Page 56 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth to answer, then close it again. What am I afraid of? That Marla will realize how dangerous my world really is and run? That sharing her with Alex and Nick will eventually tear apart the alliance we're trying to build?

"I'm not afraid," I say finally. "I'm just being careful."

My mother studies me for a long moment, then sighs. "You know what your problem is, Rustik? You think you can control everything. Plan for every possibility. But life doesn't work that way. Sometimes you have to take a risk."

"I take risks every day."

"Not with your heart, you don't." She stands, collecting our plates even though I've barely eaten. "You've been alone since your father died. I understand why. But it's been long enough. You deserve to be happy."

The mention of my father sits heavy in the room. He died when I was young, leaving me to take over the organization before I was ready. My mother never remarried, never even dated as far as I know. She poured everything into raising me, into making sure I survived in a world that eats the weak.

"Speaking of being alone," I say, desperate to change the subject. "Have you thought any more about moving into the guest house I built?"

Her expression immediately closes off. "No."

"Ma, it's right next to my house, on my private property with excellent security. You'd have your own space, but I'd be close if you needed anything."

"I don't need anything. I'm perfectly fine here."

"This house is too big for one person. And it's not in the best neighborhood anymore."

"This is my home, Rustik. I'm not leaving it just because you've decided I need supervision."

"It's not supervision. It's just—I worry about you."

"Then stop worrying." She turns to face me, her hands on her hips. "I raised you by myself after your father died. I managed this household, dealt with your father's associates, and kept you safe through everything. I think I can handle living alone in my own house."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes, it is." Her voice is sharp now. "You want to control where I live, just like you control everything else in your life. But I'm your mother, not one of your men. You don't get to make decisions for me."

I know when I'm beaten. "Fine. But if you change your mind..."

"You'll be the first to know." She comes around the table and kisses the top of my head like I'm still a child. "Now go. I'm sure you have important business to attend to."

I stand, pulling her into a brief hug. She smells like lavender and home, and for a moment I'm eight years old again, seeking comfort after a nightmare.

"Bring her by sometime," she says as I head for the door. "Your writer. I'd like to meet her."

"We'll see."

"That means no." She shakes her head, but she's smiling. "You're stubborn, just like your father."

I leave before she can start in on me again. I climb into my SUV and sit there for a moment in her driveway. She's right that it's her home, her choice. But that doesn't stop me from worrying.

My phone buzzes with messages from my captains, but instead of heading back to the city, I find myself driving in the opposite direction.

My mother's words echo in my head. "You deserve to be happy. Sometimes you have to take a risk."

The thing is, I'm not sure what happiness looks like anymore. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move and everything falls apart.

And then there's Marla. Sweet, innocent Marla who stumbled into our world by accident and somehow ended up at the center of everything. At least, I hope she's innocent in all this.

The drive to her cottage takes forty minutes. By the time I pull into her driveway, the sun is higher in the sky, warming the air. The cottage looks peaceful, surrounded by trees, and isolated from everything.

I let myself in quietly. The living room is empty, but I can hear soft breathing coming from the bedroom. I move to the doorway and stop.

Marla is asleep in bed, her red hair spread across the pillow, and her body curled against Nick's. He's on his back, one arm around her, his eyes closed. They look comfortable together. Domestic. Something twists in my chest at the sight. Not jealousy exactly, but something close to it. Something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. This wasn't supposed to be personal. None of this was supposed to matter beyond the physical. But looking at them together, I realize it does matter. More than I want to admit.