"Whatever you can think of," he answered with a shrug. "If there's a problem, I can make it go away."

  That told her a lot while not telling her anything at all.

  She could understand some of what he meant—her brother needing to get out of the city quick, for example—but trying to wrap her mind around what all "fixing" entailed was hard.

  "Ask me for something."

  Vera blinked, focusing back on him. "What?"

  "Name something impossible you've always wanted."

  Her father to leave her the hell alone was at the very top of the list, but she didn't think that was what he meant. And she also had a sneaking suspicion that if she did tell him that, it wouldn't end well for Vasily at all.

  But for the life of her, she couldn't think of any material object she wanted.

  So she gave him something else. “You,” she answered. “I want you and this … us without any distractions.”

  She wanted this moment to last forever.

  A part of her expected him to laugh, to tell her to name something else—something easily promised and procured—but instead, he came to her, so close that she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

  And instead of laughter, he gave her one word that was better than any answer she could have asked for. “Done.”

  Chapter 11

  A few nights later, Alfie drove them to her place.

  They rushed inside and out of the rain, shedding their sodden clothes. While Vera grabbed towels, Alfie made himself comfortable. Coming back downstairs, she took a moment to appreciate the sight of him in her living room in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. His raw masculinity in contrast to the soft, feminine colors of her décor.

  From the moment they had left his restaurant, she knew she would have to confess some things to him because now, she had made her choice. In coming to him and making it clear that she wanted him, she knew she had to tell him everything.

  Even if that meant he might walk right back out the door.

  He started a fire as if he had been doing it all his life. She tried not to stare at him as she watched him work. The way he waited until the flame took before he took a step back. How he rolled his shoulders to work out some of the tension in them.

  She tried to focus on anything that wasn't the thought of this moment ever ending.

  It had taken a trip out to see Irina to make it clear to her why she had walked away from him before. It wasn't just because he lied, though that was a big part of it. She'd been worried.

  Not necessarily about their relationship but rather of others knowing about it.

  Specifically, Vasily.

  He was the last person she would have told about Alfie, if she would have ever gotten around to telling him at all. For him, it wasn't about whether the man she chose to be with was treating her the right way, or someone being worthy of her—Vasily would see him as a means to get to her.

  From the moment she had left home, she had made it a point to sever contact—to see him only when she had to. She made sure he couldn’t use anything against her should he want to.

  The business she had built for herself was done with her own hard work, her own money, and without any favors or contacts from him. Even though it was harder to pull off. Even though there were nights when she wasn't sure whether she would be able to accomplish her dream.

  That way, not only was she proud of what she had accomplished, but this was something he couldn't take away from her. He couldn't dangle this over her head when she didn't do what he wanted.

  Her business was something she could control and not the other way around.

  "Where's your head at?"

  Vera blinked, coming back to the present as Alfie dropped down beside her on the L-shaped couch. He tugged her into his side, his skin warm now that they had come out of the rain and cold.

  Resting against him like this shouldn't have been as comfortable as it was—familiar as it was—as if they had been doing this for years rather than the short amount of time it had been since she had even learned his name.

  As the rain poured outside, thumping heavily against the roof and windows, Vera found no other place she would rather be than right here with him.

  And maybe that worried her the most ... that she had no control over how long this would last.

  Vera didn't realize she had zoned out again until Alfie touched her face, turning her so she could meet his gaze. "Talk to me."

  "You've been helping Kaz with Violet," she started softly, drawing in a calming breath, "so you probably know more about what my father has been up to than I do."

  "I know enough."

  But what he didn't know, what no one knew, was that this wasn't the first time he had pulled something similar to this. It was something she had never talked about—a secret she had always promised to take with her to her grave if she could.

  "When I was sixteen, I met someone."

  "Lucky bugger."

  She smiled wistfully, conjuring Yuri’s face in her mind. "He was just an errand boy, hadn't actually earned his stars or anything like that, but I liked him all the same because he was different."

  Alfie didn't interrupt again, but he did stroke his thumb over her shoulder as if he knew what she was about to say wouldn't be easy for her. As if he knew how it would end.

  "Back then, I didn't understand the rules—at least, not entirely. I thought so long as I didn't ask questions and Yuri still did what he was supposed to do for Vasily, we would be fine. That's the way it should have been, anyway."

  But her father had never seen it that way.

  "He was different from the others. I guess, you could say he was fearless when it came to me. I was the girl he wanted, and he didn't care what Vasily had to say about that."

  Very much like Alfie.

  "We didn't tell Vasily about us for months. We snuck around, got together as much as we could, but we could only hide it for so long. And it was only a matter of time until he figured out that we were together."

  He hadn't taken it well.

  So much so that he had caused a scene at home the day he found out.

  "One of his men picked us up and brought us to him. I don't think I'll ever forget the anger I saw in his face. We weren't just two people to him. We were like his property, acting without permission. Vasily was yelling at me, threatening to ship me off, and Yuri ... he spoke up. He stood up for me—to Vasily—and the room went silent. No one said a word, and maybe it was naïve of me, but I thought he would appreciate that. That Yuri wasn't afraid of him. I thought it was admirable."

  But she was wrong.

  Horribly, terribly wrong.

  "Two weeks to the day of that argument, Vasily came in my room. I'd already wondered why I hadn't seen Yuri in all that time, why he didn't respond to my calls or texts ... but I just figured he was busy. But that day, Vasily walked in with a smile on his face. Asked me how my day went. Whether I enjoyed school. He was being so nice."

  It was the nicest he had been to her ever since he learned that she and Yuri were dating.

  She hadn't seen it for what it was, not until it was too late.

  “Yuri used to carry this pocketknife. It was small and not worth a lot of money, but it meant everything to him because his father had given it to him before they left Russia and came to live in Brighton Beach. It was the last thing his father ever gave him before he died. He would have died before he ever gave it to anyone." She shook her head and cleared her throat, willing away the emotion that was taking her over.

  It didn't matter that it had been nearly ten years since that day. Ten years that felt like a lifetime ago. Whenever she thought about it, it still hurt as if it were a fresh wound in her chest.

  "We talked for at least fifteen minutes before Vasily stood to leave again, but before he did, he reached into his pocket and pulled that knife out and set it on my dresser. He didn't say anything, not until I could finally look at him once I noticed it and knew what it meant."

  She could still, to this day, remember the way he smiled, all too pleased with himself. How he hadn't seemed to care at all that she had tears in her eyes as it felt as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out.

  "He told me, 'Don't ever forget, when someone crosses me, I always have the last word.' Then he left as if nothing had happened. We never spoke about it again, but for months after that, the knowledge of what he had done still hung over those who knew about it."

  The twins were too young to notice, and neither of her brothers were high enough in the Bratva to even know what he had done. Not that they would have paid much attention to Yuri’s disappearance. They had their own work to do.

  But there were others, Vasily's men, who didn't make eye contact with her for a long time. Who acted as if she didn't exist. One, in particular, though, had come over for a family dinner, and unlike the others, he didn't act as if anything was wrong at all.

  He'd worn the smile of a man who knew a dark secret.

  And that day, as she watched him embrace her father, seeing the way the two smiled at each other before he'd offered that same smile to Vera, she knew that he was the one who did it.

  She might not have asked questions, and she had never been bold enough to confront him with the knowledge that she couldn't prove, but she knew what his role was.

  The Butcher, they called him.

  “Yuri loved me, of that I have no doubt, but the second he dared to stand between Vasily and me, that was it for him," Vera whispered, swiping a tear away before it could fall. "That was the day I learned that my life wasn't my own. I learned that men like Vasily, like Yuri, didn't care who they hurt."

  It was also the day when she decided she wanted nothing to do with men like her father.

  Brigadiers.

  Gangsters.

  In her mind, they were all the same, and she wanted no part of that.

  "I counted down the days until I could get out of that house. Until I was free to leave and do what I wanted. I thought once I got out from under his roof and the 'life' he'd made for me, that would be the end of it."

  Except she should have known better.

  She should have known that nothing with her father was ever that easy.

  "The next guy I met had no organized crime ties. He was a regular guy," she said with a wave of her hand. "I didn't realize that a part of his attraction to me was because of who my father was and the family I belonged to. That was two years after Yuri.”

  When she had finally picked up the fragile pieces of her heart and put them back together again. When she had started to feel normal.

  "We lasted a little over a year. He'd even proposed."

  Alfie shifted, his frown becoming a little more pronounced, and the sight of him feeling so unsettled at the idea of her being married to someone else made her laugh.

  "I imagine Vasily bungled that ..."

  "Paid him to go away after I refused to launder a large payment he'd received for a drug deal through my studio."

  To this day, she still didn't think he'd actually needed her to do it. The Bratva had plenty of legitimate businesses he could have moved the money through, but it had never been about that.

  It was another test. Do what he wanted or suffer the consequences.

  "When I said no, he knew he couldn't hurt my business, so he hurt me in another way. He took the thing I loved."

  It had already been impossible for her to forgive him after what he had done to Yuri, but when she learned about Camden ... that was it for her. She was done. Whatever affection she had held for the man who sired her died as quickly as it took for him to offer a man money to break her heart.

  Alfie smoothed a hand over his beard, looking disgruntled. "And he just went away? This bloke you fancied yourself in love with?"

  "As soon as the money cleared in his account."

  "Fucking coward, that one."

  Vera shrugged, not denying that. "It's what Vasily does. He takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left. So if he thinks for a second that I care about you,"—and she did—"he'll try to take you as well."

  He didn't respond right away, and instead, he pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him. He held her there for a long while, seeming to gather his thoughts.

  "I don't need you to be afraid for me, luv, yeah? I can handle your father if he wants to have a row."

  "Alfie—"

  "I wouldn't even have to lift a finger," he continued. "If he ever thinks that he can take you from me, he'll learn that there's a reason I can't go back to London."

  Her brows shot up at the admission. "You never told me you couldn't go back."

  He waved that away. "Story for another day. But hear me, Vera. You don't need to worry about me. You don't ever need to worry that I'll walk away by choice. You don't ever have to worry that he'll even get close enough to inflict any harm on you or me or any-fucking-body who I care about, yeah? You have me, you understand? You have me."

  A protest was on the tip of her tongue, old worries brought back to the surface. Every bit of her wanted to believe that what he was saying was true. That her father couldn't take this from her too.

  And even as she knew it was an impossible thing to guarantee, she asked, "You promise?"

  He kissed her lips. "You have my word."

  Being with her could potentially be deadly, and with the state Vasily was in, there was a real chance he would make his presence known again very soon, but as much as she believed that, she also believed in Alfie.

  She believed in him.

  Chapter 12

  Vera was focused on the binder of designs in her hand as she stepped out of her office to find Frances so they could go over the next phase of the project but stopped short when a figure in her peripheral caught her attention.

  The man was tall, wore black jeans, and boots. The pea coat he wore was black as well and conformed to his broad shoulders. His hair was messy with a distinct wave to it, and even if she hadn't seen the skull tattooed on the side of his neck, Vera doubted he was there because he was interested in her work.

  Quite the opposite.

  "Can I help you?" she asked, giving him her full attention and completely forgetting the designs.

  She wasn't sure what to expect when the man turned to look at her over his shoulder and a grin tilted his mouth up in one corner.

  "I've not seen this one before," he said with a nod of his head at the painting he'd been staring at, his accent immediately making her blink.

  It held the same cadence as Alfie's.

  "Who's it by?" he asked, looking back at the painting.

  Even if she hadn't been completely thrown off by his voice, and the fact that he was in her studio at all, Vera would have never pegged him for someone who would seek out her services. And after years living under a man who enjoyed his own games, she was pretty sure she knew why this man was here.

  "Are you looking for Alfie?" she asked, carefully controlling her voice. She didn't have to know who he was or what he was capable of not to feel fear. She was a mafiya printsessa—she made others feel fear.

  "Later, pet. I've come here for you, didn't I? Else I would've popped on 'round to see the ole boy if that's what I wanted."

  He turned then, digging his hands into his pockets as he walked toward her. His chin just tilted to the side told her he was more curious than a threat, but she didn't believe for a second that he couldn't switch to the other when he was ready.

  It was something about the man's eyes. They were brown—a brown so dark they were almost black—and his smile wasn't friendly at all despite him wearing one.

  Whatever his reason for being here, it wasn't a good one.

  Vera didn't speak as she stared at him. She wouldn't cower or back down, but she did lean her weight against the corner of Frances's desk and covertly hit the button along the underside of it. She'd had it installed after Vasily set off the bomb in her last offices to ensure should anyone come in who Frances didn't like, it would alert the security Alfie had put on them.

  "Who are you?"

  "Krane is the name. Lachlan Krane."

  She waited for it to ring a bell as she thought back through the many conversations she’d had with Alfie over the past months, but came up with nothing. She was drawing a blank. "Am I supposed to know who you are?"

  "Alfie hasn't mentioned me? Shame."

  Though she hadn't needed the confirmation because she'd already guessed that he was here because of Alfie, Vera didn't respond. She merely waited for him to continue.

  "Have to say you're not his usual type, are you?"

  He took another step toward her, and it took everything inside her to stand her ground. To not retreat and widen the distance between them. There was a certain air of menace that radiated from him and not in the same way that it did Alfie.

  With him, she still felt safe. Protected.

  There was nothing safe about Lachlan Krane.

  "Last I recall, he preferred blondes."

  Vera shrugged, not rising to the bait. "People change."

  "Nah, but see, Alfie isn't like that, is he? Or at least he wasn't. The Alfie I knew wouldn’t have gone within a mile of you."

  It was a mistake, Vera realized, to remain there and allow him to get close because beyond the dark, woodsy scent of him, she realized just how tall he was and just how small she was in comparison.

  He didn't care about personal space, or even that Alfie would commit violence if he knew he was touching her. He merely reached out with pale fingers and twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers.

  "He doesn't like Russian women."

  "Step back," Anton said, his voice firm, the sound of it making Vera's heart skip a beat.

  Never had she been happier to have personal security than she was at that moment.

  Lachlan didn't seem concerned with the man's sudden entry. In fact, he looked more amused than before.

  "Charlie," he said without taking his eyes off Vera. "Good to see you, mate. It's been a while."

  She didn't expect his expression to change—for his ease at being the biggest man in the room to completely vanish as he realized just who was in the room with her.