Rowan takes her time looking at me. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders tense slightly as she processes that. “What do you know so far?”
“Not enough.” I lean back against the headboard. “Ivan’s father worked for the Volkov family. After his father died someone powerful took interest in him.”
“A mentor?”
“That’s the best description,” I tell her.
Rowan lowers the toast slowly. “And Russia?”
“He spent time there.”
She glances toward the window, turning it over in her head. “So, someone’s guiding him.”
“Yes. Ivan has ambition, but not that much imagination.”
Rowan looks back at me. “This isn’t finished.”
“No. Whoever is behind him will keep pushing until they think they have what they want.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around the coffee cup.
I reach across the bed and take her free hand in mine. “Look at me.”
She does.
“I will handle Ivan.”
Her eyes search mine. “And the man behind him?”
“That one will take more time.”
Because the truth is simple. Ivan started this, but someone else helped him become the man who thought he could challenge me. And somewhere out there, that person is still watching and still waiting.
Rowan keeps her eyes on me for another moment before nodding slowly. “You’re already planning the next move.”
“Yes.”
Her thumb brushes lightly across the back of my hand. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“That you come back.”
My fingers tighten around hers. “I always will.”
Outside the window, the winter sun continues rising over the city. And somewhere beyond the streets and buildings, Ivan is still breathing. For now.
13
ROWAN
The neighborhood looks the same as it always has, which is the first thing that makes my chest ache. The dogwood at the corner leans slightly toward the street, its bare branches thin and gray against the pale winter sky as if it never quite learned how to grow straight after one bad storm. Mrs. Hensley’s wind chimes still hang from the porch two houses down, their soft metal knock carrying through the cold afternoon air each time the breeze moves through. My mother’s mailbox still sags a little on the left side because Ethan promised to fix it three summers ago and then got distracted by work, life, and every other emergency that always seems more urgent than home maintenance.
The familiar details pull at me harder than I expect.
