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“I have to leave after this.”
His words slowly filter into my Frankie-intoxicated brain.
“Did you find him?” I burrow my fingers into his black hair as another wave starts to build.
“Lebedev did. He was hiding in a bedsit in Camden.”
Adrik Fedorov.
My old Bratva bodyguard.
He’s been on the run from us for six months, ever since I killed hispakhan.
But not anymore.
“Do it,” I whisper. “Let me be a part of it.”
“Knife or gun?”
“Knife.”
Make him suffer, for all the years he made me suffer. For all the insults and beatings, cruelty and derision.
Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and open myself up even wider for him. A beat later, I feel the cool handle of his knife slip between my lips and push against my entrance. I’m so wet, it slides in easily, and he quickly finds a rhythm that satisfies the dark in both our hearts.
He keeps it shallow, but I feel it deeply in other ways, clamping my walls down and gripping the black leather, so that later, when Frankie takes Adrik’s life with it, I’ll be right there with him.
“Fuck, Ada…”
No other man will touch me again. Frankie would kill the world before that happened, but this is different. This is us fucking the past together.
“Now,” I rasp.
The knife slides from my pussy. Rising to his feet, he pushes me back against the wall and rips at the front of his jeans. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he drives his cock all the way inside me, not stopping until every part of me is wrapped around every inch of him.
We come together, spilling words into each other’s mouths that are so much more than declarations of love. It’s obsession. It’s the promise of a future. It’s all the things that were there at the beginning, come to fruition in this room.
It’s us.
Beautiful, messed-up, once-in-a-lifetime us.
Pressing his forehead against mine, we wait for our breathing to slow.
“Free,” he mutters.
“Yours,” I say with a contented sigh.
“Interrupted,” he finishes with a growl, as Viper and Bambi’s voices enter the kitchen next door.
Pulling out of me, he lowers me back down to the floor and pulls me in for one last, lingering kiss.
He leaves my study first, under the pretence that it will raise less suspicion from our ever-inquisitive teenage daughter. But my darling husband is deluding himself. You can’t fool a fourteen-year-old. They’re programmed to detect parental bullshit.
Rearranging my dress, I glance at the bookcase in front of me, which includes all the copies ofThe Count of Monte Cristohe sent me. One hundred and sixty-eight. One for every month.Too many months.Still, I’m starting to see that when you fill your life with blinding light, the shadows in your past don’t seem so frightening anymore.
Five minutes later, I’m joining my family in the kitchen of our penthouse on the Chelsea Waterfront. Frankie’s leaning against the counter, finishing up a call. Bambi’s sitting crossed legged on top of the island in her new school uniform, eating a cheese sandwich and telling Viper all about a visitor to her class today, who, ironically, came to talk to them about snakes.
“Did you know they smell with their tongues?”
