“The mess you wanted to control by marrying Noelle?” he continues, voice low and cutting, “It will only grow bigger. Because now she’s not just a woman in your bed—she’s your wife. And that makes her leverage. Direct leverage. If anything goes wrong, if anyone wants to get to you, Noelle’s life is the first one that will be threatened.”
His words hang heavy between us, sharp enough to slice through the morning calm. I think about the crumpled letter upstairs in our room and force myself into silence. No need to hand Lev more ammunition to gloat. He already sees more than most.
The truth is obvious anyway: I did this out of desire, not just duty, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise.
“Did you come here to gloat?” I mutter, moving toward the foyer where the bar gleams in polished glass and crystal.
Lev follows, his low chuckle irritatingly smooth. “I came because I missed you—and yes, to gloat. I thought you were smarter than Lukin, Adrian, and Kaz. Turns out you stepped into the same marriage trap as the rest of them.”
I pour two fingers of whiskey into each glass, hand him one, and throw mine back in a single swallow. Lev does the same, then immediately refills his.
“So,” I ask, keeping my tone casual, “when did you get back?”
He shrugs, swirling the liquid before downing it again. “I left London a few weeks ago. Been cruising through Italy since then—old friends, old flames, unfinished business. Came to Chicago the moment I heard about your wedding.” He winks, and it grates. “Can I see your wife?”
“Hell no.”
“Why not?” He clutches his chest in mock injury. “She should meet her brother-in-law, shouldn’t she?”
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I set my glass down with a soft clink and lean against the bar. “Tell me something, Lev. London. International finance. How did you manage to make all that dirty money look so clean? I’ve always wondered.”
His eyes sharpen with interest—exactly as I hoped. He straightens, eager, already forgetting his line of teasing.
“Ah,” he says, a smile creeping in, “you want to know how the magic works?”
“Indulge me.”
Lev sips from his glass before launching into it, hands moving as he explains. “It’s all about pathways, cousin. You build shell companies—fronts that look squeaky clean. Real estate, luxury imports, tech startups. You filter the money through layers of legitimate trade until no one can trace the rot at the core. By the time it hits the banks, it’s as white as snow. Even the Feds can’t touch it.”
I nod slowly, letting him revel in his own brilliance, pushing him further. “And London was the perfect place to do this?”
“The perfect place,” he says without hesitation. “Loose regulations, desperate investors, and a city that worships old money but thrives on new. I turned our family’s blood-soaked empire into something that could sit at the same table as WallStreet. That’s why they call me the golden boy.” His grin is pure arrogance. “Everyone underestimates me until their fortunes depend on me.”
I pour him another drink, watching him talk, his ego carrying him further and further away from the subject of Noelle.
Exactly where I want him.
Until a figure appears in the doorway.
I look up—and there she is. Noelle.
Lev hasn’t noticed her yet, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s dressed in one of the pajama sets I had Demyan purchase. It clings in places it shouldn’t, fitted where she wants it loose. She probably hates it. I, however, think it’s absolutely fucking sinful.
Her gaze collides with mine across the room. That charged moment we shared earlier stretches between us, thickening the silence. I want her again—right here, against the wall, until she’s wrung dry and forced back into another beautiful sleep.
Lev finally follows my line of sight. His grin sharpens the second he sees her. He rises fluidly, all charm and practiced ease, and drifts toward her like a man born to disarm.
“You must be Noelle?” His tone is velvet, the same gentle ease that got us out of trouble so many times when we were kids.
“Yes.” Her voice is soft but steady as she places her hand in his. He raises it smoothly to his lips and kisses it, his gallantry infuriatingly effortless.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “I’m Lev Rusnak. Your husband’s cousin.”
Husband.
I’m her husband.
Noelle flashes him a polite smile—one that twists something sharp inside me, too close to jealousy for my own liking. “It’s nice to meet you, Lev.”
