But then—there.

  She’s slumped against the opposite window, eyes closed, face pale, blood smeared across the glass and leaking from her scalp.

  I crawl in, scoop her limp frame up, and drag her out. Her head lolls lifelessly against my shoulder as I free her.

  “Fuck,” Mila hisses, materializing from the mayhem with a gun in each hand. “Is she alive?”

  I press my fingers to her neck. “She’s got a pulse.”

  I look up past Mila and realize something: it’s suddenly quieter. The Bellasio men have gone back the way they came, disappearing into the forest. My men, the ones who survived, are slumped against the cars or ducked down in defensive positions. Everywhere I look, dust swirls and wounded Bratva men grimace with pain.

  And in my arms, Celine still hasn’t moved.

  A silhouette draws closer through the gloom and smoke. It takes shape—Dima. He’s got blood and sweat and his hair matted to his forehead. I see before he even approaches that he’s coming with bad news.

  “He’s gone, isn’t he?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Dima nods heavily. “I’m sorry, brother. The Bellasios got him back.”

  50

  TAYLOR

  I cradle my sister’s head in my hands as we speed through the streets.

  I buried my mother only days ago. I don’t have the strength to bury my sister right next to her. So I cling to Celine like I’m the only thing keeping her above dark water. I talk to her in the hope that some small part of her can hear me.

  “It’s going to be alright,” I whisper again and again until my throat is hoarse from smoke and tears. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

  Dima, Mila, and Ilarion are all in the same Hummer with us. None of them look at me as I continue my steady stream of pointless affirmations. None of them say anything. Like they’ve already written her off.

  Not me.

  I’m not giving up.

  When the truck finally stops, the door is opened for me. Dima looks at me with the kind of aching sympathy I never want to see again in my life.

  “Give her to me, Taylor,” he says gently. “I’ll be careful.”

  I can trust him, can’t I? He’s got a kind smile and a pocketful of sweet toffees he’s willing to share. He would never almost run me over with his car. He would never show me what freedom tastes like, then rip it away, along with everything else I’ve ever loved.

  I’m aware that my logic is severely flawed, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth to pick it apart right now. He has toffees. He must be kind. That has to be enough.

  So I help him scoop Celine from the seat. He takes her as tenderly as he can. When my arms are free, I stagger out of the Hummer and look around for the first time.

  As Mila steps to my side, I turn to her in horror. “This isn’t a hospital,” I exclaim. “This is the Diamond!”

  “Don’t worry,” she reassures me. “We have a doctor upstairs waiting for her. He has all the medical equipment he needs to—”

  “She needs a real doctor!” I cry. “And a real hospital!”

  “She’s in good hands here,” Ilarion interrupts, stepping in front of his sister before she can answer.

  “Good hands?” I repeat furiously. “Whose good hands? Yours?”

  Ilarion grits his teeth. “Mila, go inside and talk to Dr. Baranov. Stay with Celine and let me know what needs to be done.”

  Mila nods and slips away from my anger. That’s fine with me; she’s not the object of it. “Why the hell aren’t we at an actual fucking hospital?” I demand of the man I’m blaming for all of this.

  “Because that will raise too many unnecessary questions. We don’t need the police getting involved.”

  “Oh, so you’re going to compromise my sister’s life because you don’t want to deal with the inconvenience of a bunch of cops asking some very good questions?”

  “Nothing is being compromised, Taylor. Dr. Baranov knows what he’s doing.”

  “I want her taken to a hospital!”

  “You just want her far away from me,” he grits out. “Which is understandable, but inadvisable. She will get the best treatment possible right here.”

  I stare up at him, at his beautiful, terrifying face stained with the blood and sweat of battle. It’s a stark contrast to how calm he is, how calm he always is. Even in the face of chaos, his breath is steady and level.

  I can’t even explain how much I fucking hate it.

  It’s yet another reminder that both Celine and I are just pawns in this game. The pain is personal. And that cuts deeper than it should.

  Maybe it’s because this is the first moment of quiet I’ve had in hours, but I can feel the exhaustion taking my body hostage. I’m not sure what’s keeping me on my feet, but it feels treacherous, as though the strings holding me upright are going to snap at any moment.

  “You need to rest,” he says, reaching for me.

  “Don’t!” I cringe away from his hands. “Don’t touch me.”

  But even as I say it, I wobble forward and nearly crash to the earth. The only reason I don’t is because Ilarion grabs me, his arms caging me against him, forcing me to surrender to the fact that I’m too weak to fight him off.

  “Taylor,” he whispers in a voice so soft that I’m wondering if I imagined it.

  I look up and find myself caught by those cloudy blue eyes. I get lost in them for a moment. I lose myself to relief that I’m okay. Relief that he’s okay. Relief that at the very least—we can be here, together.

  I hate how good it feels to be caught in his arms. I hate how good it feels to have someone strong to lean into.

  But his strength is not mine to benefit from. His comfort is not mine to take. It belongs to my sister. And she’s lying on a fake hospital bed somewhere upstairs, unconscious and bleeding from the head.

  I shake my head and push myself off him. “You should be with Celine right now,” I remind him. “Not me.”

  He doesn’t miss the bite in my tone, the thinly veiled accusation. “I need to make sure you and the baby are alright, too.” It’s a reminder that his concern is not for me alone.

  I shouldn’t care.

  I don’t.

  I can’t.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll let Dr. Baranov be the judge of that. Come with me.” His expression hardens when I stay put. “If you don’t come willingly, I’ll be forced to carry you. I don’t think either of us want that.”

  I grit my teeth and nod. Satisfied, he turns and leads us into the house and up to the second floor. I’ve never been up here. The floor is wide and open, except for one annex sealed off from the space. The subtle printed wallpaper bears the geometric pattern of mountaintops crowding into the sky.

  Through the windows of the annex, I spy what I have to admit is a stunningly well-equipped hospital room.

  I can just make out Dr. Baranov through the glass. He’s not alone. It looks like there are two nurses with him, maybe more. Machines beep and chime and chug along like breathing animals in the background.

  Mila is standing off to one corner, biting her nails like I used to do as a kid. Seeing it draws the instinct to my fingertips and it takes all of my willpower to stop myself from falling off the wagon.

  She drops her hand from her mouth when she sees us. The moment I take a look at her, the tunnel vision abandons me completely. It’s like my ears popping after a plane ride.

  I can hear. I can see. I can think.

  “She’s stable,” Mila says when she sees me looking. “For now.” But that’s all she offers, even though her clenched jaw and gray pallor suggests there’s a lot more left unsaid.

  I frown. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She glances past me at her brother, whose presence I can feel looming behind my shoulder like a shadow I never wanted or asked for. “That’s not for me to say. Dr. Baranov will be out here in a moment. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

  “If she’s dead, Mila, just tell me.”

  “She’s not dead.” Again, she doesn’t elaborate. “I’ll give you two some space.”

  She turns and leaves. The moment I hear the door shut, I turn to Ilarion. “She’s wrong to trust you,” I hiss, letting out the words I’ve been holding in since Celine yelled at me to stop.

  “She made it very clear how she feels.”

  “Except that she’s wrong!” I cry. “She doesn’t have all the facts. But I do.” He tenses, and it’s obvious enough that I catch it. “That’s right. I overheard you talking to Mila and Dima earlier, before you left on your little rescue mission. I heard you admit that Celine is merely a chess piece on your board. You don’t actually love her. You never did.”

  He just stares coolly down at me, face giving nothing away. I hate that so much. I want to push and punch and shove him until that godawful mask cracks and shows that there’s a real person in there.

  I know there is. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.

  But now, when my sister and I both need him more than ever, he’s chiseled from stone. Unblinking. Unyielding in the worst way possible.

  “Well?” I press. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “No.” He meets my gaze, and there isn’t a hint of apology in him. “You’ve made your mind up about me. Nothing I say is going to change it. So I’m not going to waste my time or my breath defending myself.”

  I glare at him. “Don’t you feel bad? Isn’t there a single part of you that feels guilty for putting her in this position?”

  He looks away from me. I wonder what he’s trying to hide. The fact that he doesn’t feel anything? Or maybe the truth is that he feels too much?

  I laugh darkly against his silence. “I suppose this is a more convenient outcome for you, isn’t it?”

  “Taylor—”

  “Don’t,” I snap, hating how hearing him say my name makes my insides feel weird and gooey. Or maybe I just hate what that says about me. “I need to know why you asked Celine to marry you. Because it sure as hell wasn’t for love.”

  “You want the truth?” he asks.

  “No,” I drawl sarcastically, “I want you to keep lying to me.”

  “Fine.” He clenches and unclenches his fist at his side, the only sign that he’s anything other than perfectly at ease. “I asked Celine to marry me because I needed a woman to carry my name and my heirs. Your sister is beautiful and intelligent. She also happens to be compliant. She will do what I say, when I say it. That appealed to me.”

  I recoil. “You married her because…you thought she’d be a doormat?”

  “Because I knew she wouldn’t be a problem. To put it crudely.”

  “It’s not just crude; it’s terrible. Terrible and…shallow. And insanely selfish.”

  He shrugs. “Perhaps you’re right about that.”

  I shake my head. “But you’re still going to go through with the wedding?”

  “Unless she has changed her mind, then yes.”

  “And if she chooses differently when she wakes up?”

  He raises his brows. “Then I will let her walk away. I’m not about to force Celine—or anyone—to marry me.”

  He leaves the last part unspoken: Because I won’t have to.

  His confidence infuriates me—because I know he’s right. When Celine yelled at me back on Benedict Bellasio’s property, I saw the determination in her eyes. I knew what it meant.

  “Have you told her what you just told me?”

  Ilarion rolls his eyes. “What do you think?”

  “Fine. Then when she wakes up, I’ll tell her myself.”

  He nods. “Do what you must.”

  I gawk at him, open-mouthed and wavering. “You don’t deserve her.”

  “I won’t argue with that. But it won’t stop me from doing what I must, too.”

  51

  ILARION

  I’m accustomed to always winning. I know what it feels like, even when I tell myself it’s necessary for survival. There’s pride attached to the feeling, and a deep-seated sense of satisfaction that few other things can rival.

  I suppose, logically, I know that Taylor isn’t wrong. I do have the upper hand here—and we both know I’m going to win this argument.

  So why doesn’t it feel that way?

  All I can do is stand here, staring back at her with my face wiped clean of any real emotion and give her cold, robotic answers that do nothing but make her despise me more.

  Normally, I wouldn’t give a damn. But today, there’s a gnawing in my gut that tells me I do care. I care what this firestorm of a woman thinks of me.

  And not just because she’s carrying my baby.

  No matter how many times I throw that fact between us like a smokescreen.

  I walk to the corner of the room and pour her a glass of water from the pitcher. She looks at me incredulously when I offer it to her.

  “Drink,” I tell her. “It’s not poisoned. You watched me fill it.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She hesitates for a moment and then she takes the glass of water. Her first sip is tentative. She finishes it with her second.

  “Fine,” she mumbles as she wipes her wet lips with the back of her hand. “Maybe I was a little thirsty.”

  “Battle does that to you.”

  She glances at me through her long lashes. “You seem used to it.”

  “This war with the Bellasios has been brewing for a long time.”

  Her brow ripples with curiosity, but she refrains from asking anything else. Instead, she mutters, “I can’t believe Celine’s okay with all this.”

  “Give her more credit. She’s tougher than you think.” But even as I say that, a whole new gnawing in my gut joins the first. I’ve now seen both sisters in the heat of battle, under intense stress and life-threatening situations…and one handles it far better than the other.

  One is fit for this life.

  One is barely clinging onto it.

  “Being opposed to violence doesn’t make you weak,” she says. “It makes you moral.”

  “And there’s no way an angel like Celine could possibly love a demon like me?”

  “Your words. Not mine.”

  I smile. “Do you want more water?”

  “No,” she says, before tacking on a grudging “thank you” at the end.

  I set the glass down on a nearby end table. “I can understand your concern for your sister. And you’re right: I don’t love her.” Her eyes grow wide, but she doesn’t interrupt me. “But the truth is, I don’t think I’m capable of loving anyone.”

  “It’s human nature to love,” she says, looking as though she’s surprised even herself with that statement.

  “Maybe so, but it’s not in my nature.”

  “You’re saying you’re not human?”

  “If that makes it easier for you to digest, then call me whatever you like,” I say with a shrug. “The point I’m trying to make is that just because I can’t love Celine doesn’t mean I won’t treat her well. She will be taken care of. Pampered and protected.”

  “Like she is now?” Taylor scoffs, jerking her head toward the medical annex that Dr. Baranov still hasn’t emerged from. “Very impressive. Just do me a favor and don’t ever try to ‘pamper’ me, please.”

  I bite back a smile. Nothing about this is funny. The fiancée I can’t force myself to love is dying one room over. The tiger cub I can’t let myself have is spitting fire in my face. I’m at war with an enemy who just slipped through my fingers like sand and I’m bleeding from half a dozen cuts and everything I spent too fucking long crafting is falling apart right in front of me.

  And yet the little tigrionok bares her fangs, and it makes me smile.

  I don’t have any goddamn clue what that might mean.

  “You’re not the pacifist you claim your sister is,” I observe.

  “I don’t take attacks lying down, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You and I have that in common.”

  “Probably the one and only thing we have in common,” she retorts. “Because the fact is that I do love Celine. And I can’t just sit idly by and—”

  “I thought you were going to trust your sister?” I say. “Her life, her mistake. Right?”

  Her gaze falters and drops to the floor between us. When she speaks, it’s a raspy whisper. “That’s assuming she still has a life to throw away.”

  As if on cue, Dr. Baranov walks out of the adjoining room, his face kept carefully blank.

  “Is she okay?” Taylor clamors as soon as she sees him, her eyes darting toward her sister’s room. “Is she awake?”

  Dr. Baranov focuses on Taylor. He lets loose a weary sigh, and my heart double-clutches in my chest. “Your sister suffered major trauma to the head. She’s stable for the moment, but it appears…”

  “Yes?”

  “It appears she’s slipped into a coma.”

  Taylor gasps, her body rocking with a sob that doesn’t come out. “C-coma… Are you sure?”

  “There’s still a reasonable chance that she’ll come out of it. We’ll have to monitor her closely over the next few days and hopefully—”

  Taylor doesn’t wait to find out what follows “hopefully.” “So you have no idea when or if she’ll ever wake up?”

  “The next seventy-two hours are crucial,” Dr. Baranov gently explains. “If she wakes up within that time frame, then the rehabilitation process will be simpler.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  Baranov’s eyes flit to mine. “Then recovery will be more difficult. She might need to be re-taught certain things. Walking, talking, and reading, for example.”

  Taylor swallows. “That’s fine. We can help—”

  “But…”

  Her head snaps back up to Dr. Baranov. “But what?”

  “The likelihood of her waking up after seventy-two hours is…slim.”

  She sucks in her breath, and I can feel her teetering towards me. Is it instinct? Is it purely coincidental? I don’t wait to find out. I gently grab her arm and twine my fingers through hers.