He reaches past me into the back seat and grabs both bags.
He leads me along a lit path to the front door, and when I step inside, the first thing I look at is the black chandelier that I appreciated the first time I was here. It feels so long ago since I was here last, and a different tension runs between us.
I look back at the closed door, thinking of the dark night beyond, and wonder if it’s really okay or smart to be here. Tonight has thrown me off. I’ve been so prepared for this moment that I might have to flee, but if anything, I feel like Silas is only dragging me into this world farther. I can’t be dependent on him, but also … something in my gut tells me to believe in him. I hope that I’m not just being another silly girl, listening to pretty words from a powerful man.
I follow Silas into the main living space, where the giant stone fireplace is already lit, flickering warmth throughout the house. I look at the couch where we fucked for the first time. How had I so quickly created so many memories with this man even though I fought him on every step?
Silas sets my bags down by the staircase beside the wooden bar as he pours whiskey into two crystal tumblers and carries them back to where I’m standing.
“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the sofa facing the fire. Our gazes meet, and I can tell we’re both thinking about the first time we were on that couch. But that sexual tension isn’t blazing in his eyes, though I know if I wanted to lose myself in him right now, he’d let me. No, right now he wants answers.
I take the glass from him and do as I’m told and lower myself onto the soft as hell sofa.
I take a sip of the whiskey and find comfort in the slow burn that spreads through my chest.
“Okay,” Silas says. The firelight plays across his face, and those dark eyes hold mine. “Tell me everything.”
I take another sip of my whiskey. The burn is rougher this time, but just as welcome.
I stare into its golden liquid. If I tell him all of this, there’s no going back. But didn’t I already decide that when I let him take me from my apartment?
It terrifies me to tell someone the truth after keeping it to myself all these years, but what terrifies me more is being found out.
“My name isn’t Leonore Graves,” I start. The words come out calm. I’ve never imagined this conversation before because I never thought I would ever be having it. But something about this man sitting across from me holds me together in a way I wasn’t expecting. If anyone else understands the ugly truth of this world it is him. And so I wonder how he might judge me.
“My real name is Antonia. When I married, I became Antonia Lomonov.” I turn the glass in my hands. “Wife of Viktor Lomonov. Pakhan of the Lomonov Bratva.”
Silas doesn’t react. Just watches and listens.
“Viktor ran the West Coast for a large Russian syndicate. He was powerful. The kind of powerful my father wanted to align himself with, so he decided to marry off one of his daughters to him. Despite knowing what a violent, evil man Viktor was. At the time, my sister was only eighteen. I was twenty-six and newly graduated as a doctor. I couldn’t let my father force my sister to marry him. She was so young. So naive. Too sweet.” I stare at the fire as I peel back the mask I’ve worn for years, layer by layer, every one more painful than the last. And I was the daughter who already had the taste for killing. “I thought I would be able to handle it so much better. After all, he was good looking and charming to the outside world. I honestly didn’t realize how much my life would change. I didn’t know how much of a monster he was.” I let out a shaky breath. “But I certainly learned it on my wedding night.”
A log crackles and pops, sending a small shower of embers into the flames.
“Behind closed doors, he was cruel.”
My voice is flat and detached. As if I am looking at my past from the outside. In a way, I am, since it’s been so many years since I revisited these memories, much preferring the woman I am now. Deadly and ask questions later. Because even I was a silly girl once.
“He enjoyed other people’s pain. It was his hobby. He enjoyed watching people suffer. He got off on the pain, the tears, and the pleading.” I take another sip of whiskey and let the warmth spread. “Unfortunately for me, my pain was his favorite kind.”
Swallowing hard, I force back the memories of Viktor’s violent games because, as a rule, I don’t let myself remember the details. It only makes me angrier at myself for not having acted sooner.
“We were married for a year. It was all I could take. Twelve months of waking up every day, wondering if today was the day I would die.” I press my lips together, and my hand tightens around the glass. “Wondering if it was going to be a painful death.”
Silas remains still, but I can see his fists clenched. He’s giving me a chance to get it out without interruption, but I feel his energy change. Feel the fury radiating off him.
“I carry the scars of his hobby all over my body.” My voice wavers for the first time. “The slice of a blade. The break of a bone. A cigarette burn just because he felt like it. All of it mostly around my lower stomach since I hadn’t yet given him an heir.” Which is why I always have it covered.
I don’t look at Silas. Instead, I focus on the flames in the fireplace.
“He’d had a bad day and decided I was going to pay for it. But I wasn’t going to take any more. The only reason I let myself become so insignificant was for my family, who no lesshanded me over like a trade mule. My father thought I wouldn’t be his problem after I caused strife with a teacher who tried to force himself on me when I was sixteen.” I casually shrug. “I blacked out, and he ended up dead, the details of the in-between only coming in short bursts. The same thing happened with my husband. So I shot him. Several times.”
I say it simply because that’s how it happened. I took the gun and pulled the trigger, and he stopped breathing. That was the end of the monster I called my husband.
I drain the rest of my whiskey. The glass trembles in my hand as I set it on the coffee table.
“His brother, Konstantin, became Pakhan after Viktor’s death. But he’s not like Viktor. He’s worse. Viktor was reckless. Konstantin is cold and calculated and focused. He’s twice as dangerous because he’s fueled by the notion of revenge. Konstantin has been looking for me since that night, and he won’t stop until I’m dead.”
I finally look at Silas. His face is stone. His jaw is set hard. His eyes black in the firelight.
