a don and a lifelong ally of my family. You deserve the respect of an honorable death, and I’m willing to give it to you. So long as you give me what I want.”

“But I don’t have what you want,” he says. “Someone else does.”

Again, I hear the desperation in his voice. It gives me pause.

I glance towards Yefim, who’s looking as confused as I am. He moves closer to me, his eyes darting around the room. I feel the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket. I intend to ignore it, but then I see Nestor’s eyebrow arch.

“I’d answer that if I were you, my friend,” he suggests.

I frown. Keeping my eyes and gun trained on him, I pull the phone from my pocket and answer the call. “Hello?”

“Konstantin Aminoff,” purrs a voice I hoped I’d never hear again. “I have your pretty wife. Shall I carve your name into her? Or mine?”

The line cuts out immediately. Dead air has never felt more horrifying.

Nestor shakes his head sadly. He knows damn well what was just said to me. “I had three wives,” he muses, sounding every bit the sad old man whose remaining days are disappearing too fast like sand through his fingers. “My first was barren. My second had three miscarriages before I divorced her. But my third wife gave me Anika. She was and is the jewel in my life. The jewel of my Bratva. She was never denied anything. And I was certain in my own position, my own wealth. Whatever she wanted, I could get for her. Until… you.”

“The kitten has claws,” I growl as I put the pieces together. “She did this.”

“You can have everything,” Nestor says. “Everything. Just let my daughter live.”

My heart is stampeding in my chest. “Where is she?”

Nestor’s eyes twist with pain. “I know where she is,” he says. “Where your wife is, too. But I need you to give me your word that you will spare my girl.”

“I will not bargain with a dead man.”

“Then you’ll never find them.”

“Oh, yes, I will. And when I do, it will be so much worse for Anika.”

Nestor pales. “Please…”

“Don’t beg, Nestor. It doesn’t suit you. I will ask one more time. Where the fuck is my wife?”

He sighs and gives me an address. I recognize it instantly—a Kuzmin property on the outskirts of the city. With a snarl, I turn and march for the door.

Before I can leave, I hear his voice warble over to me. “You’re going to let me live?” Nestor asks.

I nod grimly. “Yeah, I am. I think you should be the last one to hear her scream.”

Then I’m gone. My hand is on the door of my car when my phone rings again. I snatch it up and start growling, “Listen here, you fucking cunt—”

“Don Aminoff.”

It’s not the mystery caller from before. This is Roscoe. Max’s lead security guard.

“I just went up to check on Max,” he whispers. “He’s not here. We… we’ve looked everywhere, boss. He’s gone.”

33

IRIS

Three pairs of hands haul me from the building to a van, then from the van into another building. I can’t see anything through the thick blackness of the bag still fastened over my head. The more I struggle, the less I breathe. The less I breathe, the more my head throbs. The more my head throbs, the more I wonder how much longer I can last like this.

When we reach wherever the hell they’re taking me, I’m tied standing upright, wrists and ankles bound like the Vitruvian Man.

Once my arms and legs are secured, the bag is ripped off my head, taking a painful chunk of my hair with it. I spit sour saliva out of my mouth and blink against the bare, blinding lightbulb.

It hurts to see at first. When my eyes focus, things start taking shape, one inconsequential detail at a time.

The carpet underneath my feet is a deep rich red, the color of dried blood. There’s a full-length mirror on the opposite wall, but it’s angled away from me so I can’t see my reflection. The blinds are drawn shut over the windows, so the only light comes from the recessed spotlights trained right at me. We’re in someone’s home, and the air is radiating with unsettling vibes.

“Sorry to bring you here like this,” a familiar voice chimes in from the corner. “But I always did like a little drama. It makes life more interesting.”

I raise my aching neck and make bleary eye contact with the one who spoke. She gives me a sickly sweet smile.

“An… Anika?”

“Did you really think I’d want to be your friend?” she laughs.

I shake my head. “I made a mistake,” I mumble. My lips feel fat and sluggish.

“You made many,” she snipes. “Marrying Kon was key among them.”

“I didn’t know you existed,” I say. “How is this fair?”

Anika strides forward and slaps me hard across the face. “Life isn’t fair, bitch.” One of her many rings cuts open my cheek. I feel the warm trickle of blood. Just that at first, then the pain and shock sets in.

The blood leaches into my mouth and I spit it out on the floor, narrowly missing Anika’s shiny black stiletto.

“Hit me on the other side,” I gasp with a reckless bravado that I’m only pretending to feel. “Even me out.”

Her lip twists in a snarl. Then she backhands me from the other direction. The rings cut deeper this time. I can actually feel the skin part underneath the sharp metallic edges.

“Thanks,” I rasp when I’m done gasping through the pain. “Much better.”

Still hissing like a viper, she pulls out a knife and rests the very tip of it against my forehead. I still instantly, shivering against the cold blade.

“I wonder if he’ll think you’re quite so pretty after I’m done with your face,” she ponders aloud.

“Go ahead. I was always a shitty model anyway.”

That lip of hers starts to twitch again, the sign of another lash of anger incoming. She redoubles her grip on the handle of the knife, and she’s about to start carving when—

“Enough!”

I glance towards the door as a tall man bursts into the room. For a second, I think I’m saved. Then I see who it is and my heart finally falls the rest of the way down.

He’s immaculately dressed in a deep burgundy suit that almost matches the carpet. His cufflinks—two grinning bronze skulls; how cartoonishly villainous of him—twinkle under the artificial light. His hair is thin, stringy, and his cheekbones are gaunter than they were the last time we met. I’m not sure if it’s the setting that makes him look this creepy or if I’d think the same thing if I just passed him on the street. The bastard seems like he could curdle milk just by looking at it.

Atelier Sorbonne.

“You promised not to touch her,” he adds, glancing at Anika with irritation.

“She was talking too much.”

He turns to me, and the smile returns to his face. “Hello, Iris,” he says.

“Atelier.”

“Does she really call you that?” Anika asks, sounding disgusted.

“I prefer it,” Atelier says. “And our guest here is nothing if not polite. Cold as a glacier. Stubborn as a mule. But always, unfailingly polite.”

“This is a crime, you know,” I announce, looking right at him. “You can’t abduct people and bring them to your disgusting lair.” It’s sort of a dumb thing to say, maybe, but I did just get slapped around a bit and I want to keep talking, keep fighting to the end.

Keep fighting for Kon.

And if not for Kon, then for my son.

And if not for my son, then—for once in my whole damn life—I want to keep fighting for myself.

Sorbonne laughs. “This ‘lair’ isn’t mine. Anika was kind enough to host us this morning. She set up your appointment as well.”

She smiles prettily at me. “You were so easy to manipulate. It was laughable.”

“If you’re so good at manipulation, how come you couldn’t convince Kon to marry you?” I taunt.

The lip goes first. Then she moves, lunging forward to rip another bloody chunk of hair free of my scalp. I can’t help crying out as the pain brings tears to my eyes.

“Down, woman!” Atelier barks. “You need to lay off. At least until I’m done with her. I want her in one piece. For now.”

I turn my eyes to Atelier, who slinks over towards me, his eyes bright with desire. “What a beauty you are,” he says softly. “That face… It’s a work of art. I always meant that, you know. You thought I was lying to get you naked, but I wasn’t.”

“I don’t fucking get it,” Anika says with irritation. “She's repulsive.”

“Now, now, Anika,” Atelier tuts without taking his eyes off me. “Jealousy’s an unbecoming trait in a woman. You’ll have to rein that in when you’re with Konstantin.”

My eyes flicker to Anika. “You still think you can have him? Even now? Christ, you’re even dumber than you look.”

“Once you’re out of my way, it’ll be easy,” she scoffs. “He’ll have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Every Bratva needs an heir.”

“Kon has an heir,” I say. I curse myself the moment those words escape my lips.

Anika’s eyes darken. “Oh, I know all about your little runt. But don’t worry: I have a plan for him, too.”

“Don’t you dare touch my son!” I snarl, bloody spit flecking my lips.

“See?” Atelier says, looking almost proud of me. “So feisty. It’s one of the things that sold me on you, Iris. Even in your pictures, that spirit shines through. Most models have dead eyes. Yours were always alive with color. With life. With defiance.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” I tell both of them. “You think Kon will let either one of you live?”

Anika and Atelier exchange glances. She speaks first. “Oh, we’ll be just fine,” she laughs. “Daddy has waited his whole life to fall on the sword for his little girl.”

I stare at her with wide eyes. “You’re throwing your father under the bus?”

She doesn’t say anything, casting her guilt off easily. “Someone has to bear the blame, right? I have the rest of my days ahead of me. Daddy is old. He’s lived his life. I’m ready to start living mine.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, looking between Atelier and Anika. “The two of you are monsters.”

Atelier moves even closer to me. He presses his nose into my hair and breathes in deep. I cringe away from him, but given how I’d tied up, there’s only so far I can go.

“Something suggests that you’ll like the monster in me, Iris,” he says.

I turn to him and butt my head forward, the same way I’d seen Kon do with Jake. I make contact, but not enough. It just sends him stumbling back a few steps instead of crumpling to the ground like I’d hoped for.

He raises his face and growls at me. I see a tiny bead of blood at the rim of his nostril. God, it feels good to see that.

Even the Devil can bleed.

Anika cackles in the corner, but Sorbonne isn’t laughing at all. As soon as he’s regained his senses, he lurches forward and wraps both hands around my throat.

He ratchets the pressure up a little at a time as his rank breath clouds in my face. “I don’t mind a little feist. But bite me too hard, and I’ll bite back.”

“Kon will—”

“Kon won’t even know I was involved. He’ll blame Anika’s father, he’ll mourn you, and eventually, he will realize that Anika will make the perfect wife. That will be the end of that. As for you… well, let me tell you exactly what’s going to happen. First, I’m going to taste the sweet nectar of your flesh. Then I’m going to hand you over to this little blonde psychopath. What she does with you after that is up to her. I wouldn’t expect much in the way of mercy, though.”

“Kon will see right through this,” I say, struggling against my bindings. “He’s too smart for either one of you.”

“If he were really as smart as all that, he would never have looked twice at you,” Anika cries out from the corner.

“Enough talking,” Sorbonne says, reaching down with his hand to adjust his erection. “You wanna stay for the show, Anika? The more, the merrier.”

I feel vomit rise to my throat, threatening to erupt. He unzips his pants and wriggles them down his hips, then kicks out of them. Stepping forward, he grinds his erection against my thigh.

I don’t think; I just act. I do what I should’ve done twelve years ago, when Kyle Jacobson put his hands where they didn’t belong: I lean over and bite down hard.

His skin breaks beneath my teeth. I taste blood. Something else—muscle? bone?—cracks sickeningly. The scream that follows is pure agony.

“I didn’t fight the first time,” I breathe as he howls and drops to the floor. “I will not make the same mistake again.”

Anika screeches from the corner, “Stop being a pussy and do it! I want to hear her scream!”

But a second later, she’s the one who screams.

When the door blows open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure storms in through the smoke.

34

KON

The bastards have her tied up. All four limbs tethered like a sacrificial lamb. Her dark hair spills around her shoulders as though someone’s just run their hands through it.

The man struggling back to his feet in front of her is unsettling. His face has the stretched, anemic quality of an airbrushed magazine.

But it’s not his face I’m concerned with. It’s more the fact that his pants are gone. His briefs are tight and black and do little to hide the fact that his cock is standing at attention and pointed directly at my wife.

His face drains of color as he turns. The weight of all his bad decisions catching up to him at once. His eyes dart to the second figure in the room, standing several feet away from Iris.

Anika fucking Kuzmin.

She looks even paler than the airbrushed rapist. Any paler and I won’t be able to differentiate between her face and her hair.

She’s dressed as though she’s going to a cocktail party. Her dress is gray silk and wraps around her body like a second skin. She takes one look at me and rushes forward, her hands grabbing a hold of my arm.

“Oh, Kon,” she says breathlessly. “Thank God you got here in time. He… he tricked us… he abducted—”

“You’re so full of shit, Anika,” Iris scoffs. “Not to mention stupid. Did you really think I would cover for you?”

Anika’s lip trembles. “I only did what he forced me to. He told me that if I just cooperated…”

“You two-faced bitch!” the man exclaims. “You—”

I lift my gun and aim it right at his face. “Move. Right the fuck now.”

I shove Anika away from me at the same time. She stumbles back, trips, and falls onto the carpet, right at Iris’s feet.

Where she fucking belongs.

She scrambles backwards like a crab, her eyes wide with fear. “Please, Kon, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this. It was a plan. Daddy’s plan. The whole time, he—”

I shake my head. “I’m not him. Don’t think you can manipulate me so easily.” I glance back towards the blond skeleton man. “I thought I told you to move away from my wife.”

His eyes narrow. “Konstantin Aminoff,” he says, taking a small step back away from Iris.

“You’re the one with the stupid name.”

“Atelier Sorbonne, at your service.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t give a fuck,” I tell him, before turning my attention to Iris. “Did they hurt you?”

She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s unsettled and I can see the blood leaking down her cheeks.

“This really seems to be a family matter…” the man suggests, inching towards the door.

“My men are standing guard right outside,” I tell him. “If you walk out there, they’ll shoot.”

His eyes freeze with panic. I relish his fear. All I want to do is fan the flames until he’s consumed by them.

“I’m curious: what were you planning on doing?” I ask calmly.

He shakes his head. No sound comes past his thin, colorless lips.

Pity. This was his last chance to save himself. I take casual aim and shoot. The bullet pierces his foot and he drops screaming to one knee like he’s about to offer up some twisted marriage proposal.

Funny. Grim, but funny.

“Fuck… fuck!” he screams. He topples over and thrashes around. Blood flies everywhere. The droplets spatter against Anika’s dress and mar the perfect makeup on her face.

“I’ll give you some time to compose yourself,” I tell him as he flops back and forth. My attention shifts to Anika. “You. Untie my wife.”

She doesn’t argue. She gets up uneasily and unties Iris with shaking fingers. The moment Iris’s ropes fall free, Anika moves away as though Iris is a threat to her and not the other way around.

“Good. Sit back down. Right over there. I’ll get to you in a moment.” Again, she does exactly as I order. “Now… where were we?” I ask the fucker in the black briefs. He’s lying still on the floor, his body slowly shutting down against the onslaught of pain.

“Are you going to kill me?” he splutters.

“Are you bargaining?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No to letting me live?” he asks, through labored breaths. “Or no to bargaining?”

“Both, I suppose.”

He opens his mouth again, but I’m not particularly interested in anything else he has to say. I stand up tall and unload a bullet into his stomach.

It makes a wet, meaty sound as it destroys his guts. Anika screams, Iris flinches. Sorbonne is too close to death to utter so much as a single word.

“Honestly, hearing you fucking talk…” I sigh. “It’s disgusting.”

Beneath me, he gurgles incoherently.

I crouch down next to him. “I aimed for the stomach because I just want to make sure you feel this pain. I want you to understand that you have a handful of minutes to live, and every single one of them is going to hurt.”

His makeup is running down his cheeks, mingling with the spray of blood. It looks like his face is melting off.

“I—I—Iris…” he mumbles.

“You say her name again and I will make it hurt even worse.”

He’s decaying before our eyes. He deserves no less. For two or three tense minutes, the room is silent. No one moves except Sorbonne, and he does less and less of that as the time passes.

Then there comes a point where he doesn’t move at all anymore. He’ll never move again.

I stand up, walk around his body, and stop in front of Iris. I don’t touch her—not yet. Not until she’s ready for it.

But apparently, I underestimated her, because she runs forward and slams into my body. I breathe in her natural scent and relish the feel of her, the warmth of her, the shape of her. Her limbs tremble, but I hold her together the way I always swore I would.

“You came…”

“Of course I came,” I tell her. “I swore I always would.”

She pulls back and cups my face in both her hands. Her green eyes look like the ocean after a rain.

She goes up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips. It’s deep and desperate, like she wants to make sure I’m really here. I kiss her back so she can sense just how really here I am.

I’m the one who breaks the kiss. But only because I can feel Anika’s eyes on us as she inches towards the door. I raise my gun, Iris’s taste still fresh on my lips.

“Stop.”

Anika comes to a halt by the door. Her eyes are wide, innocent. But I’m no longer buying it. “You were a better actress than I thought.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t an act.”

“Then you’re more of a sociopath than I thought, too. Where the fuck is my son?”

Iris turns her face to me and starts trembling all over again. “Max?” she gasps. “They have him… They have our son?”

Anika’s eyes dart to the door and back to us. “Let me go, and I’ll have my men release him.”

“Your men?” I ask, grimly amused. “I think you mean my men.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that your father tried to cut another deal with me,” he says. “He wasn’t so thrilled about your little scheme.”

She just stares at me, her face struck with shock. “He… he…”

“It didn’t take him long to figure it out. He knew what you were capable of before I did. But he also knew that you were only an amateur. A clumsy, stupid, spoiled little girl. He knew I’d find you and he knew I’d punish you when I did. And despite everything he knew about you, he still begged for your life. He offered me everything if I let you live.”

“Kon, please,” she begs. “Please don’t hurt me. Please just let me go.”

“Why?” Iris demands, stepping out from under my arm. “So that you can pop up again and try to destroy my life, my family? Where the fuck is my son, you cunt?!”

“You won’t ever see your son again unless you let me leave here with my life!” Anika screams back, her eyes wild with desperation.

Iris pulls back her hand and slaps Anika across the cheek. The sound is a thunderclap in the quiet room.

“I felt sorry for you,” she seethes as Anika clutches her wounded cheek. “I blamed Kon for treating you the way he did. But you proved that you deserved to be treated that way.”

Her eyes flash up to Iris. I move forward, but it’s too late.

I see the flash of steel. The blur of motion. Then, before I can pull the trigger, Anika has the blade pressed against Iris’s throat.

“If you kill me, I’ll kill her,” Anika croaks.

I know she’d do it. She has nothing to lose.

“Anika…” I snarl.

“You think she’s going to make a good Bratva wife?” Anika demands. “Look at her. Look at her! I’m the one who would have made you proud.”

“Let her go.”

“I’ll let her go only when I’m safe and far from you,” she spits.

I let the gun fall from my hands. “Let her go then,” I whisper. “See? No more weapon.”

She nods, viciously pleased, then starts to drag Iris back to the door. I stand there, furious but unwilling to risk my wife’s life. Iris’s bare feet scrabble on the floor.

Anika starts to say, “Don’t you even think of—”

BANG.

Another gunshot.

For a moment, I’m beyond baffled. My gun is still lying at my feet.

So then who fired?

And who got shot?

I glance down at my stomach. I’m expecting to see blood blossoming like red roses.

But Anika is the one who falls.

Her face goes deathly pale, her knife clatters to the floor, and blood froths up past those perfectly painted lips.

Iris and I turn to the shooter at the same moment. “Oh my God,” she breathes as she sees the small, defiant figure standing there in the threshold with his arm raised and his gun still aimed at the dead woman. “Max?”

35

IRIS

Max is looking directly at Anika’s shaking body. That’s when I realize she’s not dead yet.

I step in between them so that he no longer has to see her. I may not be able to keep him from the ugliness of the world for much longer. I’ve done a terrible job of it thus far in his life. But for right now, for at least one more second…

I’m going to try.

I take his hand and pull him out into the hallway. Yefim meets us there. His eyes go wide with shock when he sees Max.

“What—How—Where—?”

Kon growls wordlessly and drags the two of us past his stammering lieutenant and into an adjoining room. “Clean up that mess in there,” he barks at Yefim before shutting the door in his face.

It’s a miracle to see sunlight again after that dark, horrible room. It comes through the windows like spun gold. A gift I didn’t know I needed.

“Okay,” I say, still holding tight to Max’s hand. I feel like I have so much information to process that it’s making my brain short-circuit. “Can we start from the beginning?”

Max glances at Kon. I can see the ghost of a secret pass between them. “Honey, I’m long past the point of being mad,” I insist. “Just tell me everything.”

“I taught him to shoot,” Kon explains so Max doesn’t have to. “We agreed not to tell you about it.”

“Okay…” I say, processing that. In the big scheme of things, it seems relatively harmless. But it’s a long cry from explaining all of this.

“When I woke up, I got a message from Nestor, asking for a meeting. Yefim and I went, and while we were there, I got a call that Anika had taken you. After that… well, Max is the only one who knows what happens after that.”

We all look at him. Max swallows hard, but then he bears his chest proudly and fixes his gaze on us. It’s like hearing a lion cub’s first true roar to see him like this. Did he get taller when I wasn’t looking? Did his shoulders get broader?

Any trace of a little boy is gone.

He is Kon now, through and through.

“I heard Roscoe in the hallway at the house,” Max explains. “He was talking with another guard and he said something bad happened to you, Mom, and that they all had to go to help out. So I made a noise like I was in the playroom, but really I was hiding in the hall, and I got in the back of the car when the guard wasn’t looking. And then… we ended up here. I heard screams, so I took a gun out of the car—but I kept the safety on until it was time to shoot, I swear, just like you taught me, Dad!”

I gape at him in shock. He might as well have told me that he grew wings and flew here. It would make about as much sense.

“Max,” I whisper, “you could have been seriously hurt.”

Tears swim in his eyes. “I couldn’t let something bad happen to you, Mama,” he whimpers. “You always told me I was your little protector.” His smile falters as he eyes the closed door. “Is… is that lady going to be okay?”

I look fearfully at Kon—who, to my surprise, nods. “I’ll take care of it, son.”

He nods. “Okay. She won’t be able to hurt Mom again, right?”

“Right,” Kon says. “And even if she tried, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ve got you.”

With that, more conversation feels pointless. I grab Max and sweep him into the tightest hug I’ve ever given him. I feel Kon’s hand resting lightly on my back.

It’s enough for me.

Eventually, the hug peters out. I let Max go reluctantly, though I keep hold of his hands. We both look at Kon simultaneously.

“I’m going to go take care of everything,” he says. “Wait for me downstairs. I’ll be there soon.”

He sweeps out of the room and goes back into the one we left. Max and I go the other direction. We tiptoe down the stairs of the decrepit old house like Anika or Atelier might pop out of a nook at any moment. Only when we reach the front door and we can see the outside world do I start to feel slightly better.

“I don’t like this house,” Max says as we step through the door and settle onto the steps.

“No,” I agree, “neither do I.”

“Do you know who it belongs to?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “It might belong to your father now.”

Max frowns. “How?”

I shrug. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure even I understand.”

“You two ready to head home?” Kon asks, appearing at the door. He’s sweating, but I don’t see any sign of blood on him.

I want to ask what he’ll do with the bodies, but I don’t want to discuss anything in front of Max. He’s been enough of an adult for one day. Kon seems to sense how I feel. The ride back home is silent except for the music coming through on the radio.

I glance out the window and watch the skies turn from foggy blues to burnt oranges and muted pinks. By the time we get to Kon’s house, it’s dark and Max is nodding off in the back seat.

We park, and Kon scoops Max out of the backseat and carries him upstairs to his bedroom. I start to follow, but as we pass the master bedroom, Kon turns and looks at me. “Go take care of yourself,” he whispers. “I can put our son to bed.”

I bite my lip to hold back the tears, then nod and slip into the bedroom. I want to be rid of my clothes. I want a nice, warm bath. I want to feel like myself again.

I’m in the process of removing my sweat-soaked socks when the door swings open once more.

“Did I interrupt you?” Kon asks with a fierce, protective gleam in his eye.

Before I can answer, he takes a step towards me and starts undressing me himself. I feel my skin burn everywhere he touches me. He strips me down until I’m naked.

Then he takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. I watch his muscles ripple as he walks. It’s impossible not to get lost in the beautiful motion. Maybe this is a trauma reaction, focusing on the details like this. I still remember, when Kyle Jacobson was doing his worst to me, that his kitchen faucet kept leaking, one drop of water plinking down at a time. That’s how this feels.

The rustle of clothes. The rush of water from the showerhead. The cool tile beneath my feet. Details that don’t matter at all. Details I’ll remember forever.

Kon stops at the sinks, grabs a towel, holds it under running water for a few seconds, and then places the towel to my temple. He dabs over my face carefully, his gray eyes cool, his expression knotted in a thousand different ways.

It’s strange to stand here and let him do this. I’ve been fighting him hard these past few months. It’s not that the fight has left me; I’m just content with peace for right now.

I’m not sure if this is a singular moment. It might change tomorrow. But for right now… peace is something I can accept.

He runs the towel across the cuts that Anika left across each cheek. I wince against the sharp burst of pain.

“Is she still alive?” I ask quietly.

Kon grimaces and lets loose a weary exhale.

“Please, just tell me. I really want to know.”

“She’s not going to be a problem anymore.”

“Meaning what?” I press. “I can handle it. I’m not as fragile as you think I am.”

He just sighs again. His fingers find mine almost absent-mindedly, automatically. “The shot Max took… It hit her spine. She’ll be confined to a bed for the rest of her life.”

I shudder and decide not to ask any more questions. I don’t want to know anything else. “And Atelier?”

“He’s been returned to his home. We made it look like a break-in. His death will be all over the news tomorrow morning. People will talk about him for a few weeks and then they’ll forget.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be remembered,” I say bitterly.

“You should have told me about him, Iris. About how bad things were.”

“You would have tried to rescue me.”

He grabs my jaw and pulls me towards him. “You’re my wife. That’s my fucking job.”

“You’re always doing the rescuing, though. The playing field is not even.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You rescued me, too.”

“How?”

“By coming back into my life,” he says simply. “By giving me my son. You showed me a world I didn’t know I was missing, Iris. So yeah, I rescued you tonight. And I’ll do it again, and again, and again, if that’s what it takes. I will never stop saving you. That’s the oath I swore. That’s the vow I made.”

36

KON

The last of the loose ends is almost tied up.

“Shame, really,” Yefim says, glancing back at Anika’s body, shrouded in white in the back of the van. “She really would have made a good Bratva wife.”

“You were welcome to her,” I snort.

“She wanted the prince,” he replies. “Not the—”

“Court jester?”

“Fuck you.”

“She didn’t want me,” I say. “Not really. She didn’t want what was left of her life, either. That’s why she chose this way out.”

We both look at her corpse. She will be given to her father for a burial befitting her stature. It’s no less than I owe the old man. He tried to do things right, even when it was far too late to make a difference.

I look up at his house. It’s as garish as it ever was, but something about it seems melancholy now.

“Stay in the car,” I tell Yefim, just like last time we were here.

“No way in hell.”

“Nestor is no longer a threat to me.”

“Bullshit! He’s—”

“He’s a grieving old man who just lost his only child,” I interrupt. “I can imagine what that pain is like. Crippling. He won’t lift a finger against me. Now, be a good boy and stay. I’ll be back.”

Yefim gives me the finger as I mount the steps and go inside Nestor’s mansion. There’s no butler now, though the portraits of Kuzmin ancestors are exactly where they were last time I was here.

I retrace my steps to his metallic office. He’s sitting there in the dark, his eyes yellow orbs of desperation. The window I shot out hasn’t been replaced, so a freakishly cold wind blows in through the jagged gaps.

“You found her?” he asks without looking up.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She tried to kill my wife,” I say, allowing my anger to shine through in one fiery flash.

He sees that flame and swallows. “Is she dead?”

The silence is sharp-edged and brittle. “I respect you enough to give you the truth, Nestor,” I tell him. “The bullet hit her spine. She wouldn’t have been able to walk. Not for the rest of her life.”

His eyes are wide, but they’re waiting.

“I gave her the option of coming back home to you,” I continue. “But she… wasn’t interested.”

The hope seems to leave his body all at once. I almost see it physically, a ghost flooding out of every pore. “She asked for death,” he guesses in a dark, ruined voice.

I nod. “You knew her well.”

He flinches. He saw this moment coming—he’s no fool. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Of course I knew her. She was my daughter.”

“I gave her a painless death, Nestor. That was a mercy she didn’t deserve. I did it out of respect for you.”

He nods. “I believe you.”

The papers transferring ownership of his entire empire are still on the table where I left them yesterday. Nestor’s eyes linger on them for a second.

Then his hand flashes down and he grabs the gun I hadn’t seen concealed at his side.

I’m about to draw my own weapon, but before I take aim, the gun Nestor is holding flies up to his temple. He doesn’t hesitate.

He pulls the trigger and his body goes limp.

His blood drips from the destroyed half of his face onto the white sofa. That’s the only noise.

I stand there for a long time, looking at the wreckage of a man’s life. It’s so quick and biological in the very end. No matter how many times you see someone die, it always shocks you with its brutality.

Then I take the papers off the coffee table and turn my back on the Kuzmins forever.

Yefim and my men are standing in the foyer, around Anika’s body. “We heard a gunshot,” Yefim says, moving towards me. “Is it done?”

“Yes. He did it himself.”

Yefim’s mouth hangs open. I push the papers into his hands. “Take care of his body. Bury them together on this property.”

“Got it, boss,” Yefim says as I make for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Me?” I ask, without glancing back at him. “I’m going to be with my family, Yefim. That’s where I’m going.”

I get into my car and start driving until I get to the hotel. I get an update from Roscoe, letting me know that they’ve just left the house. Iris will get here about five minutes after I do.

Once the valet drives off with my car, I stand out front and wait. They arrive four minutes later. Through the window, I can see Iris’s wide green eyes take in the façade of the hotel that neither of us has ever returned to—and neither of us has ever forgotten.

My breath catches hard in my chest when she steps out of the vehicle. She’s wearing a black bandeau top and a skintight, electric blue skirt. Her legs are long and elegant in silver heels with cords wrapped up her ankles.

I see the recognition in her face immediately as she reads the sign overhead. Hotel Carnegie.

“It’s only fitting,” I explain. “This is where it all started.”

She nods, but there’s something in her expression that makes me pause. “Kon… my father called me a little while ago.”

My expression remains stagnant. “Okay?”

“He… he told me something.”

“What did he tell you?”

She swallows uncomfortably. “He told me that Kyle Jacobson passed away this morning.” Her eyes sweep over my face, scrutinizing. “Apparently, he overdosed on pain medication.”

“Hm. Seems like he got off easy,” I remark.

She bites her lower lip. “Did you… did you…?” She can’t bring herself to say the words, though.

“I’ve been right here this whole time, kiska.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Kon.”

I don’t shy away from her gaze. “If you ever decide you really want the answer, I will give it to you honestly.”

I wait. She thinks about it.

“He deserved to die,” she says at last. “That’s good enough for me.”

I extend my hand out toward her. “Then I say it’s time for us to live.”

She nods and smiles—shakily at first, then growing in strength as she takes my hand. “Yeah, she says softly. “Living sounds long overdue.”

* * *

We don’t exchange another word until we’re in the hotel room I’ve booked for us for the night. Not just any old hotel suite, but the same one we shared the night we met.

“No way,” Iris breathes as she walks in. “This is, like, a time capsule.”

I click the door shut behind us and watch as she walks into the room, her head twisting from side to side. Then, slowly, she turns on the spot to face me. Her expression is soft and her eyes are dark with desire.

“I remember everything,” she whispers.

I nod. Then she flings her clutch onto the sofa on the side and walks over to me. Her hands grab a hold of my shirt and she turns her hungry eyes on me.

“Take your clothes off,” I order in a husky rasp.

She takes a step back and does exactly as I commanded. She does it slowly, though, a long flash of skin that’s here and then gone again. The skirt comes off and she turns in place to show me the delicate curve of her ass. The panties shimmy down her hips, the bandeau is released, and soon, she’s a naked siren in front of me, all pale skin and long dark hair I want to tug on until she cries out my name.

The only thing she doesn’t take off is the ring on her finger.

Her body is flawless. Every ripple of skin, every scar, every stretch mark, every single freckle. She’s a work of art—and she’s all fucking mine.

Iris steps forward and then sinks to her knees in front of me. She puts her hands on my legs, close to my bent knees and then slides down even lower. She unzips my pants and pulls them down my legs.

I feel her tongue against my achingly hard dick and shudder. Pleasure grips me by the balls and takes me hostage. This is one fight I’m willing to lose.

She sucks me off slowly, taking her time. I’m fighting an orgasm the entire time she’s down on her knees. It doesn’t help that I can see her perfect ass bouncing with her effort and all I want to do is bury my face between her thighs.

She starts taking me all the way down to the base. I’m groaning and getting dangerously close to losing control. I can’t allow that, though—we still have a long night ahead of us.

I pull her off of me and she yelps in surprise. I ignore that, bend down, and scoop her up into my arms like she weighs nothing.

Kicking open the door to the bedroom, I drop us both onto the mattress and arrange her on top of me. “I want to see you ride me,” I pant. “I want to see every fucking second of you coming.”

She lines up, knees planted on either side of my hips, and drops down onto my length slowly. Her tightness swallows me as I fill her. It’s enough to make me see stars. Only when we’re flush hip-to-hip can we finally breathe again.

She rides me slowly at first while I play with her nipples. But barely a minute has passed before that’s no longer enough for me.

I push my hips up and start slamming into her from below. “Oh God…” Iris gasps, her eyes closing as her mouth falls open.

I start to fuck her furiously. She loses all sense of control as her body spasms with an orgasm. She screams unintelligibly as I continue to unleash all the pent-up frustration I’ve been carrying around inside me since our wedding day.

“Come for me, Kon,” she begs as she clings to me for dear life. “Come in me.”

I stick a thumb in her mouth and she sucks on it while I drive into her as hard as I possibly can. She bites down when she comes the second time. Even her nipples seem to shiver.

Then I explode inside her, so hard and relentless you’d think I hadn’t released in months. More of me than I ever thought possible pours out into her. She gasps and whimpers and purrs the whole time, the most delicious noises I’ve ever heard.

When I’m fully spent, I sit up and lick the sweat of her breasts. She holds on stubbornly, her nails trailing my neck, her breath singing my name.

“How long do you need?” she asks greedily.

I smile into her sweet hair. “Until my dick is up and running again?” I say. “Five minutes, tops. But in the meantime…”

I roll her over onto her back and slide down between her legs.

“Kon!” she gasps, as though she’s got something important to share.

But the moment my tongue lands on her slit, the words dissolve into moans. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She has the rest of our lives to tell me whatever she wants to say.

EXTENDED EPILOGUE

The story continues nine years into the future. Check out how Iris and Kon’s family has grown in this special Extended Epilogue!

DOWNLOAD THE EXTENDED EPILOGUE HERE

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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

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Andrei

Leon

Damian

Ciaran

Dirty Dons Club

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Sergei

Luca

Vito

Nikolai

Adrik

Bad Boy Biker’s Club

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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