Until one day, it all ends in destruction.
“Boss, it’ll rain soon. If we don’t start—”
I lift a hand, and John immediately shuts up. He’s been my driver for the past five years. He should know better.
No one interrupts me as I watchherfrom the dark sedan, keeping my distance.
My poisonous obsession. The woman I hate.
Exceptfor twenty-eight minutes a day when I let myself forget.
The Anderson princess graced a tiny Albanian café with her presence this dreary September New York morning. She clearly got fooled by the cozy exterior—red bricks, faded awnings, blue shutters—and completely missed the graffiti tagging the dumpsters and the questionable men idling in cars nearby.
I’m here because I finally got a name—and I’m going to collect.
But of course myzemërchooses this morning to drink her morning roast inside a front for the Albanian mob.
Lana laughs at something the waitress says. The girl is skittish, too young, too frightened, and unease flickers in my gut. I’ve seen these tells on my sister’s face before, and I’m hit with an urge to protect this woman from whatever she’s dealing with.
But then Lana gestures wildly, her face animated as she responds to the girl.
The stress melts off the waitress’s face, and she smiles.
I grip the book on my lap—Lana’sfavorite book, a rendition of Hades and Persephone’s love story—wishing I could hear her laugh up close.
That’s what Lana Anderson does to you. She blazes into your life, all warmth, sunshine, and fucking roses, and you have no choice but to be mesmerized by her. I want to bottle her brightness, inject the essence into my veins, and let it wash over me.
An antidote to my obsession. Or the fatal dose.
But no, I can’t die yet. My one certainty is revenge. Everything else is an indulgence I’ve rationed to twenty-eight minutes each day.
She brings her cup to her lips, her pinkie finger sticking out like she’s having tea with royalty.
Close your eyes. Smell the coffee.
Lana’s eyes flutter shut, her lush lashes fanning across her ivory cheeks. A small smile tips her lips as she inhales. I can almost hear her audible sigh of contentment.
One small sip. Lick your lips. Then go in for a fuller taste.
My breathing quickens.
Her thick brown hair cascades down her back in silky waves as she takes the tiniest sip, her eyes brightening with delight, then goes back for another taste with gusto, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp.
My lips twitch into a smile. This is my favorite part, because it reminds me of the past I lost. But I don’t think about that, because right now, that past is still within grasp.
Nothing else matters.
Lana bites her full lip, her face flushing. I know what she’s thinking, because she told me almost twenty years ago.
“Kian! Stop laughing.” She stuffs the rest of the chocolates into her mouth, cheeks bulging.
She looks like a cute little chipmunk.
“How embarrassing,” she manages once she swallows, eyes sparkling. “Mom would roll over in her grave.”
“Why?” I grin, love-drunk on her.
“Ladies don’t eat like cavemen.”
