He pulls out his phone, flicking through it before holding up a picture. My son sprawled on what looks like the world’s most expensive couch, fast asleep with a massive German Shepherd curled around him. Pizza crusts are scattered nearby.
“He’s fine. Demolished three slices of pizza, made friends with every animal I own, and passed out with Kayla.” His lips twitch. “She hasn’t left his side.”
Something in my chest loosens. “You have a dog?”
“I have several. Though they seem to be his dogs now.”
I stare at the picture longer than I should. At my son’s peaceful face. At the way the massive dog wraps around him like a shield. At the casual evidence that the feared Raven keeps pets and feeds kids pizza.
Fourteen years of painting him as a monster, and here he is, letting our son turn his guard dogs into puppies.
Our son.
The thought hits like a sucker punch. I drop the phone like it burns.
“What? Going to drug me too?” I quip,hoping to change the topic in my own head.
“Tempting.” His voice drops lower. “But I have better ideas.”
Before I can tell him exactly where to shove his ideas, he leans in and kisses me.
Not like before. Not that angry clash of teeth and spite. This is slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to tell me something his words can’t.
I should push him away. Should remember fourteen years of hatred.Should—
Fuck should.
Deep down, I’ve always known. Known it wasn’t him who killed Jake. The timing was wrong. The details didn’t add up. But hatred is easier than uncertainty. Easier than admitting there’s still a monster out there, one without a face or a name.
One I can’t find.
Can’t fight.
Can’t kill.
Until today. Until I sawhimin the auction. The truth I’ve been running from.
Leonid isn’t my brother’s killer.
He’s just the face I gave my nightmares.
And God help me, but I’m glad. Glad it’s not him. Glad I don’t have to— My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer. He tastes like coffee and danger and things I shouldn’t want.
When he finally pulls back, those eyes of his are dark. “Still want to kill me?”
“Yes.” I drag him back down. “But not until I find out who killed Jake.”
23
Leonid
Ishouldn’t be kissing her.
Blyat.My self-control, built over decades of running the Bratva? Gone the moment she parts those lips.
The rational part of my brain—the one that’s kept me alive through three wars and countless assassination attempts—is screaming to back away. To remember she’s probably plotting fifty different ways to kill me right now.
But my dick’s doing the thinking, and that treacherous bastard has always had a death wish when it comes to Clara Caldwell.
