Whatever they do, men like Wolfgang don’t get caught. They make calculated moves and tie up loose ends before they become liabilities. Their influence looms over the country like a spider web, and once one gets caught up in it like we did, it’s practically impossible to escape. No matter how much my parents choose to deny it.
“Seems like they’re having fun,” I say, jerking my head toward Mom and Dad. “They look happy.”
Anya scoffs. “About time. I was getting sick of the constant tension.”
So was I.
But now, our parents carry themselves in a way I haven’t seen them do since our trip to Italy, back when they started making their fortune. When they were still normal people… when wewould still argue over things like who picked what movie to watch on Friday night. It feels like a lifetime ago. I’ll never not miss it.
My sister looks back at me. “And you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Areyouhappy?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Am I? I should be. I’ll be leaving soon—I’m only three months away from living by myself in Europe and making a life for myself. So why am I not shouting it from the rooftops?
Anya quirks a brow, so I force a smile. “You know I am. Finally, I’ll get some peace and quiet.”
“Hmm. I think you’ll miss me and the chaos in this house.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be telling me all about it while I—”
The double doors to the living room barge open.
An army of goons walks inside, flooding the crowd and drawing screams from all around me. The women shrink back, clutching at their husbands’ arms, their eyes darting toward the only exit as the men reach for their guns. Except… none are being taken out. As if they know exactly who’s coming and they wouldn’t dare put up a fight.
The goons spread through the room in what looks like a practiced formation, creating an empty corridor in the middle. I watch in utter horror, waiting for someone to do something and save us all.
And then… silence.
Pure, undiluted silence, only speared by the rhythm of shoes clacking against the wooden floor. And with the sound, a tall, bloodthirsty shadow stretches out to the opposite side of the room, welcoming a silhouette I hoped I’d never see again.
“A party. How lovely,” Wolfgang Rykov says with his hands folded patiently behind him. “Though it seems thePakhan’s invitation has been… misplaced.”
So hungry, so dominant is that figure in the dark, far from where the golden sun dares to shine. And that voice… that cadence… it rings low, lethal, promising destruction with every word—a stark contrast to the rushed cadence of my racing heart. It sears along my nerve endings, keeping my body wired, alert.
A subtle shift in his posture—a tilt of his head—brings a sun ray over his eyes. The same eyes that watched me that day, colored like a candle flame, like desert sand burning in torrid heat. I want to exhale, but the air is trapped in my lungs.
I can’t breathe.
“An oversight, I’m sure,” he adds, a smile in his voice that has nothing warm in it.
Standing in that same spot, he scans the room with icy indifference. Only when the sun moves a little, more of him appears in the dying light. And he looks more intimidating than when I last saw him.
A plain black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his veiny forearms reveals all the tattoos I didn’t get to see that day. The ink is dark—some faded, like they’re old memories, some bright, as if he’s never done inflicting pain on himself. There are symbols, and then there’s something long, thick, like endless roots coiling around his skin and stretching up his neck. In a way, it makes him look omniscient, like he’s seen things the rest of us haven’t.
Taut muscles hug his arms, the contrast between his effortless elegance and restrained violence woven into every inch of him.
Cautiously, I lift my gaze inch by inch, and suck in a breath when I realize his gaze is now on me. Only on me.
A flicker of electricity starts somewhere in my chest, traveling down to my shaking fingertips. I don’t realize my lips are parted until I close them to swallow the bitter taste suddenly on my tongue.
“You’ll have to forgive us,” my father says, nervousness seeping out of every word. “We didn’t think this would be worth your time. It’s just a small gathering for our daughter—”
A step forward makes a few more people shrink back. Wolfgang’s brows rise in slight amusement before continuing his trail, each step taking him closer, closer, closer…
The crowd moves around him, and his goons watch them like hawks, anticipating when or who will be stupid enough to strike first.
