Tears slide down my face. Faces flash behind my eyes—the small woman with a tired smile, his dad who’d give me a snack whenever I visited. Cute little Beatrice, with her rolls and giggles, always bringing a grin to my face. Sofia following me around, imitating the way I walk and talk, much to Kian’s embarrassment.

  It was me.

  No wonder Elias hates me. No wonder he’s avoided me like I was poison all these years. How can he not hate me?

  Grief and guilt stab into my heart.

  I led The Association straight to them. They couldn’t find the apartment because his dad had switched the numbers. His parents must’ve known danger was coming. I saw their packed bags by the door. The two men must’ve followed me.

  I killed them. It didn’t matter whether it was ignorance or an accident. The result was the same.

  Kian and Sofia became orphans overnight because of me.

  “I-I’m so sorry,” I sob into my knees.

  Fragments of the past slam into me, not letting me go.

  Kian and I carving our message in the tree.

  And years later, a towering, scarred man showing up at my family’s doorstep, his beautiful green eyes searing into mine.

  The levers snap into place, the crisp clicking of the unsolvable puzzle finally revealing its answers.

  “No, no, no,” I whisper, my mind mad with grief, my heart in tatters.

  Warm, rough fingers tilt my chin up. A pained sound rumbles from Elias’s chest.

  Then, his mouth crushes mine in a savage kiss.

  Chapter 41: DESPITE EVERYTHING

  I cling to him as he deepens our kiss, his mouth moving urgently against mine. He lifts and presses me against the wall, hand clutching my nape, fingers tangling in my hair. His tongue delves inside my mouth, licking, tasting, claiming me as heat unfurls low in my belly.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Your tears hurt more than bullets.”

  More sobs rack me. How could he kiss me, hold me like this after what I’d done? Even if it was an accident, even if I didn’t mean to. His parents and baby sister still died because of my actions.

  I clutch his neck, pressing kisses over his tear-streaked face, the rough stubble on his jaw, his soft, beautiful lips, needing to tell him without words everything I’m feeling—love, guilt, regret, anger—too many emotions to name.

  But I know this much.

  It’s always been him.

  “How do you not hate me?” I ask as we break apart for air.

  Elias pulls in a rough breath, the green in his eyes long eclipsed by his pupils. He brushes his thumb tenderly across my cheek, wiping away my tears.

  “I tried to tell myself I hate you,” he murmurs, his finger dipping to my bottom lip, slowly pressing until it trembles beneath his touch. “And sometimes I thought I had succeeded.”

  A whimper lodges in my throat. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I suck his thumb, my tongue dipping out and swirling, mimicking what I want to do to all parts of him.

  His nostrils flare. A vein pops on his forehead as his gaze fixes on my mouth.

  “The truth is,” his voice is gritty like sandpaper, “it wasn’t your fault. You were a kid. You didn’t know any better. It was a fucking tragedy. But I wanted someone to hate—anyone. You. My parents, who were obviously involved in something they shouldn’t have been…but…”

  Elias groans when I bite his thumb lightly. He presses closer, singeing me with the hot brand of his chest and the throbbing hard-on digging out of his pants.

  “I could never hate you, my Lana Elise,” he murmurs against my lips before trailing kisses down my neck, leaving sparks in his wake. “I hated myself for not returning home sooner. For not being strong enough to stop them.”

  “You were a kid too—”

  “I couldn’t forgive myself, and hatred was all I had to keep me going. So I…I…”

  He hated me. Hated himself. Self-inflicted punishment.

  “Elias.” Tears cloud my vision.

  “Shhh.” He nibbles the thin straps of my nightgown and drags them off my shoulders.

  Cold air meets my skin as the fabric pools on the floor. Wetness slicks between my thighs as I rub my hard nipples against his shirt.

  “Despite everything, I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t let you go. I told myself my obsession with you was because of hatred. But that’s a lie.”

  Hot, passionate kisses trail down my neck and I melt into him.

  He presses his confession over my heart. “The truth is, you’re the only good thing in my life. And I would’ve done anything to remain in yours. Sending you puzzles, the necklace—they were all because I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t stand to be cut off from you.”

  Gripping my thigh, he bears down, dragging his groin against my soaked core, letting me feel every inch of him. “For the past twenty years, those twenty-eight minutes have been what I lived for each day.”

  The hiss of the zipper slices through the air, and I moan when I feel his thick cock rubbing against the seam of my underwear.

  “T-Twenty-eight minutes?” I whimper when his fingers tug on the straps, ripping the delicate fabric from my body.

  “Your birthday, February twenty-eighth…the day the most beautiful angel descended on earth and the day I entered hell.”

  Elias caresses my heavy tits, his thumb flicking one nipple while his mouth claims the other, mainlining ecstasy into my core.

  My knees buckle, and he catches me easily. He hoists me up and drops me onto the bed.

  A chilly draft meets my heated flesh. He hovers before me, his hands quick at work on his clothes, revealing every solid inch of him. Up close, I see the scars—slashes, burn marks, round puckered holes that must be from bullets.

  Agony twists through me as I trail my fingers over each one, a testament of the pain he’s endured to transform from Kian to Elias.

  Then there’s the scar bisecting his cheek.

  I gently touch it, and he closes his eyes.

  “This one I inflicted on myself,” he murmurs. “A reminder that the Kian, the pretty boy, couldn’t exist. Not if he wanted to avenge his family.”

  A lump thickens in my throat as I press a kiss on the scar. “It must’ve hurt.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” he rasps.

  He stands naked before me—glorious and breathtaking—a dark-haired demon with tattoos writhing up his arms, the vines swirling over scars. The simple Asian character stands out on his chest.

  I trace the strokes with my fingertips.

  He throttles out a breath and stills my hand. “Trust. Believe. It’s the Chinese word for it.”

  “Because?” My gaze catches his.

  His eyes soften, and he leans down, slowly pressing his hard frame against mine, burning me up with his presence.

  Elias cradles my cheek the way he usually does—reverent, gentle, like I’m precious.

  “I had it inked after the fire,” he says quietly. “When everything I believed in…was gone.”

  Closing his eyes, he dips his forehead against mine. “At first, the tattoo was a reminder for me to keep going. To trust that I’d get through this. Find Sofia. Get revenge. It kept me standing while I worked my way through seedy clubs, collecting secrets, trading favors…”

  “Becoming Elias Kent,” I whisper, my heart cleaving in half.

  His voice thickens, and he presses my hand over his heart. “But I think…secretly,” he clutches my fingers tightly, “there’s a voice here that still hopes Elise can find a way to love the monster within.”

  My breath hitches, and I pull him down and kiss him.

  He still loves me. Elias, Kian, whoever he is now, this man in my arms loves me more than anything.

  Our kiss turns messy. Teeth against teeth. Tongue dueling, soft suctions, sharp bites. He pins me onto the bed as he moves down my body, dragging kiss after kiss across every inch of me.

  My clit throbs, my wetness leaking down my thighs. I’m aching, empty, needing him inside me, filling me up.

  “Elias, please,” I moan.

  “Please what?”

  He bites my inner thigh, and I shudder.

  “Fuck me. Make love to me. Fill me up. I need you.”

  He lets out a masculine groan and spreads my legs. “Look at this beautiful pussy throbbing. The pretty pink. Your sweetness, all for me?”

  “Yes,” I cry out when he clamps his lips over my clit, tongue lashing the hard point.

  Stars appear behind my eyes, and I clutch his hair, hips canting up, holding on as he devastates me with his talented mouth. Soft circles. Hard flicks, a finger teases my entrance before sliding in, then another.

  The sounds of his suction and fingers join the drumming of the rain and the thundering of my heart.

  Every cell in me sensitizes, pressure gathering at breakneck speed.

  “So sweet,” he grits out. “Fuck, you’re too sweet for me. I should stay away. I’m not right for you.”

  No, you’re exactly who I need.

  Another full lick from my tight rosebud up to my clit.

  “Elias, please!” My legs tremble. I feel the pinnacle barreling toward me.

  “Not so fast, my beautiful Elise.”

  In a flash he’s above me again, his cock nudging at my entrance.

  His jaw tics and he braces himself on his forearms above me, holding still.

  “Who am I?” he whispers, echoing the same question from the dungeon.

  A flurried pulse hammers in his neck. I don’t know what he wants me to call him…Kian or Elias…but it doesn’t matter, because he’s one person to me.

  I trace the thick scar on his cheek.

  “You’re my husband,” I whisper. “And all your scars are beautiful to me.”

  Those brilliant eyes widen. He crushes his lips to mine and surges in, thrusting his cock inside me to the hilt.

  I cry into our kiss as the pain ignites the overpowering pleasure, and I shatter into pieces.

  He threads our fingers together, joining us body and soul as he powers his hips, thrust after thrust, dragging out my orgasm.

  The sparks never abate but burgeon once more.

  My mind blanks, my vision flickering, I thrash under his powerful body, my feet digging into his ass as sharp currents run through my nerves again.

  A live wire sizzles from deep within my core, building, building, and building, until I can no longer bear it.

  A roar rips out of him, his cock becoming impossibly harder and thicker.

  “Fuck yes,” he grunts, his rhythm faltering. “Come for me, wife, flood me with your cum.”

  My release detonates. Wetness drips out of my pussy as wave after wave of his hot cum bathes my insides.

  Elias presses kisses upon kisses while he moves on top of me, eking out every ounce of ecstasy. His lips travel to the sensitive pulse point on my neck, my jaw, my eyes, then my lips again, like he can’t get enough.

  “My zemër,” he whispers minutes later, cradling me, chest against chest, his semi-hard cock still lodged inside me.

  My eyes flutter open. Wind howls outside. Another flash of lightning slashes the room in white.

  But I don’t care. The unease from earlier has long vanished.

  “What does that mean, zemër?” I smile and brush his hair from his forehead so I can see his eyes again.

  My favorite emerald eyes.

  “Heart.” His lips curve into a small smile. “I lost my heart years ago, but you’ve kept it safe for me, my zemër.”

  I give him a wobbly smile, heat prickling the backs of my eyes again.

  I push him down onto the bed and straddle him. His breath hitches in surprise.

  My hair forms a curtain around our faces when I lean over him.

  “Kian…Elias…whoever you are,” I whisper, “I will always keep your heart safe. Always.”

  His groan fills the room when I move on top of him, letting my body speak the rest.

  Later that night, he stays, our bodies touching, connected like we’ve been waiting all our lives.

  Two hearts reunited.

  Chapter 42: TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES

  The early dawn bathes Lana in a soft blue light.

  And I do what I do best.

  Watch her.

  But this time, instead of sitting in a chair next to her bed, or observing through monitors, I’m beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, inhale her sweet roses, and count the soft flutters of her breaths.

  The useless muscle behind my sternum kicks and jolts, mocking me with a truth my mind has known for years.

  “I love you, Lana,” I whisper, so softly she can’t hear me.

  For so long, I called it obsession, delusion, hatred—anything but what it was. I told myself that hating her made it acceptable to stay by her side, even though she led the killers to our door.

  But I can’t lie to myself anymore.

  I love her.

  I’d kill for her.

  I’d burn for her.

  I’d die for her.

  She lets out a happy moan and faces me, a curl of silky dark hair draping over her soft tits.

  My groin throbs as heat surges, my heart hammering harder in my rib cage.

  My phone buzzes from the timer I set.

  Twenty-eight minutes.

  Then thirty. Thirty-five. Forty.

  I ignore the reminders and trace her cheek instead, my lips hitching up slightly when she smiles in her sleep.

  Beautiful dreams, I hope. Perhaps one of the past of us goofing off in the backyard. I had no money to my name, but we were happy. Back then, I wondered what the poor Kian could give to the rich Anderson princess.

  Now, I wonder what the brutal king of the underworld—his hands darkened with blood—could give to the goddess who deserves to live earth-side, with sunlight warming her skin and flowers blooming around her.

  She deserves someone who can love her with his all. Someone without enemies waiting to kill him. Someone who puts her on a pedestal and worships her.

  Kids. A cat or two. A beautiful farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. A man who works a boring nine-to-five or spends his time running large corporations.

  The simple life. The safe life.

  My phone buzzes again, and this time, I feel a pain I haven’t felt in a long time—a visceral stab to my newly beating heart.

  I stare at my wife, the only woman I’ve ever kissed in my lifetime, and slowly press my lips to hers, tasting her sweetness again.

  She moans and snuggles into my hold, but I force myself to withdraw.

  Quietly, I grab my phone and get out of bed.

  The screen flashes. Another incoming message.

  The date catches my eye first. January fifteenth, one and a half months until Lana turns thirty-five, when this all comes to a head.

  Then I see the message.

  Unknown number

  If you want to be one step ahead of Sable, don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.

  —Always watching, your friend.

  A cold line carves down my spine.

  My mind flashes to the masked man at the Benefaction, the mysterious phantom who’s been one step ahead, but hasn’t made a move to take down my rook on the chessboard.

  Who is he, and what does he want?

  The questions hammer through my skull as I stride to the door, but her breathy whisper stops me.

  “Elias?” she murmurs and rolls over, baring one smooth shoulder. “Stay. Don’t leave me.”

  I pause at the threshold, another sharp pain piercing my chest again.

  “Never, princess. I will never leave you.”

  Not today, at least.

  My body is pleasantly sore when I wake up. A fire roars in the fireplace, the logs crackling a merry rhythm in the background.

  I smile when I smell vetiver and smoke, this time with a tinge of mint.

  Elias. Kian. My husband.

  After getting out of bed, I pull on a silk robe and fasten it at my waist. Images of our lovemaking last night keep me company as I head into the bathroom to freshen up. I rode him, and then he bent me over, ass up. He took me against the shower wall and then again in front of the full-length mirror.

  He was insatiable, and so was I.

  My face glows pink, my lips swollen, my hair knotted at the ends.

  I look gloriously fucked, and a delicious ache pulses in my pussy.

  He’s not Kian anymore. He’s Elias, a criminal mobster, a murderer.

  My mind tries to rationalize, but my heart doesn’t care.

  Instead, it thumps a more righteous rhythm, like this is the direction I’ve been searching for. Like my future is supposed to be beside this man.

  And I don’t want to think anymore.

  I finish my business and head toward the bedroom door, eager to find the enigmatic man himself, when a small object on the nightstand stops me in my tracks.

  Silver. A small chain affixed to it. Delicate carvings.

  His lighter.

  Curious, I pick it up and lift it to the light. It’s beautiful—an antique from what I can tell—with intricate markings similar to his tattoos of vines and roses etched on the side.

  I thumb the ridges—small indentations I can’t make sense of. It’s heavier than it looks.

  Then I flip it open. A small flame sparks to life.

  Why does he carry this thing if he doesn’t smoke? And why does it look so familiar?

  The answer perches on the tip of my tongue, a nagging, invisible itch.

  I set the lighter down, step through the door—and stop.

  Multicolor Christmas lights line the hallway. Classic holiday songs blare from the speakers downstairs.

  It’s mid-January. What is he up to?

  A smile tugs at my lips as I follow the music down the steps, gaping at the explosion of Christmas greeting me in the dark marble hallways.

  A twelve-foot Christmas tree, complete with sparkly garlands and mismatched ornaments—like a toddler with the help of a unicorn oversaw the decorations—sits at the corner of the foyer.

  More Christmas lights twinkle along the crown moldings.

  A tower of Geraldine’s Chocolate boxes stacked in the shape of a Christmas tree rests beside the real one.