Everywhere I look is Christmas. Ridiculous, over-the-top Christmas.

  It’s absurd and gaudy and so specifically me that my throat goes hot for a second.

  Cuckoo clocks with Santas popping out. Candles burn, wafting peppermint and vanilla. A small pear tree sits by his office. A tiny wooden drummer boy on a Roomba rams the tree like it’s enemy number one.

  And you’ve got to be kidding me, is that two white doves flapping their wings in a birdcage?

  Cece scratches at the bars, clearly annoyed her new best friends are out of reach.

  I ruffle her fur as I pass by, spotting more chaos.

  Inflatable figures of men leaping. A TV tuned to a farm show of women milking cows.

  Hannah barrels past me, hands gesturing wildly, a slew of Italian curses spilling from her lips.

  Then—loud squawking filters from the kitchen.

  You’ve got to be shitting me.

  “Quiet down before I make Hannah cook you for dinner. Goose pie. That’s a thing, right?” a deep voice murmurs.

  “Don’t you dare!” I call out. “You touch the geese, the doves unionize. I’ll be their fearless leader.”

  I hurry into the kitchen, finding Elias with his back toward me, shirtless with a Christmas hat on his head.

  He’s whipping something, muscles flexing, and heat blooms in my belly because from my angle, the rapid arm motions look obscene. I want to see him doing this in another setting while he pins me with his lust-filled eyes.

  “You’re staring, wife,” he murmurs, his hand still pumping.

  “Yeah, well,” I clear my throat, my voice raspy, “you make quite a sight…whatever you’re doing.”

  Elias freezes for a second.

  Low chuckles rumble out of him. He rolls his neck and resumes the rapid up and down motions. Then the asshole adds sound effects.

  Low grunts, growls, quickening pumps of his hips, which look mighty fine in those gray sweatpants of his.

  “Wh-What are you doing?”

  He barks out a laugh and turns, his green eyes bright with humor. He’s whisking chocolate cake batter.

  “Indulging in your dirty fantasies.” Elias winks. Heat shoots embarrassingly low. “Although…they don’t need to stay fantasies. I’m more than happy to give you a live demonstration later.”

  His gaze turns molten. My core throbs.

  “Don’t always think with your dick,” I mutter and sit on the other side of the counter.

  “I’m thinking with my hands. The dick’s just enthusiastic.”

  Cece prances in and winds her lithe body around Elias’s ankles, tail flicking like she owns the place.

  “Stay away from the devil, Cece. He’s annoying your mom.”

  Elias chuckles as the cat leaps onto the counter and purrs against his chest.

  “Traitor,” I mutter. “I treat you better than him.”

  “Technically,” he says, looking up, amusement sparking in his eyes, “I saved her life.”

  “What do you mean?” I squint then gasp. “The café! Cece is the same cat from the café! I knew it!”

  He turns his back to the counter and grabs another bowl. “That morning, I saw you making moon eyes at the cat. You wanted to take it home.” His jaw tics. “After I dealt with those assholes and lit the place up, she was there.”

  A shiver slides down my spine. Of course that café fire was him. A small part of me still flinches at the bloodshed, but the rest of me knows the violence is part of his reality.

  “You saved her,” I whisper.

  “Figured you’d want the little menace alive,” he says, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “She’d make you happy.”

  Our gazes hold, and for a moment, I’m transported to our teenage years when we talked about dreams of the future.

  Something very different from the present.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I motion to the chaos. “So what is this? The live version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’? A little too late, don’t you think? It’s January.”

  “A girl once said she wanted to see why anyone would give their true love all that stuff for Christmas.” He chuckles.

  My breath snags. I’d almost forgotten my offhand teenage rant.

  But he hasn’t.

  “So you’re saying you’re my true love then?” Butterflies flap in my stomach.

  “You tell me.”

  Those brilliant green eyes smolder, then he looks away, pours the batter into a pan, and slides it into the oven with his hip.

  A man who cooks with confidence is so sexy.

  “Christmas is your favorite holiday,” he adds. “I missed too many of them with you. Figured I’d redo our first one together as adults to make it more memorable.”

  The ridiculous decorations blur for a second as my eyes sting.

  He’s been carrying a torch for me all these years.

  When he turns back, he accidentally knocks his spatula to the ground. It slides under the counter.

  “Let me get it.” I get on my knees and reach for it.

  “Damn. I need to drop more stuff on the ground.” He whistles low, and my skin heats.

  To drive the man nuts, I arch my back like a cat, presenting him my ass. A growl churns out of him.

  I snag the spatula and hold it out to him, still on my knees.

  For a moment, I think he’ll crouch or kneel to take it.

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead, his jaw tightens. His throat works, his gaze flicking from my hand to the floor, and pain crosses those emerald eyes.

  Something snags in my mind.

  For all the things he’s revealed—the scars, the fire, the losses—there’s one thing he’s never told me.

  And one thing he never does.

  Chapter 43: HỌNEST TRUTHS

  “Why don’t you kneel?” I ask when I get back up.

  Twenty years ago, when I met Kian, he was kneeling in the rain. And now, from the FBI clip I saw, Elias Kent would rather die than kneel.

  He’s a conundrum, and I want to know everything about him.

  The smile slips off his face. His jaw tightens, and he glances away.

  Guilt eats at me. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s too much, too soon.

  “I-I’m sorry. Special Agent Clarke showed me a video. You said you wouldn’t kneel—ignore me, I don’t know why I brought it up.”

  “No. I want to tell you,” Elias says, intertwining my fingers with his. “The night they killed my parents and Beatrice, they made me kneel before them to beg for their lives.”

  He presses our palms together. “It didn’t work. And from then on, I vowed never to kneel again. Not for anyone.”

  His voice roughens on the last word, his grip tightening around my fingers. Raw pain cuts through the calm of his eyes, a flicker that vanishes before he can hide it.

  The scar, the not kneeling—grief and strength forged into a sharp blade for survival.

  A lump thickens my throat. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He smiles softly and shrugs.

  “It’s not a proper Christmas without your favorite drink.” He slides over a red mug.

  I look inside—hot chocolate with marshmallows.

  “Geraldine’s,” he murmurs. “A girl once told me hot chocolate is overrated unless it’s Geraldine’s.”

  My heart flutters as I take a small sip.

  It’s divine.

  I look up, not sure how to express the warmth bursting from my chest.

  He ruffles his hair and grins, the expression so similar to the carefree Kian, my heart twists.

  “I never got to celebrate Christmas with you that year…you mentioned it in your note…” his voice trails off, his eyes distant. “And this year, well, with the Benefaction…”

  And the bloodshed. Shkelzen’s tongue. The Association and its threats.

  “I just want to do this for you,” he finishes. “Ridiculous, I know—”

  I leap up onto the counter, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss away whatever demeaning words he wanted to say.

  “It’s perfect.”

  He holds me tight, then pulls away, love shining from his gaze. “Glad you like it.”

  “I can’t believe you arranged a live version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.”

  The geese make a mad dash toward the living room, clearly sensing their impending demise.

  Elias scowls. “It was supposed to be an elegant display. I should’ve let Hannah help. Motherfucking Ren disappeared the moment he saw me sign for the deliveries.”

  I laugh, remembering Hannah’s expression and imagining Ren rearing in horror.

  “Why is Ren always here anyway? He’s not just a bodyguard.”

  Elias steps over something I don’t really want to identify, takes my hand, and leads me to the living room.

  He sits me down and crouches in front of me.

  “Ren and I are part of The Antihero Syndicate,” he says, his eyes steady. “We aren’t the mafia… We’re worse.”

  He explains his clandestine brotherhood plus Sofia, whose sole mission is to destroy The Association, and how the dungeon I found him in actually connects to their meeting place in St. Michael’s.

  “So you all have different reasons for doing this?”

  He nods. “We don’t probe each other’s secrets. Sebastian never told us his reason. Aleksei blames The Association for his family’s death, like I do.” He shakes his head, eyes haunted. “Even though he should blame me. I killed his parents. Rafe, I think, wants to save us, but I don’t know why. Ren lost someone close. And Sofia…”

  A ragged exhale escapes between his clenched teeth. “I lost her for two years after the fire. She never told me what they did to her, but…”

  My breath lodges in my esophagus. I think of my half sister, Taylor, the strongest woman I know, who was raped when she was sixteen at a hotel lounge during an initiation ceremony she walked into.

  I squeeze his forearm. “It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was me—”

  “No,” his eyes flash to mine, “never say that. That’s what I tried and failed to tell myself for years. It’s a lie.”

  Elias places his hand over my heart. “The most beautiful part of you is your kind heart. And they took advantage of it.”

  Voice urgent, he says, “Lana, don’t blame yourself. Let me shoulder it all. Promise me.”

  A beat passes by, and I nod, my chest heavy.

  “I promise.”

  He exhales and lets go. I immediately miss his touch. “There’s a dinner we need to attend next week. The Berishas want to know you better.”

  “What for?”

  “Gathering intel. Lording their power over me. Your guess is as good as mine. I revealed one too many cards at the Benefaction.”

  My gaze darts to his.

  He told them how much I meant to him by avenging me.

  A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he glances away. “You’ll be thirty-five in a month and a half.”

  His words slam down like a butcher’s knife.

  “You know what they want from me, don’t you?” I ask.

  A flash of something—fear or awareness—crosses his eyes. He nods. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll protect you. They can’t touch you. I’ll get you out of this safely.”

  And then what? Send me home afterward? What if I don’t want to go?

  Elias cradles my face, and I lean into his touch. “Trust me, I will never let anything happen to you.”

  Another heavy beat sits between us. “I trust you.”

  And I realize—it’s true. Even when he held me hostage at the vault, there was a gut feeling telling me this man was safe.

  He smiles. “Lunch will be ready in half an hour. Don’t know if you’ll like it, but I think I’m good at this.”

  “Let me be good at this too.”

  Twenty years ago, a sweet boy gave me his coat because he thought I was cold. Twenty years later, a brutal man sheltered me from the cold in front of Hollow Gardens.

  He’s good at it—loving me.

  “I already love it.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist, my fingers brushing his chest.

  My eyes sting when I see the bullet wounds and knife scars on his muscles there too.

  How much pain has he endured?

  I kiss every mark.

  He shudders, gripping my fingers tightly. Slowly, he presses a searing kiss on my hand and carries me to the kitchen counter.

  We don’t speak with words, but with our bodies.

  A hiss escapes his lips when he unties my robe, realizing I’m bare underneath. His hands drift along my skin, eliciting shivers in their wake.

  I whimper and arch back as he latches his mouth onto my neck, his fingers playing with my beaded nipples, sharpening my need with each tug.

  “Insatiable,” he rasps before bringing his lips to one peak. “I’m insatiable for you.”

  My craving sharpens as he laves the tip then suckles it, sending bursts of heat straight to my clit. I curl my legs around his back and grind my wet core against the ridges of his muscles.

  With a groan, he presses his pulsing dick against my clit.

  A wispy exhale escapes me. I move against him, my fingers finding the waist of his sweatpants, but my position prevents me from tugging them down.

  “Elias,” I whine. I need his hot cock inside me more than I need to breathe. I yank his pants again.

  In a flash, he tears off his bottoms and steps out of them.

  “You need this, my princess?” He powers his hips forward and singes my core with his hot shaft.

  Wetness slicks out of me, lubricating his length with each thrust.

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

  The sharp pulls of pleasure build. He slides his hand between our bodies and flicks my clit in rhythm with his hips.

  “Please,” I beg, clawing his muscular back.

  “I’m going to shove myself so deep inside your pussy, you’ll feel me every fucking minute.”

  He slams home, the sudden intrusion ripping a cry out of my throat.

  “I’m addicted. Look at you taking me so well.” His breath puffs against my neck as he quickens his pace.

  My eyes flutter open, my mind hazed with lust.

  Elias’s gaze locks on my heaving breasts. A pulse batters against his temple. Slowly, he drags his attention up my body, to my lips, my nose, and finally, my eyes.

  Dark craving reflects in those dilated pupils.

  He growls at whatever he sees on my face and pistons harder, deeper.

  My body shakes as pressure gathers in my core.

  “See that, Lana?” he grunts. “See how your pussy sucks my cock in like it can’t get enough? See how you were made for me?”

  Another whimper slips out of me.

  “You want my cum, don’t you? Greedy wife. You want me to fill you up and put a baby inside you?”

  Elias’s eyes widen as if his words caught him by surprise.

  My pussy tightens, and he hisses. “Fuck. You want that, don’t you?”

  His dirty words and the image of my belly swelling send me straight to the edge.

  “Give it to me.” I thrash in his hold. “Give me everything.”

  Wetness gushes out of me, my core fluttering. I dig my heels into his back.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He reaches up, collars my throat with one hand while his fingers work my swollen clit.

  Every muscle coils tight, ready to detonate. A rolling pressure spreads from deep in my core to the rest of me.

  The sounds of skin slapping against skin crackle in the kitchen.

  My lungs cease to work.

  “Come for me, Lana. Strangle my cock,” Elias commands.

  He latches onto my neck and bites.

  “Elias!” The pain sets me off, and I explode.

  Pleasure blinds my senses as waves of ecstasy wash over me.

  A guttural groan tears out of him. His motions falter, and his breath hitches.

  Seconds later, his cock floods me with his cum.

  “Lana, yes,” he rasps, and captures my parted lips with his mouth, swallowing my cries.

  Bodies slick with sweat, we ride out our orgasms, our fingers intertwined.

  Christmas songs play in the background. The sweet scent of chocolate cake baking in the oven fills the air.

  And when he holds me tight against him, like he can’t bear to be separated from me, all I can hear is the thunderous melody of his heart.

  My heart.

  My zemër.

  I cling to that sound, pretending not to feel the tension coiled in his muscles, like there’s still something he isn’t telling me.

  Chapter 44: SHATTERED ILLUSIONS

  Agron Berisha

  We have another assignment for you. We need more influence with the Andersons. Remember to bring your precious wife to dinner tonight. Wouldn’t want her brothers getting too comfortable.

  My fist clenches my phone as I reread the asshole’s message from last night.

  It’s getting more and more dangerous for Lana to stay in this world.

  My office chair creaks as I swipe to my surveillance feeds, watching her make her daily pilgrimage to the third floor.

  Normally, I’d watch her from my monitors inside the locked room, but not today.

  Not after yesterday, when she saw my scars and still gave me her love.

  Because it’s time to tell her the whole truth.

  She deserves to know.

  The sickness in my soul. The obsession. The depths I’ll go for my revenge over my family’s deaths.

  I bite my cheek, stopping myself from pressing the kill-switch button to wipe away the damning evidence in the room.

  I’m tempted. So very tempted. One little press and I can keep on pretending.

  I can make every day feel like Christmas for her. I can feed her chocolate cake I don’t eat because I can’t deal with the sweetness reminding me of that tragic day.

  I can cradle her in my arms at night like we’ve been doing since she learned what happened to my family.

  We’ll read books in the library together, watch old movies in bed until we fall asleep. I’ll make sweet love to her in the middle of the night and ignore the violence and bloodshed in my real life.