I was halfway through planning how to make that happen when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled the device free and glanced at it, intending to ignore it after my curiosity had been satisfied. Then I read the message.
Devin: Frankie emergency. Get back. Now.
My blood turned cold.
Everything in me went still, then too fast all at once. A roaring in my ears I’d never heard before. A chill of panic constricting my veins.
The chair scraped back before I even realized I was standing. My hand tightened around the phone like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
“Something wrong?” Mikhail squinted at me through a haze of smoke.
“Business,” I said, voice flat. “Butera business.”
Before anyone could press, I turned and walked out. Not hurriedly, not yet—but fast enough that they’d know not to stop me. Out through the back door, into the chill night air of the alley behind the shop.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and started for the car, boots pounding against cracked pavement.
Every instinct I had screamed that something was wrong, that whatever was waiting for me back at the penthouse wasn’t something I could control with words or weapons or strategy.
For the first time in years, I didn’t give a damn about the business.
The Antonovs, the Buteras, the whole web of deceit and blood and power fell away.
My mind only filled with visions of a sweet, innocent face I wanted,neededto protect.
And I’d burn the world down if I couldn’t succeed.
12
JONATHAN
I’d been maintaining a heart-stopping level of rage for hours.
Though I’d cooled my exterior off enough to only show my usual level of mild annoyance, I still felt like my insides would explode if someone looked at me wrong.
Or really, if they looked at Frankie wrong. Hell, if anyone but Alex, Devin, or I looked at her at all, they’d have to answer for it with blood.No onethreatened her or anyone she loved without hell to pay. She was under our protection.
It was more than that, too.
But I didn’t have time to consider what the ache in my chest meant, or what the hell I should do about it, since it was more important that we find whichever spineless son of a bitch had dared to threaten a woman like Lois Taylor.
The second Devin told me about the threatening mailbox note, my idea had been to move Frankie to my house.
Partly out of some feral protective instinct that wanted her as close to me as possible, but also because I couldn’t rule out thatwe were being watched at Alex’s penthouse if whoever had sent the note knew she’d be visiting her mom that day.
Frankie had just about demanded not to be moved without her mom, which made sense. I’d have done the same for my family.
Loyalty was something I understood in my bones, something carved into me by blood and violence and the brutal expectations of my father. Frankie had it naturally. Purely.
Maybe that was why the rage in my chest felt so personal. Someone had threatened a woman who raised a daughter like Frankie—steady, brave, sweet.
It took a lot of convincing, but Frankie eventually accepted that it’d be best to keep Lois in the dark about the danger for now. Especially for her fragile health.
Stress couldn’t be good for her.
When we finally got her back to the penthouse, the four of us gathered in the living room.
