Shemademe survive. Offered no other alternative.
And that alone is how I endured the agony of surgery, the months of recovery, the painstaking process of purging the Bratva of every last traitor. Her voice became the drumbeat that carried me through it all.
Choosing to fight isn’t peaceful. It’s not easy, and it’s not natural. Especially when you’re surrounded, foaming at the mouth, backed into a corner. But surrender is infinitely more terrifying. It’s choosing to stop existing while you’re still breathing.
My demise wouldn’t have been some waving white flag, just as my brother’s murder wasn’t some noble sacrifice. His death was fucking meaningless. And mine would’ve been too.
Months of purging my organization and consolidating power should have satiated me. Instead, I’m hollow with a different hunger. The compulsion to find her consumes me beyond all reason.
I’ve deployed the best investigators money can buy. Scoured hospital records, surveillance footage, and missing persons reports. I’ve had my people canvas every hospital, clinic, and underground medical facility in the city. The search for one small woman with gray eyes and a dragonfly tattoo has consumed resources that should be dedicated to expanding territory.
It’s irrational. Dangerous. Exactly the kind of emotional attachment that gets men in my position killed.
I don’t care.
I know what I am. I know the darkness that lives behind my carefully controlled exterior. I know that finding her likely means destroying whatever innocence compelled her to save a dying criminal in an alley.
But I’ve built an empire on taking what I want, and what I want most is answers.
What I want is to understand why a stranger would risk everything to save someone like me. What I want is to know if the connection I felt in that moment was real or simply the desperate delusion of a man facing his own mortality.
What I want is her.
And God help us both, I always get what I want.
Cassandra
Our glasses share a smallclinkas I raise mine to Sophia’s, before taking a deep, cool sip of the cocktail. The sweet mixture goes down with a bite, the wash of hard liquor running right to my head.
After dropping our bags at Sophia’s sister’s apartment and circling the ten-block radius fortwo hourssearching for a parking spot, we’re finally settled with pink, fruity drinks at our favorite bar.
Parallel parking truly drives people to alcoholism. I don’t think that’s talked about enough.
“Rebound!”
I look up to my friend’s lit face, snapping out of my thoughts. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what I want tonight. A nice little rebound boy. A hot, steamy night, and then we never meet again. ‘Block and walk,’ if you will.”
I can’t help it. I break into giggles, choking on my last sip.
“What the hell are you rebounding from? Wasn’t Sam just a friend with privileges?”
She tilts her head, hitting me with a fake pout. “You can have rebounds from situationships! Since when do you stand on semantics?”
“Fine,” I concede. “We’ll find you a rebound and liberate you from the emotional strain of your two-week-long situationship.”
“Don’t worry, C, I’ll find someone for you, too! Though it would be a lot easier if I knew your type. You always find reasons to hate all the men who come up to you.”
“I don’thatethem! It’s just…there’s a certain type that tends to be cocky enough to sneak up on a girl when she’s having a fun night out and whisper something idiotic in her ear.”
She lifts a brow. “Maybe you’re just a prude, cause I love a good whisper.”
“There is absolutely nothing a man can randomly whisper in my ear that will end on a good note.”
“Bet,” she says, shoving herself off her stool with a giggle and rounding the table to my side. Then she leans in close, and a wet path tracks across my skin.
I shriek and push away. “Did you just lick my fucking earlobe?”
