Chapter 13

I consider the question. Is Rowan interesting? A marketing associate with a sick mother and a five-year crush on me? Does that qualify?

“Perhaps,” I finally answer. “She’s… different.”

Arkady raises an eyebrow. “Different how? And please don’t tell me you’re fucking this one, too.”

“Not yet.”

He sighs dramatically. “Vince, when will you learn? Sleeping with the help always ends badly.”

“This isn’t about sex.”

Though, as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re partially a lie. Of course it’s about sex—at least partly. I’ve been half-hard all day just watching her fumble through her new duties. That green dress is a fucking crime against humanity, if only because it belongs in tatters next to my bed.

“Then what is it about?” he presses.

I swirl the clear liquid in my glass, watching the light refract through it. “My father is pushing the marriage issue again.”

Understanding dawns on Arkady’s face. “Ah. The inheritance clause. Tick-tock. Seven months left, right?”

“Six and a half.”

“And you think this girl might be…?”

I shrug. “She could be useful. For maintaining my cover, if nothing else.”

Arkady studies me for a long moment. He sees past the facade; he always has. “You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend. Using some innocent girl as a shield against your father’s demands?”

“She’s not that innocent.” Even as I say it, though, I recall the wide-eyed look she gave me when I mentioned her crush. The blush that followed. The whispered Oh. “And she’ll be well-compensated for her troubles.”

“Money ain’t everything, bub.”

“Says the man with three penthouses and a yacht.”

He laughs, conceding the point. “Fair enough. But still—does she know what she’s getting into?”

“No.” I finish my drink. “And she won’t. Not until I’m sure she can be trusted.”

“And when will that be?”

I think of the thud outside my office door. The lingering scent of her cheap perfume. The report that she went straight home, told no one what she heard, did not pass Go, did not collect two hundred dollars. All positive signs, and yet…

“That remains to be seen.”

Arkady leans forward, suddenly serious. “Just remember—civilian attachments are liabilities in our world. If she becomes a problem…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t need to.

We both know what happens to problems in the Bratva.

“She won’t be,” I say with more certainty than I feel. “She’s smart. Desperate. And she wants something only I can give her.”

“A good fucking?” Arkady suggests with his usual dose of grace and chivalry.

I smile despite myself. “That, too. But more than that—security. Status. A way out of the pit her life has become.”

“What happens when she discovers the pit you’re offering is much, much deeper?”

It’s a good question. One I don’t have an answer for yet.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say. Then I shrug. “Or we’ll set the bridge on fire. Either way is fine with me.”

Arkady sighs and tops off both our glasses. “To beautiful, desperate women,” he says, raising his cup in a toast. “May they never realize how dangerous we really are until it’s too late.”

I clink my glass against his, but my mind is elsewhere.

Back in my office, with Rowan’s scent lingering in the air.

Back to the moment I realized she might have heard something she shouldn’t have.

Back to the decision I now face—trust her, or eliminate the risk she represents.

For some reason I can’t quite name, I’m hoping for the former. Which is strange, because hope has never been part of my vocabulary.

Until now.

10

ROWAN

Mom’s hospital room always smells the same.

Antiseptic. Stale air. The faint, lingering scent of whatever sad cafeteria food they brought her for lunch.

And flowers. Always flowers, because I can’t visit without bringing some. Today, it’s yellow daisies, cheap but cheerful. Mom loves daisies.

“There’s my girl!” Her face lights up when I walk in. Despite everything, she still has the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “Two visits in one week? What did I do to deserve such special treatment?”

I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Just missed your face, that’s all.”

She looks better today. Her color is good, and she’s sitting up in bed. The doctors say the new treatment is working, slowing the cancer’s spread. Not eliminating it, but buying time.

Time costs money, though. A lot of it.

“Tell me everything,” she orders playfully, patting the edge of her bed. “How’s work? How’s that handsome boss of yours?”

I nearly choke.

If Mom only knew.

“Actually, that’s sort of why I’m here.” I perch on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the sleeves of my sweater. “I got a promotion.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? That’s wonderful, honey! What position?”

“Executive assistant.” I can’t keep the fear or the pride out of my voice. “To Mr. Akopov.”

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “The one you’ve been mooning over for⁠—”

“Five years, yes, thank you for the reminder.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “It happened kind of suddenly.”

“How suddenly?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. Mom’s always been good at sniffing out my half-truths.

I hesitate, carefully piecing together a version of events that won’t give her a heart attack. “He noticed some of my marketing work and thought I’d be a good fit for the position.” Not technically a lie. “His previous assistant got transferred, so there was an opening.”

“And he just happened to pick you out of the whole company?”

She’s not buying it. Of course she’s not. Mom’s bullshit detector is finely tuned after raising me alone for twenty-seven years.

I shrug, aiming for casual. “Right place, right time, I guess.”

“Mhmm.” She gives me that look—the one that says she knows I’m not telling her everything. “And how much of a raise comes with this promotion?”

This part I can be honest about. “Triple my previous salary.”

Mom gasps. “Triple? Rowan, that’s amazing!”

“I know.” I can feel my eyes getting watery. “It means we can finally get ahead of some of these bills.”

She reaches for my hand, squeezing it with surprising strength. “Honey, you don’t need to worry about⁠—”

“Don’t even start,” I interrupt. “We’re a team, remember? Besides, I already paid off a chunk of the hospital debt this morning.”

It’s true. My first paycheck landed in my account at midnight—a prorated amount for the rest of the month that still dwarfed anything I’ve ever seen in my bank account before. I was at the hospital billing office the moment they opened. The look on the administrator’s face when I handed over a check for eight grand was almost worth all the sleepless nights I’ve spent worrying about money.

Almost.

“Rowan Elizabeth,” Mom scolds, though her voice is thick with emotion, “you should be using that money on yourself. A better apartment. New clothes. A vacation, for heaven’s sake.”

I shake my head. “This is more important.”

“Your happiness is important, too.”

“I’m happy knowing you’re getting the care you need.” I squeeze her hand back. “And now, we can afford that live-in nurse we talked about.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”