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“Mercy Genovesi will one day be my in-law.”
Eden stiffens in my grasp when she hears those words. We were almost married. And I feel the disappointment as deeply as she does. She’s staring at our reflection in the glass, and then I notice something interesting—a look between Gunsyn and Alexander. Alexander stares at my father’s journals stacked on the coffee table. He cranes his neck to the side to read the binding, and when he looks up, he stares intently at me.
“Go out and find Zakhar.” My demand overshadows the brief moment that alerts me something is off. “And forget your quarrels with Mercy Genovesi.”
“And when we find him?” Gunsyn’s voice has a hint of a challenge.
I pull Eden closer. “End it.”
She looks away but doesn’t lower her head. Eden retains her poise as if these men answer to her and not to me. She doesn’t argue or plead with me for more time. What Zakhar has done has wounded her too deeply. The man is doing everything he can to ruin his daughter’s life.
And all for what?I ask myself bitterly.Revenge? Justice? Slighted honor?
Alexander gives me a low bow, and I notice his clothes are not as dirty as the rest of ours. He hesitates, looking at the journals again as if he wants to say something about them. Gunsyn makes a slight gesture that I would’ve missed if my gaze hadn’t been on him. I scowl as they leave, wondering if they’ll have better luck than me eliminating Zakhar now that I’m no longer holding them back.
Something tells me they won’t.
A solemn Eden looks past them toward the spiral stairs. Then, she turns and walks toward the window, staring at the reflection of her ruined gown. Beautiful, but at the same time melancholic … like a dream destroyed.
“Eden.” I speak gently as I close the office door. “Mercy must stay here.”
She turns to face me. “I agree, Nikolai. And probably for the same reasons. The Bratvas will blame the Lanzzare, even though they weren’t involved. And the only way to keep things from escalating will depend on my cousin being here. I’m not the naïve girl you saved all those months ago, remember?”
I glance over at Pavel, who shoots me a surprised look. I conceal my emotions behind an indifferent mask. I had expected an argument—Eden pleading for her cousin’s release and using herself as an example of what could go wrong. But she’s right.
She’s not the naïve girl I saved all those months ago.
I’m about to dismiss Pavel when Eden speaks first. “I’m going to check on Mercy. And someone needs to warn the people at the bar immediately, just in case. I don’t want anyone else to die because ofthis.” Eden lowers her head, maybe to conceal a tear, and leaves the room as Rurik enters.
A part of me hopes it’s a mistake that Anton is dead. But he’s gone and won’t be following Pavel or Rurik into my office anymore. I conceal my grief behind a rude scowl as I shut the door and pull out the burner phone that Bianchi gave Eden from my desk. In a fluid motion, I toss it to Pavel.
Bianchi’s smug grin replays in my mind.You never know when you’ll need to make a call … or take one.
“Call thepetukh,” I order him. “And if the Lanzzare don’t already know about it, warn them.”
Rurik pulls a hand over his grimy face as he sits down. He reaches for a journal and flips it open. “What are youreallygoing to do with the girl?” he asks.
“She will be treated as a guest, but she is still a hostage.” I reach for the vodka and place three glasses down on the table. “Vito Genovesi will talk as long as his daughter is my guest.”
Rurik’s stoic gaze transitions into a smug smile. “Was that the plan all along?”
I meet his gaze but don’t answer the question, which meansyes. Mercy Genovesi was always going to be myguest,if only to stop the Lanzzare attacks while I hunted Zakhar down.
At least Zakhar was kind enough to help speed this process along, even if he did so inadvertently.
“She won’t have the same freedoms her cousin did,” I emphasize. “She will have two personal guards and be watched at all times. She’s not naïve like …” I pause, reminding myself that Eden is not naïve anymore.
Rurik and Pavel bow and leave the office. Alone, I sit on the couch in front of the painting of the single chrysanthemum. The day’s events have put me on edge, and my body vibrates even as I sit still. The frustration of not taking that shot turns into a suffocating regret that strangles me.
Failure latches onto hurt and anger, and doing nothing isn’t a solution.
But it’s too late. I put my head in my hands, mourning Anton and blocking the thought that it could have been Eden that I have to bury.
Eden. And my child.
My fist slams down on the coffee table and sends the stack of journals cascading across the table. This was not how thingswere supposed to go today. I was supposed to be happy, finally. Or at least satisfied with the life I’ve chosen.
But I didn’t choose this life. I was born into it and cannot exist any other way.
