It’s ridiculous how quickly I know.
Every hair on my arms stands on end, my body reacting before my eyes even lift up to look over. When they finally do, I find Maksim Antonov standing in the doorway of my diner, his eyes pinned directly on me.
He looks every bit the Mafia boss he is.
The clink of silverware from the booths surrounding me, the faint country song droning over the speakers, all of it fades away until there’s only him.
I grip the counter, my knuckles white. “Fuck…”
What the hell is he doing here?
He steps further inside. The bell over the door swings shut with a final jingle that feels too much like a lock clicking into place. The other waitress, Jess, doesn’t notice the way my body stiffens when she moves around the counter and over to the podium to greet him, completely oblivious to the intimidating aura rolling off Maksim in waves.
“Table for one?” she asks.
He smiles. It isn’t wide, it never is, but it’s that same faint curve I remember all too well. “No. I’m here for someone.”
I force myself to move away from the counter and over to the podium before he can say anything else. “Outside. Now.”
He doesn’t argue with me.
The apron slips from my fingers, landing in a crumpled heap draped over the podium. The sound is soft, mostly insignificant against my heart pounding in my chest, but it feels like the final nail in the coffin of the life I’ve built.
His hand moves, large and warm, and closes around my wrist. The weight of it isn’t painful, but it’s absolute, a silent declaration that I’m not slipping away.
Jess’s eyes dart between us, confusion flashing across her face. “Um… does this mean you’re taking your lunch break?”
I don’t answer. Annoyance is already making my teeth hurt from how badly I’m clenching them together. I yank against him and pull us both toward the door. The bell chimes above us loud enough to send another shot of annoyance through me.
The fresh air slaps against my face as we step outside, a blessed contrast to the boiling heat under my skin. I suck in a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but his suffocating presence crowds the oxygen right back out of my lungs.
I don’t stop until we’re around the back of the building in the alleyway. The scents of grease and old trash rise from the dented green dumpster. Here, at least, there aren’t eyes watching from coffee cups and booth corners.
I whirl on him, yanking my wrist free with more force than necessary. “Why the hell did you come here?”
“I’m here to take you home.”
I shove at his chest, desperate for space. Desperate for him to budge, but he’s immovable, a wall of iron disguised as a man. “Fuck off. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Ivy.”
“No,Maksim.” My voice shakes, but I don’t care. I need him to hear it, toget it.“I told you yesterday, you don’t just get to come back into my life and pick up where we left off. I’m settled here.Leois settled here. I’m not letting you rip that away from us because you suddenly feel like playing family. Becauseyouwant to beselfish.”
For the first time since meeting him again, something cracks in his expression. His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching like a warning. His eyes narrow as fury licks at them.
He steps in, closing the space I fought to put between us, his shadow cutting over me in the alley’s weak light. His voice is low, but every syllable burns. “You think this is selfish? You think I crossed an ocean, risked everything, just to indulge myself? No, Ivy. I came because it is no longer safe for you here. For you both.”
I freeze. “What?”
He doesn’t answer right away. The brick wall scrapes against my spine when I instinctively retreat, leaving me caged between him and the building behind me. His hand rises, not to touch me, but to brace on the wall above my shoulder.
“Mikhail Sidrov,” he says at last, each syllable measured. “Anton’s son. There are rumors he’s starting a faction to take me out for killing his father.”
My throat works, but no sound comes out.
“I will not let him start another war. I intend to crush him before he can gain any more momentum. But until that happens, I needto make sure you and Leo are safe. The only way I can do that is by taking you back to Russia with me.”
I want to scream at him, tell him he doesn’t get to say that, but the picture he’s painting is far too vivid for me to dismiss. What if this Mikhail person wants to use Leo like his father used me? Using our son as Maksim’s pressure point to bend to his will? To break him through his bloodline?
