Page 22 of Every Last Breath

The feds had harassed his family for as long as he could remember, tossing their house every time a warrant gave them an excuse. His father—a Vory boss, a high-ranking member of the Russian mafia—had been untouchable. Until Maddox.

“No. But there was something else.”

He plunked down on the sofa, bracing himself. “What?”

“Someone worked very hard to erase something from her past.”

The hairs on his nape bristled. “I hate suspense. Spill it.”

“Nine years ago, she was hospitalized for three days. But I don’t know why.”

His thoughts ricocheted in his head like ball bearings in a pinball machine, hitting every horrid possibility. “When?” He cleared the tightness in his throat. “The date?”

“She was admitted September nineteenth.”

Three months after she’d betrayed him and he’d killed anybody threatening the ones he loved, then faked his own death. He’d done it to appease the Vory, to safeguard his family. Especially her.

The news of his death must’ve been a shock to her at first. She was supposed to heal and move forward. Had she tried to hurt herself?

“There’s more. Our whiz kid found it, wanting to impress you, his superhero.” Tom was a techie genius who sliced through digital layers like a virtual surgeon. “Someone with resources buried it real, real deep, never meant to surface.”

A sickening feeling rained over him as if the bottom of his world was about to drop. “Tell me.”

“Afterward, she spent time at Privé Solace in Canada. One of those uber-private mental health places disguised as a spa, for depression, anxiety, PTSD.”

Slamming his eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to get a handle on the information rattling around in his skull. As soon as things had gotten tough, he’d bailed on her. He’d promised to always be there for her, but the situation had been a quagmire he’d barely escaped with his life. All because she couldn’t be trusted with his family’s secrets.

Fuck! “Anything else?”

“Nope. All I could find.”

That’d been plenty. “Thanks. Never mention Nikolai Reznikov to anyone. I owe you.”

“Stay safe, sugar. I want my box of chocolates.”

His fingers twitched like he had caffeine jitters. He couldn’t wrap his fists around this. The hell Maddox must’ve gone through, believing he was dead.

He grabbed his wallet and pulled out the frayed, torn-in-half strip of snapshots taken of him with Maddox in a carnival photo booth. They looked so young, so in love.

The memory was a splinter embedded in his brain. Her throaty laughter, her curtain of ringlets tickling his cheek, the pear scent from her shampoo, the grounding weight of her head on his shoulder, her smile—a punch to the gut.

She had been the flame warming his soul.

With her, he’d found something he’d never known before. Comfort. No judgment. No conditions. No expectation for him to change or be anything other than who he was, even though she was way too good for him. And for that, he wanted to be the best man he could—for Maddox.

A gummy thickness tightened in his throat.

He put the photos away, unable to bear remembering. Unable to ever forget.

The shelf life of his responsibility to her had expired long ago, but no matter what, he couldn’t stomach the idea of her in danger. He had promised to take care of her, to keep her safe. He could make good on at least one.

If she was in such deep trouble with her employer, this Sydell, that she’d gone to the effort of tracking Cole down, then things didn’t bode well.

Regardless, he’d help her. If nothing else, to ensure she wasn’t on the Russians’ radar.

His instincts were still hardwired to protect her, his body programmed to lust after her, but he’d get a lobotomy before getting involved with her again.

Loving her had been the greatest danger. The biggest damn mistake.