No, she’s too polished. Too soft-spoken. Too fuckingsuspicious.
Atë’s new maid is lying about her name. Why?
“You don’t believe in love at first sight, Roan?” My little sister, Lira, once asked me in Maximo’s study. My answer had been a derisive snort—a snort echoed by her husband, the bastard. Because it was a ridiculous question. There’s no way you can feel anything real for someone based on a single glance. That’s fairy tale bullshit, not reality.
Well, turns out the joke’s on me. One look at the womanacross the room and something fundamental seems to shift into place inside me. Like puzzle pieces I didn’t know were scattered suddenly clicking together. Like my entire being is whispering: Finally. Here she is.
What the actual fuck?
The thought pisses me off enough that whenAtëgrips my elbow and steers me out of the room, I don’t resist. Better to focus on real problems—managing a family empire, keeping enemies in check, expanding territory. Not on mysterious maids with fake names and perfect fucking necks.
But I’m definitely looking into her. Later.
Atëand I walk down the sunny hallway towards the staircase, then down to his massive study. “How’s your blood pressure?” I ask him as I settle into the chair across from his desk, which feels oddly surreal.
Since his medical scare—when we thought we’d lose him—I’ve taken over all his duties. This chair used to be where I sat to take orders, where we’d fight over his decisions, his stubborn refusal to even consider the ideas I knew would benefit the family better than his outdated methods.
Atërolls his eyes with obvious annoyance. “Is that all I am to you and Elira now? A patient to monitor? I swear, every time that girl calls me, that’s the first thing out of her mouth.”
“Then you shouldn’t have fallen into a coma last month. You scared the hell out of us, old man.” My voice is dry as dust, but my lips curve up when he huffs like a sullen child instead of a man in his sixties.
“It was for two days.Two days,” he repeats, as if those forty-eight hours of uncertainty didn’t shave a decade off my life. “I’ve dumped the entire workload in your lap, haven’t I? I’m onlyShefiin name at this point. You run it all now.”
My smile widens. “Is that whining I detect,shef?Are you bored already? Want to go spend some time with Lira and Luca? Go play grandpa for a while?”
“Fuck you.” But there’s no bite in it, and he’s smiling now. “Speaking of grandchildren—when areyougoing to give me one to spoil? I can’t keep traveling down to Maximo’s place every time I want to playGjysh. It would be nice to hear children’s laughter filling this house again.”
Not this conversation again.
Clearing my throat, I fold my arms over my chest. “So, the Russians aren’t too happy with us at the moment.” The subject change earns me another exaggerated eye roll, which I ignore. I swear, ever since his coma, he’s been acting like a child. It's jarring watching a man who’s been strong all my life reduced to this.
Is this what almost dying does to people?
“They see the role we played supplying firearms to the Nightshades a couple of weeks ago as a sort of betrayal,” I continue. Though personally, I think Aleksei is just pissed that Sergey blocked that revenue stream because of his alliance with FBI director Stacey Rodrigues. “I made them see reason, of course, and we’re back on good terms now.” Shaky terms, but still.
“Good. Now back to more important matters—I’m not getting younger, you know? I want to hold your children before I die.”
What?
Alarm bells go off in my head as I study his face for hidden meaning. “Did Denis mention something about your health? Is your blood pressure rising again?”
“No, damn it. Even a healthy man can drop dead without warning, Roan. There doesn’t need to be a medical emergency for someone my age to die, does there?”
“You’re just sixty–eight.” My heart lodges in my throat, thudding violently at the thought of a world without him. It’s going to happen eventually—I know that logically—but I’m notready to think about it. “Are you trying to manipulate me right now?” I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Is it working?”Atësmirks, steepling his fingers.
I shake my head, trying to push past my fear. “Be serious,Shef.” I wag a finger at him. “You asked me to update you about my trip, but if you’re going to keep pulling these stunts, I’ll just leave.” I start to stand and he quickly gestures me back into the chair.
“Oh, alright, alright, sit down. A father can’t even joke with his kids anymore these days,” he mutters, waving a hand. “Go on with it then.”
I slowly resume my seat, eyeing him suspiciously. “Like I said, the Russians weren’t happy with us. I tried to smooth things over, and it seemed to have worked. For now.”
The situation with the Russians is complicated.
There had been serious friction between Sergey Volkov, the previouspakhanof the Russians, and Rafael Moretti, the head of the Nightshades. And in the end, it turned out that Sergey’s real issue wasn’t Rafael personally—it was pure greed.
Long Island was no longer enough for him. He wanted to take over all of New York City, and Rafael and the Nightshades stood in his way. So he teamed up with that corrupt FBI director, Stacey Rodrigues—his long-term ally, apparently—and stopped supplying firearms to the Nightshades to corner them.
