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“I agreed that you could start your new life here so I could keep an eye on you. Personally, I think you should be rotting in a prison cell.” Tension pours off Miles, making the air vibrate. “Stay away from Annie. She’s a good girl.”

Anger and annoyance coil in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I turn my head and look at him.

Miles uncrosses his arms, takes two steps backward, and shakes his head at me. “If you lose control once more, you’re gone. Rein it in!” Then his eyes land on my hands, and he spots the bruising on my knuckles. “What did you do?”

“Boxing bag,” I reply, my tone deadly. “Forgot to wear gloves.”

His gaze snaps back to my face, and he can’t hide his worry from me. “Are we going to have a problem?”

I turn my attention back to the machine. “No.”

I hear him exhale a sigh of relief, but when the other washing machine beeps, he startles, his body jerking hard.

It tells me I terrify Miles.

That’s not a good thing. He might change his mind about me staying here, and I’ll be forced to start a new life somewhere else.

Letting out an irritated growl, I look at him again. “You don’t have to worry. I told Annie there can’t be anything between us. I’m just here to work and lie low in the apartment.”

He relaxes visibly, then opening the machine, he begins to unload it. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Never call me by that name again,” I say, my tone deceptively calm as I refer to the Wolf. “And don’t dare threaten me.”

There’s a moment of thick silence between us before he grumbles, “Got it.”

The Wolf was a monster, controlled by evil, sick fucks. The Wolf ripped lives apart and made fear bleed through the dark, grimy streets of New York.

I’m Owen Casey.

A man with a new life who’s not allowed to exist. I suppose it’s more than a killer like me deserves.

While I wait for my clothes, the emptiness returns, sinking deep into my soul.

It mutes the emotions Annie has made me feel. It dims the light, tenses my muscles, and erases the sense of routine I’ve managed to cultivate over the past two months.

I can tell myself I’m Owen Casey until the end of time, but that doesn’t change the fact that Rowan Teller isn’t willing to let go.

Christ, I gave this life a shot, but it’s not working for me.

I’ll wait until I’m no longer the Bratva’s main priority. That will take anything from two to five years. Another enemy will come along, and they’ll slowly pull their soldiers back. Once their attention is focused elsewhere, and it no longer feels like a thousand eyes are on me, I’ll disappear.

That’s why I kept one escape plan hidden from the FBI.

This life of Owen Casey, the bar, and Annie was and never will be meant for the likes of me. I failed miserably at it.

Just bide your time, Rowan.

Lie low. Don’t form bonds. Stay on guard.

“You hear me?” Miles asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“I asked if you know how to make ribs. I want to add them to the menu.”

I nod, and the second my machine beeps, I open it and unload my clothes. Not sticking around to use the dryers, I leave the laundry room and head back to the safety of my apartment, where I don’t have to interact with anyone.

I scatter the wet clothes over the bench press and other equipment in the living room and hang the rest over the counter in the kitchen.