I think I fucking fell in love. Instead of making myself look an even bigger fool, I opt for another truth. "She gave me her virginity. She looked at me like I was someone worth trusting, and she gave me the one thing she'd obviously been protecting and saving. And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending to like her."
Kon's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. On anyone else, it would be invisible. On him, it's a clear sign to me he thinks I’m an idiot.
"I let her leave." I shake my head, the leather cord at my nape shifting with the movement, long strands of dark hair brushing between my shoulder blades. "I pretended to be asleep, but I watched her slip out of bed, pull on my shirt and then leave. It took everything in me not to reach out for her and find a way to anchor her to me. I told myself it was better that way. Better for her to disappear believing she'd had one perfect night with a stranger named Dante than to find out the truth about what I am. What I intended to do to her."
"You gave her a fake name."
It's not a question. Kon connects dots faster than anyone I've ever known.
"I gave her a fake name." The admission sits heavy in my chest, a knot I can't untangle. "I couldn't tell her who I really was. Not while the operation was still in play. Not after she looked at me like I was someone worth knowing. The name was protocol, in my mind. The guilt that came with it was not. That caught me off guard, actually."
"And for the last two months you’ve turned into the grumpy asshole because you are pining over the one that got away."
"Sums it up pretty well. For eight weeks I've known exactly where she lives, where she shops, what coffee she orders." I snort, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "I have a three-inch-thick file on her and her family sitting in my desk drawer. I could find her in five minutes if I wanted to. But showing up on her doorstep means explaining who I really am and whyI was at that masquerade. And once that door opens, every piece of intelligence connected to her father's operation gets compromised." I trail off. The operational reasoning is sound. The fact that it also keeps me from facing what I feel is something I choose not to examine too closely.
If she hadn't looked at me like that. If she hadn't trusted me. If she hadn't cracked something open in my chest that I didn't know existed.
Kon says nothing for a long moment. Then, quietly: "The brothers don't know?" he asks, confirming.
"No one knows. You're the first person I've told." I tighten my fingers around the empty bourbon glass, the cut crystal edges biting into my palm. "And I'd appreciate it if you kept it that way until I figure out what the hell I'm going to do about it." Which is probably nothing, but I would still like the chance to get my head on straight. None of this stops me from pushing forward with getting the intel I need for all of us to make a move on Ilona’s father.
Kon’s silence stretches, weighted with judgment he's too disciplined to voice. Finally, he inclines his head. A fraction of a nod. I’ve come to learn that gesture doesn’t mean approval, but simple acknowledgment.
"Fate is cruel, moy brat." Russian for "my brother" rolls off Kon's tongue like a rare confession.
I set the glass on the sidebar with a sharp clink. "Agreed. She doesn't hand you what you want, does she? She shows you exactly what you're missing and then laughs while you suffer. I used to be the instrument of that cruelty."
"Some would say Fate, Karma, whatever you call her, is returning the favor."
“That’s my thinking too, brother.” I leave him to his stoic wisdom and take the elevator up to the floors that now house Ember House, Drake's obscenely romantic gift to his fiancée. The elevator hums around me, the subtle vibration traveling through the soles of my shoes, and I catch my reflection in the polished silver doors. Dark eyes. Nah. Tired fucking eyes. The eyes of a man who can't stop thinking about a woman he let walk away.
God, I have it bad.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
The doors open onto warmth and light and the kind of celebration I have no business attending while my chest feels like it's been hollowed out with a spoon.
But I paste on a smile anyway. It's what I do.
Champagne flows freely through the newly renovated space, the clink of glasses and murmur of conversation creating a pleasant buzz beneath the high ceilings. The scent of expensive perfume and fresh flowers mingles with the sharper notes of champagne bubbles and the underlying richness of freshly printed books lining the walls. The inner circle of the Red Letter Syndicate mingles among the bookshelves. Rafael stands with Persia at his side, their daughter Sofia babbling happily on her mother's hip, her tiny fingers reaching for her father's tie. Massimo and Rowan argue good-naturedly about something near the large windows, their laughter echoing off the exposed brick.
I grab a fresh drink from a passing server and position myself near the windows, staring out at the city that holds a woman I'vebeen avoiding for eight miserable fucking weeks of a situation I created and can't resolve.
The glass sweats condensation against my fingers, cold and slick, but I barely register the sensation.
I know exactly where she is. I've always known. The file in my desk drawer contains her home address, her daily routines, the name of the barista who makes her vanilla latte every morning at the coffee shop three blocks from her apartment. I could walk into her life any time I wanted.
But every time I consider it, the calculus falls apart. Walk back into her life and I'm mixing personal with operational in ways that could compromise everything we've built against her father. Stay away and I maintain the integrity of the mission. Clean. Disciplined. The smart play. I take a slow breath. I murmur under my breath, "So why does the smart play feel like swallowing ground glass?”
So instead I stand at windows like this one, staring at a city that contains her, torturing myself with memories I have no right to keep. Light brown eyes with golden shards that turned molten when pleasure overtook her. Beautiful raven hair with blue tips I suspect she keeps hidden from the world, but let tumble free for me. The taste of her on my tongue. The sound of my fake name on her lips when she shattered in my arms.
"You look like someone stole your favorite toy and then kicked you in the gut."
I turn to find Katriana approaching with two champagne flutes, her engagement ring catching the light with every movement and scattering tiny rainbows across the nearby bookshelf. She's glowing in that way women do when they're disgustingly in love,her soft brown eyes bright with happiness, her smile soft and genuine. Under normal circumstances I'd be happy for her.
Today, her happiness just reminds me of what I'm missing.
"Just thinking." I accept the glass she offers, though I don't need another drink. The bubbles rise in lazy spirals, catching the light, and the crisp scent of expensive champagne mingles with the lingering smokiness of bourbon still coating my tongue. "Congratulations on Ember House. Drake did well." I knock it back and immediately regret the mix of champagne with bourbon. The combination curdles in my stomach, acidic and unpleasant, and I fight to keep my expression neutral as my body protests the abuse.
