I sigh and adjust the clasp of my watch out of mindless habit. I debate the best course of action, but in the end, how could I choose anything but the truth?

  “We’re hitting the Bellasio compounds. We can’t risk retaliation. One night of hellfire and the Bellasio threat will be gone for good. One clean sweep.”

  “‘Clean’ is a funny word for killing a lot of people,” murmurs Taylor.

  I incline my head in acknowledgment. “Everything comes with a cost.”

  She snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Her eyes go glassy as she stares at a blank stretch of wall for a long, silent moment.

  I cross the distance between us until I’m only inches away from her. Only inches, but it feels like miles. She looks up at me, despite herself, and I watch as her expression brimmers with vulnerability.

  “Ilarion,” she says softly, “I won’t betray my sister again.”

  “And the alternative is what? Betraying yourself?”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “You love me.”

  She flinches. “I—”

  “Go ahead,” I growl. “Deny it. Lie to me and deny it.” I lean in closer. “You do it pretty well already.”

  She sucks in a sharp breath, then glances up at me through her long lashes. All I want to do is pull her to me, kiss her until she surrenders. Kiss her until she fucking breaks.

  “Ilarion—”

  “Say it.”

  She flinches. “I love you,” she concedes softly. “Or at least… I want to. But I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. You came before her. You were the first. You were…the only. It was always you, Taylor. Only ever you.”

  She shakes her head. “I was just a random accident. She’s the woman you proposed to.”

  “Stop stealing my choice.”

  Taylor pauses. Then blinks at me. “What?”

  I flex my fingers against my palms, letting the sting of my nails biting my skin remind me I can’t touch her the way I’m craving. “You keep acting like you’re allowed to deny me my choice. Like I’m not allowed to make my own fucking decisions.”

  I’m not a man who spills his secrets or his heart and soul out like some lovesick sap. But I am a man who might not make it through the night. I’ve planned and schemed and I’m confident in the path I’ve chosen.

  But there’s always that very slim chance that death is waiting—and if I’ve learned anything from this shitshow, it’s that it’s foolish to gamble with fate.

  Better be honest while I still can.

  “Have you even considered, for one goddamned second, how things would be different if you’d just told me your name?”

  Her eyes widen.

  I nod. “Exactly. You chose for me then. You took away my options. You stole my ability to make an informed decision when it came to Celine.”

  “That doesn’t make a diff—”

  “The hell it doesn’t!” I keep my voice low for the sake of Celine downstairs, but it’s still just as harsh as a yell. “What? You think I would’ve even glanced at her sideways if I knew who her sister was? You’re going to look me in the eye and tell me you honestly believe that had I known Taylor Theron was the same woman who stole my fucking heart from the backseat of my car, I would just call it a ‘whoops’ and marry some total stranger I can’t even bear to be near?”

  I’m very aware I sound insane. I’m very aware the floodgates are wide open and I’m pouring out more than I have in a lifetime of buried emotions.

  But my-fucking-god, this beautiful woman drives me up the fucking wall.

  And if the floodgates are open, it’s because she’s been chiseling at them for weeks with her stubbornness.

  One day, when I’m no longer questioning my sanity, I’m going to bask in pride for our child. I couldn’t ask for a better heir or a better mother to raise him. Or her.

  If that kid is half as iron-willed as either of us, she’ll be a force to reckon with.

  Taylor hiccups on a sob she refuses to let out. “I do love you, Ilarion. But it’s too late. I fucked up. And now, I’m not allowed to love you. One day, I’ll forget enough that I… I won’t care anymore.”

  It’s like she’s plunged an icy knife right into my heart. And instead of simply telling her how I feel, instead of saying the three easiest words in the English language that my tongue just won’t work out, my expression darkens.

  It’s far easier to pretend like I’m not dying inside.

  “Unfortunately, for you, that’s not going to matter.”

  She frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “As of tomorrow, Benedict Bellasio will no longer be a threat to us. You and your father will be safe here until then. At that time, Archie will be free to move back into his own home.” I draw in a ragged breath before I finish, “But you will remain here.”

  “Ilarion—”

  I silence her with a glare. “When Celine has recovered, I will tell her about us, and about the baby.”

  “It will break her.”

  I bark out a laugh. It’s harsh and it’s cruel and it’s full of the truth she needs to hear. “You just know so much about everyone, don’t you? She’s not as fragile as you believe her to be. She’s not as fragile as you want her to be.”

  That one lands like a sucker punch to her soul. Good. I’m not loving the way my words make her cower in on herself, but I’m definitely not loving the fact that I even have to say them.

  I may be pissed right now, but I’m not an asshole. Well… not always.

  “I will make sure she’s comfortable and provided for. I’m not just kicking her to the road.”

  “She won’t want your money.”

  “I’ll give it to her anyway.”

  Taylor sniffles and folds her arms over her chest. “We can’t. I can’t, Ilarion. I’m sorry.”

  “Even though we love each other?” I demand. At least, I meant it as a demand, but all it sounds like is a desperate plea.

  She blinks back her tears and smiles sadly at me. “It figures that you would only be able to admit you love me now that you can’t.”

  Stop telling me what I can and cannot do. “We can raise our child together, Taylor. We will raise our child together.”

  I can see it on her face: she wants that. She wants it more than anything. But she’s scared and stubborn, and the chaotic storm of her life is roaring too loud for anything to make sense.

  “Ilarion, please. Listen to me. You can tell Celine the truth. You can keep me here under your roof…but I can’t be with you.”

  I lean in, a fraction of an inch away from pressing a kiss onto her stubborn mouth. I let my lips linger, feeling the warmth coming off her body, tasting the phantom kiss on her breath.

  “We’ll see,” I say at last.

  Then, as painful as it is, I walk away.

  78

  TAYLOR

  When Ilarion is gone, I drop into the window seat. My fingers claw into the thick fabric of the cushion, trying and failing to tether me to reality. I can’t quite breathe right, and no matter how hard I try, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that I won’t ever be able to breathe here.

  Not in this house. Not with my sister’s shadow hovering over me.

  I force myself to straighten up. Ilarion says he’s the one with no choices, but I don’t have many, either. All I can do is face the situation head-on. To stop hiding from the truth.

  And the truth is, I’m having his baby.

  The truth is, I love him.

  The truth is, if I stay here, I’m going to cave. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day.

  Because I know in my heart that I will never love another man the way I love Ilarion Zakharov.

  I pull out the note my father slipped into my pocket. I’ve memorized the words already, but I read them again anyway. Then I glance up at the time.

  Forty-six minutes to midnight.

  Through the window behind me, I see Zakharov men amassing. Clusters of shadows joining clusters of shadows. When I squint, I find Dima in the middle of one patch of darkness. A moment later, Mila joins him. They bark orders, pointing and gesturing, then the trickle of the exodus begins.

  I feel a tingle on my skin as I wonder what midnight holds for me. What midnight holds for them, too.

  Tomorrow’s sun is going to rise on a different kind of world.

  I wonder where I’ll be then. Do I trust my father enough to let him lead me blindly into the rest of my life?

  I know Archie Theron. My dad is paranoid to a fault and fiercely protective. In my heart of hearts, I already know what he’s going to tell me.

  We have to leave as soon as possible.

  Ilarion can’t be trusted, and even if he could be, his lifestyle is too dangerous.

  We’re all at risk if we stay close to him.

  All things I already know.

  I tear myself away from the window and step into the bathroom. The idea was to splash some cold water on my face and shock these lurid thoughts of my system. But instead, I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection for a moment.

  My cheeks are pale and gaunt. I look afraid. My eyes dip down to my belly. It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to feel pregnant. Which means I’m going to have to tell Celine and Dad soon—before I start looking pregnant.

  I pull my hair back and tie it in a ponytail. But the adrenaline rush of the cold water doesn’t last longer than a second or two.

  I check the clock. Nineteen minutes to go.

  By the time I head back to the window in my room, I see that the gates are closed, the trucks have disappeared, and all is quiet in the courtyard. The butterflies have gathered in my belly.

  I don’t bother packing. I just grab the same bag I took with me to the mountain. It’s filled with all the clothes I never got a chance to wear.

  I sling it over my shoulder and follow the staircase down to the ground floor. Then I take the kitchen exit out into the gardens, creeping slowly, keeping an eye out for any stragglers or wandering security. I wind through the gardens until I find the path that will lead me to the south gate.

  Like everywhere else, it’s quiet here. Stones shift underfoot, but the night air is dead still. Not even a breeze to ruffle the hedges.

  I round a bend and see it standing there. The gate. The boundary between the life I wanted and the life I’m going to get.

  It’s simple iron, painted jade green. There’s no chorus of angels waiting to usher me through. No Zakharov guards, either, which strikes me as odd. It just stands there, eerily alone.

  But there’s no turning back now.

  I open the latch and pass through.

  At first, I don’t see anything. Just the darkness of night and a lot of trees. Then: a burst of light in the distance. The flash of headlights, there and then gone again.

  A signal.

  I dart through the trees until the car materializes from the darkness. It’s a shabby Honda with a dented hood. Ilarion wouldn’t be caught dead in it. I slow to a walk just as the driver’s side door opens.

  “Taylor.”

  “Dad!” I gasp when I realize that there’s blood on his collar and flecks of it down his shirt. “What’s happening? What the hell is going on?”

  “We’re leaving,” he says. He eyes my bag. “Good—you packed. Let’s go.”

  I take a deep breath, steady my nerves, and deliver the first line of the speech I practiced in the dark of my bathroom.

  “No.”

  79

  TAYLOR

  Dad does a double-take, glancing over my shoulder before dropping into a hissed whisper as if the trees might be eavesdropping. “This is the only chance we’re going to get, Taylor. We have to take it.”

  “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” I say. “How did you even get past the guards? Why is there blood all over you? And where’s Celine?”

  He looks at me silently for long enough that two things strike me at the same time. One is that the first two questions that I asked probably have the same answer. The second is that, all of the sudden, he looks very different from the man who raised me.

  That man was scared, trembling, badly shaven, underfed.

  This man is alert, aware, watchful. And calculated. There’s purpose in his expression and in his stance, and when I glance into the shitty little Honda he’s brought to the party, I realize there’s a gun lying casually on the passenger seat.

  “Fucking hell,” I whisper. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Dad shakes his head sadly. “You never used to swear so much.”

  “Considering the way this night is going, I think I’m pretty fucking justified!”

  “We don’t have much time, Taylor.” He rakes his fingers through his thinning hair. They leave behind more blood smeared on his scalp.

  “Then talk fast. There were guards at the gate, weren’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice doesn’t waver, not even for a second. I can only stare at my father in disbelief, wondering if it’s even possible. Wondering if I’ve just been blind this entire time or if maybe living with Ilarion has convinced me that everyone has dark secrets.

  “Dad…”

  “Sweetheart, it had to be done. They would have set off the alarm, and I had to do what was necessary to get you out of here.”

  “Are they dead?”

  “Yes.”

  I shudder. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink.

  “You don’t go from a family man to a cold-blooded murderer in the span of a few hours. So tell me, Dad. Who are you? Who are you really?”

  He grabs my hand. He holds it tight, the way he used to do when I was a toddler and it started thundering outside and I wondered if the world was ending.

  “I am your father, first and foremost,” he says.

  “And?” I loft a brow. “What else?”

  He takes a breath. “Up until recently, I was also a vor for the Zakharov Bratva.”

  I rip my hand from his. Because as much as the dots are rapidly connecting, I still did not see it coming.

  “Are you telling me…that you worked for…Ilarion?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a Bratva don.”

  “Pakhan, but yes. And before that, his father was the pakhan. He’s the one who recruited me, seventeen years ago.”

  Seventeen years ago. I would’ve been three. My father is saying he let go of my hand during that thunderstorm that terrified me so much and went skipping off to join the fucking Russian mob.

  I turn my back on him for a moment, scrambling to fill in the blanks. There’s so many that I can’t focus long enough to ask the right questions. “Did Mom know?”

  “No,” he says softly. “I didn’t want her to worry.”

  “So the whole travel agent thing…?”

  “Was a cover.”

  “Fuck,” I breathe, turning back around to face him. “This is insane.”

  “I’m sorry, sweet—”

  I shake my head and hold up a hand. “Don’t bother with apologies. They won’t help.”

  “I don’t need your forgiveness, Taylor. I just need you to get in the car.”

  “Why?” I demand. “I don’t know who the hell you are. Why should I trust you?”

  “Because I’m your father. And because I still need to protect you. And, most of all, because Ilarion Zakharov is a dangerous man.”

  “From where I’m standing, so are you.”

  “Taylor—”

  “You worked for him. You…oh my god,” I gasp, as another part of the puzzle snaps together. “You knew who he was when Celine introduced him to all of us.”

  He swallows and nods. “Yes.”

  “And he knew you as well.”

  “Yes. He did.”

  I exhale sharply. “So he must have known who Celine was. Which means the only reason he got involved with her was because…”

  “I defected,” Dad fills in. His voice dips low with regret.

  “‘Defected.’ That’s a nice word. But what you mean is that you betrayed him. You…” SNAP. Another puzzle piece. This one hurts like he slugged me in the stomach. “You chose Benedict Bellasio?”

  He closes his eyes, and for a moment, I see the man who raised me. The suburban father who worked long hours at the travel agency and watched White Sox baseball in the evenings while he massaged his sick wife’s feet.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he says at last. “And now, I’m trying to fix them.”

  But I can barely hear him over the snap-snap-snap of more puzzle pieces falling into place one after the next.

  “He proposed to Celine to keep you loyal,” I whisper to myself. “He wanted you to be a double agent. Except that Benedict Bellasio stormed his property and stole you and Celine away.”

  To his credit, he doesn’t bother denying any of it. “Benedict thought I had defected back to Ilarion. His engagement to Celine…it didn’t look good for me.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

  “I managed to convince him that it was a coincidence. Ilarion happened to meet my daughter by chance, the two fell in love, their feelings for one another were genuine. He bought it.”

  “So, as far as Benedict Bellasio is concerned, you’re still on his team?”

  He gulps. “Yes.”

  I back away from my father slowly. “I’m not going with you. Fuck Benedict Bellasio. You may have sworn your loyalty to him, but I will not. That motherfucker killed my mother and—”

  His eyes widen. “My god, Taylor! I’m not going back to him! I’m not going back to anyone. I don’t care about any of that anymore. The politics, the mind games, the fucking death. No. It’s done. The only thing I care about is keeping you girls safe. We’re leaving the state. The country even, if we have to.”

  I consider that for a moment before I release a breath that comes out as a half-sob, half-laugh. “This is ridiculous. All of it. My father’s in the Russian mob—wait, no: he was in the Russian mob, before he became an Italian spy.” I cackle madly, feeling more and more unhinged. “My sister’s engaged to man he betrayed, and I’m fucking carrying his baby!”