For a moment, I don’t know why I’m doing this. My heart beats pitifully in my chest as though it’s already breaking at just the thought of a world without him. On a trembling breath, I swallow heavily, forcing myself to remember what he’s done. He killed my father, and then allowed me to think he was a friend, a lover. All that time, and to this day, he’s never told me. What kind of person does that? And now…now I have no choice. This was always what I intended to do; it’s just been moved up. I can feel the clock ticking away, and I can picture the twisted smile on Enrique’s face.

  Sasha rolls over slowly, and I press my lips to his. The kiss is strained and desperate and full of pain. He turns until his body faces mine, his hands clasping my face as though he can sense my hurt. Slowly, I move, straddling him. A hitched sob slips from my lips to his, and my finger slides over the safety on the gun. That tiny click feels deafening in the tense silence. I know he heard it. His entire life is killing. That sound is as familiar to him as his own breaths.

  He stills beneath me, and I expect him to throw me off him, to bat the weapon away as easily as he would a fly. I almost want him to. He doesn’t. With a trembling hand, I bring the gun to his head, pressing the barrel beneath his chin. I pull back an inch, and his eyes meet mine, not a trace of fear to be found in them.

  “You killed my father,” I choke out, tears already welling in my eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Yes? That’s it? That’s all I get. Anger and pain and the sheer injustice of everything builds inside me until I feel like I want to burn everything around me to the ground in a fit of rage and sob and scream.

  “Why?” I demand, my voice wavering.

  Still, he makes no move to grab the gun or stop me, and if anything, it just makes me angrier. “It was a job, a faceless name on a piece of paper. Had I known then…”

  My vision blurs, and tears break free, sliding down my cheeks. “What? You wouldn’t have done it?”

  “No.”

  “You kill people; that’s what you do.” I now sound hysterical, even to my own ears.

  “Yes, I do. I killed your father. I caused you untold pain, and I wish I could undo it.” He lifts his hand, grabbing the barrel of the gun.

  I let him, too fragile to just pull the trigger. I expect him to pull it from my grip; instead, he presses the weapon to his skin, not allowing me to move it.

  Clear blue eyes meet mine, completely rational, totally sincere. “Kill me. I’ll take that bullet gladly if it will bring you peace, malyshka.”

  I close my eyes, tears coming harder now.

  “Just promise me something?”

  My eyes flash open, meeting his. Reaching out, he tentatively grips my face, his touch so gentle. My hand trembles on the gun as his thumbs swipe beneath my eyes.

  “Stop going after Bianchi. Disappear. Be safe. Consider this closure.”

  “He ordered the hit.”

  “I know, but. . . revenge will consume you, malyshka.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” My voice breaks as the sting of betrayal burrows deeper under my skin. “When I first suggested going to him? When you came to me before the wedding.”

  His eyes soften, and he strokes a strand of hair away from my face. “I loved you. At first, I was terrified of leaving you. The day you married Bianchi, if I’d told you then, would you have believed me? Or would you have thought it was a ploy?”

  I waver, my grip on the gun, loosening. “And now?”

  “Now, I love you. If this is what you need…” His fingers wrap around mine, enclosing them around the hilt of the gun. “Do it. I have escaped death many times, killed for money without question. Why not die for love?”

  I have to do this. Enrique will rain down things I know I’m not ready for if I don’t. I should hate Sasha, but I can’t. To him, my father was a job. Enrique was the one with the vendetta. Enrique was the one who was too cowardly to even do it himself. I’ve always known Sasha was a killer; I knew what he did. I was okay with it until it was my father he killed, someone I cared about.

  “I should kill you,” I cry, pressing my forehead to his.

  His free hand strokes over my cheek, words whispering over my lips. “It’s okay, malyshka. It’s as easy as pulling a trigger.”

  A sob breaks past my lips as my finger twitches over the trigger. I can do this. I rationalize all the reasons for doing this, and there are many, but the truth is, my mind is only playing catch up to my heart, trying to justify inaction to save pain. My heart won’t let me pull that trigger because I’m hopelessly in love with him.

  He’s both my white knight and my monster.

  The gun falls from my numb fingers, landing on his chest. Carefully, he picks it up, sliding the safety back on before he places it on the bedside table. A sob gets trapped in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath that hurts my ribs, but I don’t care. Sitting up, he wraps his arms around me, and I instantly feel safe. I cling to him, wishing this was enough to make everything disappear.

  “I’m so sorry, malyshka.”

  I grab his face, touching my forehead to his and breathing him in like pure oxygen. “I love you.”

  His lips meet mine, slow and gentle. He kisses me as though I’m fragile and precious, as though he’d take on the entire world just to keep me safe.

  “I love you, malyshka,” he breathes.

  Our love is ugly and raw and tainted with mistrust and betrayal, but at its core, it’s so painfully pure. In this moment, without Enrique, his job, my family, we’re just us— two people who need each other. If Enrique had never ordered the hit on my father, none of this would have happened. I can’t help but think that a love like this simply wouldn’t exist in the normal world. This was born of pain and desperation, death and destruction.

  But it’s ours, and it’s all I have.

  I cling to him, wanting to be as close as possible. It’s like something in me breaks, and I just need every part of him.

  I press my lips to his, my fingers trailing from his shoulders, over his stomach, to the waistband of his boxers. He stills beneath my touch, muscles tensing.

  “Malyshka…”

  “It’s okay,” I breathe. When I pull back, he looks so lost, so uncertain. I stroke his face, with my free hand while tugging at his underwear with the other. “I want you.”

  He slowly comes to life, shifting beneath me. His eyes never leave mine as he slowly removes his underwear.

  Rough, calloused hands glide the length of my thighs, beneath the hem of the over-sized t-shirt I wear to sleep in. When his fingers brush the lace of my panties, a trembling breath leaves me and my nails dig into the back of his neck. With one swift tug, he shreds the delicate material and it disintegrates beneath his brutal touch. Tension lingers between us and my heart pounds so hard, I can barely think past the thundering in my ears.

  His touch is gentle, yet he trembles with restraint as he carefully lifts me. When he slides inside me, it’s like all the broken pieces of me suddenly meld back together. He soothes my fraught soul, like a balm to my wounds. Part of me wishes I could hate him, but I can’t because I need this. Thick arms wrap around me, pulling me tight to his body, making me feel impossibly safe and cared for. I clutch his face, our breaths intermingling on ragged pants.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears sting my eyes. “Shhh. Shhh.”

  He’s both the source of my pain and the cure. I lose myself in him and nothing but us exists. He makes me forget everything that came before this exact moment, until I shatter and fall apart in his arms.

  I lay down in the darkness, completely engulfed by everything that is Sasha. His touch, his scent, the warmth of his body. I’m cocooned from the outside world. He strokes my hair, and I bury my face in his throat, inhaling the scent of him, gravitating towards the safety of his embrace.

  Tomorrow, I will have to face Enrique, and the thought makes me sick with fear. It was easier when Sasha was the enemy in my mind. I had little to lose, but as time goes on, I realize there are some things more important than power or revenge, and I don’t want to give this up. I’m too far in to back out now, though. I married the man. This is very much win or die at this point. Closing my eyes, I push all those thoughts from my mind. Tomorrow. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I fall asleep to the rhythmic melody of Sasha’s even breaths.

  When I wake up, Sasha is perched on the edge of the bed, his knees spread and his head dropped forward. He’s fully dressed in his usual head-to-toe black. The first gray rays of dawn creep around the curtains, and I squint against them.

  “Sasha?”

  He turns his face to me, his expression full of concern. It’s only then that I see the gun in his hand. My father’s gun. He removes the clip to check it before sliding it back in and placing it on the bedside table right next to me. “It’s a good gun.”

  “It was my father’s.”

  He inhales an unsteady breath and folds his arms over his chest. “I need you to know how truly sorry I am about your father, Adelina. Everything that has followed…”

  I shake my head. “I loved my father, Sasha. He was a good man, but…everything that has followed his death is because of the decisions he made.” I drop my gaze to the sheets in front of me. “I loved him, but he set all this in motion with Enrique.”

  He’s silent for long minutes; then his eyes close, his brows pinching together. “You knew I killed Eduardo the entire time?”

  “Enrique told me. When I tried to kill him.” He waited until the pivotal moment, like the twisted psychopath he is.

  “So, when you came back…”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “I always planned to kill you.”

  “But if you escaped, why didn’t Bianchi come for you sooner. It’s been weeks…” I almost see the moment he figures it out. “He let you go.”

  “To kill you. I convinced him you were a common enemy. That I could get close to you.” I’m almost ashamed of my actions now. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  “So why would you go after his business? Did Nero manipulate you?”

  I shake my head. “No. It was a combination of things. I needed to stay close to you. I also knew that if I went after his business, Enrique would break cover. You would kill Enrique, and I could kill you.”

  A small smile touches his lips as my stomach twists horribly.

  I’m a terrible person. “Why are you smiling? I lied to you and plotted to kill you.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  I swipe a hand over my face. “Don’t be. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

  He reaches out, cupping my jaw and swiping his thumb along my bottom lip. “You’re Adelina Ricci, and you have suffered far more than anyone deserves, but you’re strong now.”

  I snort. “Not strong enough to kill you.”

  His eyes narrow slightly. “I would willingly give my life for you, malyshka.”

  I cover his hand with my own and lean into his touch. “I know, and that’s why I can’t kill you.”

  “Bianchi will not get to you,” he vows.

  I nod, but his words mean little. I love Sasha, but I’m scared of what I’ve just unleashed. If there’s one thing these last few months have taught me, it’s that a single decision has far-reaching consequences, ripples that have an untold effect.

  “I have to go to him. And you need to play dead.”

  Sasha’s jaw tics, his expression becoming murderous. “No.”

  He’ll never agree to this, but I know there’s no other way. I can’t bear to argue with him, though, not now, when I know I’m so close to having to leave him. Again.

  How many times will he watch me go to Enrique and still be waiting for me when I get back?

  13

  Adelina

  I descend the stairs, glancing at the little speckles of colored light that pass through the stained glass of the front door and decorate the terracotta-tile floor. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out, pausing on the bottom step.

  It’s a text from an unknown number. “Tick tock. Times up.” Enrique.

  I start to type out a reply, telling him I’m coming to him when suddenly everything just comes to a halt. I hear a loud bang somewhere in the house, and the ground rumbles beneath my feet. A mirror falls from the wall, the glass shattering almost in slow motion. I watch the shards spread across the floor. I’m so focused on them that I barely register the explosion. I’m simply standing one minute and thrown through the air the next. And then everything goes black.

  I wake up to a high-pitched ringing in my ears. My entire body is riddled with pain that seems to penetrate all my bones. Someone is touching me, grabbing at my face. I blink through foggy vision and focus on Sasha. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear anything. His face is tight with concern as he grips my chin and gently twists my head one way and then the other. Then his hands slide beneath my back and thighs before I’m pulled against his chest. He takes me up the stairs and into his ensuite bathroom. I can’t remember what happened or how I got here. My head is pounding, and a wave of nausea grips me when he puts me down on the vanity. I’m stripped of my clothes as he dabs a damp cloth to first one ear, then the other. He then touches it to my forehead, my chest—each time bringing the white washcloth away crimson before he rinses it in the sink.

  I’m confused and lost. Sasha drops the cloth and takes my hand, pulling me from the vanity until my feet touch the ground. I’m led to the shower on unsteady legs. He’s methodical as he carefully washes my hair, combing it through. I look down and see tiny bits of glass and debris swirling around in the dirty pink water before disappearing down the drain. The cleaner I get, the clearer my thoughts become.

  “Gabi?” I ask, my words muted even to my own ears.

  His lips press in a flat line. “I don’t know. There were two explosions. One at the front door and one at the back.” It’s like he’s speaking underwater. “I came looking for you straight away. If she was in her office, she’ll be fine.”

  She’s not, though. I can feel it. This was Enrique. Why just blow up our front door? It makes no sense.

  “I have to find her.”

  He helps me out of the shower before wrapping a towel around me. The pain that was muted beneath adrenaline before now creeps over me, growing in intensity with each passing second. I clutch my ribs, struggling to get a full breath. Sasha pushes me down on the bed and drops to a crouch in front of me.

  “You’re going to stay here. I’m going to look for your sister and check on things.”

  I nod, in too much pain to argue. He slips out the door, and there’s a double click as he locks it behind him.

  Sasha’s gone for what feels like hours, but in reality, it is probably only fifteen minutes. I fall back against his pillows, inhaling the scent of him, hoping it will help me. It doesn’t. Every breath is agony.

  When Sasha finally returns, he has my brown leather weekend bag in hand. He wordlessly starts removing clothes and putting them on the bed. Then he takes out a little glass bottle, syringe, and needle.

  “Where’s Gabi?” I ask.

  He says nothing, just continues drawing liquid into the syringe. He walks over to me, the syringe propped between his teeth. Removing his belt, he ties it around the top of my arm tightly. Then he slides the needle into the crease of my elbow.

  “Sasha?”

  “Your sister is gone.” He pulls the needle out and releases the belt.

  “What?” Panic rises. “Where is she?”

  “They threw grenades at the doors as a distraction. Two men got in and took her while everyone was in a panic. Shot Lorenzo to get to her. He’s alive.”

  I drag a hand through my soaking wet hair, and even that hurts. My panic seems to slowly ebb away beneath a cloud of fog that wraps itself around my brain. Thoughts become jumbled, and my head swims.

  “What was that?” I point at the syringe, wondering why I didn’t ask that before.

  “Morphine. You have broken ribs, perhaps internal damage. The doctor is on his way.”

  “No. I have to go get Gabi.” My words slur slightly, and my head feels heavy. So heavy.

  “Shhh.” He sits on the edge of the bed, fingers trailing over my cheek. “Just sleep a while.” And I do, dragged into a dark abyss against my will.

  When I wake, it’s dark, and I don’t know where I am. I sit up in bed, flinching at the pain that lances through my torso. When I switch on the bedside lamp, I squint against the soft light. Glancing down, I see one of Sasha’s over-sized T-shirts covering my body. My memory is foggy, but I don’t remember getting changed. Did he dress me?

  His shirt falls to my knees when I stand. Beyond the bedroom door, all the lights are on in the house. I stumble in a haze through my family villa. The absence of people is almost as startling as the floor to ceiling wooden boarding that has been erected in the foyer, assumedly to keep the building secure against the gaping hole that was blown into the front. I finally find Sasha and Lorenzo in the kitchen. Glancing through to the dining room, I see more lights on and at least eight of Lorenzo’s men gathered, working through a stash of weapons that are dumped on the polished mahogany table.

  Sasha’s gaze meets mine, tracking me as I make my way into the room. Lorenzo pushes to his feet, rounding the breakfast bar and storming towards me before he tugs me into a bear hug.

  He pulls away when I wince. “Sorry, Miss Adelina. I am happy you are okay.”

 

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