Page 12 of Claimed By River

I smile. “Leave that to me.”

A few minutes later, I climb the stairs back to Raiden’s apartment, my heart pounding harder than it ever has before a vigilante operation. Somehow, facing armed criminals seems easier than convincing one stubborn receptionist to marry me.

Elodie looks up as I enter. “Nadia’s in the spare bedroom.”

“Can I talk to her?”

She studies my expression before giving me a small nod. “I’ll make more tea.”

As she passes me, she gently squeezes my arm. “Be kind.” She smiles faintly before disappearing into the kitchen.

I knock softly on the bedroom door. “Nadia?”

A quiet voice answers. “Come in.”

She sits on the edge of the bed with a mug of untouched tea clasped between both hands. Her eyes are still red from crying, though she’s calmer than she was downstairs.

“I should go,” she says before I can speak. “I’ll pack tonight.”

“No. You’re not leaving.”

She blinks. “What? I have to, or I’ll only put everyone in danger.”

I close the bedroom door before walking over. “You promised me the truth.”

She lowers her eyes. “I know.”

“I’m asking for it now.”

For a long moment she says nothing. Then she slowly nods.

“My name isn’t Nadia Adams. My real name is Nadia Aronov. My father...” She swallows hard. “My father is the head of a…not-so-legal organization in California…”

She takes a deep breath before telling me everything. About growing up terrified of her father. About her mother. About being told she’d have to marry Ivan on her eighteenth birthday. About running away in the middle of the night and spending a year drifting across the country before finding Atlanta.

When she finishes, tears have returned to her eyes. “I finally thought I was safe. But now he has found me. I have to leave again.”

I crouch in front of her. “You are safe, angel.”

“My father won’t stop.”

“Neither do I.”

She looks at me uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

I glance sideways, gathering my thoughts before looking back at her. “There’s something you need to know.”

I tell her everything.

About why Raiden left the district attorney’s office after his last case collapsed on a technicality. About the badge I turned in when I couldn’t stomach one more file going cold. About Roman, Royal, the basement beneath the tattoo shop, and the work we do after closing time. I don’t glorify it. I simply tell her the truth.

When I’m finished, she stares at me.

“So...” she says slowly, “the basement.”

“The basement.”

She sets the mug down on the nightstand very carefully. “Roman’s hands are always torn up, and nobody ever asks about it. Raiden takes appointments that run until the early hours in the morning, and there’s never any ink-stained towels in the trash.” Her voice is steady in a way it hasn’t been all afternoon. “I stopped letting myself finish that thought eight months ago.”