Heavy silence, old leather, and electricity lace the air.
Roman and Vanya disappeared together, already spinning their plans into motion. Igor vanished, his face hollowed by the knowledge of what he’d done to and what will become of his son. Mikhail followed, his exit a barely controlled snarl. Max? Gone, long before, all bottled violence and silent grief. Sasha was…
I can’t even finish the sentence.
For Max, this is another brother lost.
Now, there’s just the three of us who have already done our parts to track down clues.
We stand at the window as the sky lightens. The black of night fades to charcoal gray, warning of the impending sunrise.
Despite everything getting brighter, despite knowing I’ve completed my mission, my mind still circles. The anxiety in my gut grows.
My eyes drift to the smooth spot on the desk where the gift box sat, the edges burned into memory.
Everything leads back to the inexorable pull of the island.
Vanya’s not the best at getting out of traps, but he’s good at avoiding them.
I wonder if he sees energies too. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at sussing people out and making them like him.
Like Jordan. I’d left her with a room full of quiet potential. A bribe in the form of new equipment. I picked every piece to work together, intent on offering her a solid foundation on which to build an easier life.
I told myself it was about protection. That I was sparing her this world, these nightmares.
The truth was too much to face.
“She called us broken.” I don’t mean to say the words aloud. They just spill out.
Kolya pivots, his shoulder pressed to the window. “The content creator?”
“Specifically, she’s a podcaster and wellness influencer. Jordan.” She isn’t a thing or evidence or leverage. She’s Jordan Elizabeth Thorne. The woman who didn’t glance away from my scars or flinch from the monster underneath. The woman I fucked and abandoned like all the rest, except none of them were ever really mine to begin with.
Not the way she was.
Kolya nods once. He understands.
Of course he does.
His own woman endured the same cross fire. Worse, Gio’s men kidnapped her. Kolya recruited the rest of us to get her back. And we did.
Then we mocked him for falling for a woman when we all know forming affection is the fastest way to the grave.
Still, he went back for her. He built a home, a barricade, and dragged her into his shadow just to keep her safe.
Yet I left Jordan alone, deluding myself by insisting that distance could be armor.
Alexei stands on the other side of Kolya, his hands folded, his wedding band gleaming on his ring finger. “Was she wrong?”
My mouth tightens.
No, of course not.
Why bother pretending? We all know what and who we are. Even these two men who’ve found love with partners that they will move mountains to keep safe. Women who’ve been welcomed into the family, who come to Sunday dinners, who know who Kolya and Alexei are and accept them anyway.
Them.
Us.
