I jerked my face away before his breath could ghost over my lips. "Ilay," I whispered, the plea tearing from my throat. "Please... not today."
He exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath, the sound harsh in the quiet room. But instead of forcing my submission, he stepped back, and the air rushed back into my lungs. Just like that, the monster receded, and the mask slid back into place.
"I guess we're going to America," he said, his tone jarringly light, as if he hadn't just been cornering me.
He turned on his heel and strode out of the study, leaving me paralyzed in his wake, suffocating in silence.
• • •
I retreated to my room and collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling until the silence was shattered by the buzz of my phone.
Tessa.
I answered immediately. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," she replied, her voice bright and victorious. "Guess what? We won. The judge gave that bastard a ten-year sentence. They're actually doing it. Justice is served."
I sat up, a genuine smile tugging at my lips despite the exhaustion weighing me down. "Tessa, that's amazing. Seriously. You guys did it."
"We did it," she corrected firmly. "I'm coming back today. We're flying in tonight."
"Perfect," I said, my mind already shifting gears. "I actually need you for something. We're heading to America for a case, and I could use someone with your talent for sniffing things out."
"America?" She perked up instantly. "Say less. I'm in. Where are we meeting?"
"The airport. I'll text you the details." There was a brief pause on the line before her tone shifted. "Also... I heard Jackson got shot." I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Yeah. He did." She burst out laughing, the sound sharp and unapologetic. "I know I should feel bad, but honestly? I'm kind of happy he did. It makes up for all the times he teased me about being poor. At least I'm poor with two functional hands."
"Yeah, but we're still poor," I interrupted dryly.
She waved it off. "Nope. I'm still poor. I don't have a mafia man with money turning my insides out. At least you made it. I didn't have to sleep in a tent for weeks because of your magic lips."
I snorted. "Tessa, please."
"I'm just saying," she continued, relentless. "Jackson is a man, and not a smart one. If he knew who you were with, why pull out a gun? Men are clueless."
"Fair point."
"Anyways," she said, her brightness returning. "Let's go. I'll see you at the airport."
"See you there."
I hung up, staring at the phone for a second before the reality set in. America. Here we come.
• • •
Three days blurred into a haze of preparation and anxiety. As the departure date loomed, Ilay became increasingly volatile—snapping at subordinates, pacing like a caged animal. I didn't know why, and though part of me wanted to ask, I refused to let him think I cared enough to inquire. So, I kept my silence.
He had located Spencer Wright deep in Montana, living off the grid in the vast, open plains outside a forgotten town called Clearwater Ridge. Apparently, Spencer had reinvented himself as a cattle herder. It was on-brand for someone hiding from both the mafia and corrupt politicians—quiet, isolated, and far from the spotlight.
But it was also incredibly stupid.
If someone like Ilay decided to track him seriously—and he had—there would be no witnesses, no neighbors to scream for help, and zero chance of survival. No one would even know he was gone. According to the intel, Spencer's only contact was his grandmother, a sweet old woman in the city who received monthly shipments of beef and dairy just to keep up the charade that everything was okay. But we both knew it wasn't.
• • •
The night before our trip, I stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped tight around my body as I dried my hair with another. My mind was racing, cluttering with thoughts of the flight, Spencer, and the mess I was drowning in.
Then I turned, and my heart slammed against my ribs.
