Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Alek answers on the first ring. “What’s going on?”
“They just tried to clip me,” I say. “Three SUVs. Definitely Vasilievs.”
There’s silence on the other end for a few seconds.
“Are you hurt?”
“Anton’s been hit, but I’m fine. I’m taking him to Viktor now.”
“I’ll find them,” he says without another word.
“I want you to kill them. Let’s move up the timeline.”
“I’ll give the order,” he says. “You still want Brighton?”
“I want Brighton,” I confirm. “And I want it leveled.”
“Copy that.”
I look down at Anton, who’s still conscious but paler now.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “You’re going to be fine.”
He nods once. I help him to his feet, slinging his arm over my shoulder, and flag down a cab.
We’re at Viktor’s in seven. Anton will live, but something inside me snaps. This won’t happen again.
13
LYRA
My aunt always insists on eating early. Not quite early-bird-special early, but definitely before the dinner crowd takes over. So by six-thirty we’re already seated at a cozy little place near her apartment, tucked into a booth while the air hums with garlic, white wine, and warm bread. The walls are covered in vintage art, all mismatched and sentimental, and the waitstaff greet her by name.
She’s the kind of woman who’s been a regular at her favorite restaurants for years. She’s basically a New York institution in her own right.
We’ve just finished our main courses when she leans back with a small sigh, dabs at her mouth, and says, “So. Tell me about the new job. Is it as exciting as you hoped?”
I smile as I swirl the last bit of pasta on my fork. “It’s been amazing so far. Really. Better than I expected.”
“You’ve always been good with tech. I knew you’d find something interesting.”
I nod, grateful she doesn’t ask for specifics. She wouldn’t understand half of what I do, and honestly, I’m still figuring out parts of it myself. But I love every aspect of it, all the challenge, the buzz of creativity, the fast pace. I love the way the office pulses with ideas and ambition. And I love—
I stop the thought before it fully forms.
“And the people?” she asks, eyebrows lifting. “Are your coworkers nice to you?”
“Some of them are,” I say carefully. “Some are a little weird. But overall, it’s a really welcoming atmosphere.”
It’s true, in a way. The office has its personalities, sure, but none of them matter as much as the one I pretend not to think about all day. The one whose footsteps I recognize before I even see his shoes. The one who looks at me like he’s undressing me with his eyes. The one who actually does undress me when we’re finally alone.
“You’re glowing,” she says, reaching for her glass of wine. “I can tell you’re really happy there.”
I raise my eyebrows and feign confusion. “I’m glowing?”
She gives me a look. “Don’t play dumb with me, missy,” she says with a wink. “Are you seeing someone?”
My stomach dips. I should’ve known this was coming. She always slides it in after a glass and a half of wine. My aunt wants nothing more than to see me married off with a brood of children like my sister. To her, that’s the highest achievement any woman can have. And as much as I would love to tell her about Damien, she wouldn’t understand.
“No one serious,” I say.
It’s not technically a lie, but it still falls short of the truth.
She hums and sips her wine, giving me that look that says she knows better but won’t push.
“You’re at that age, sweetheart. It’s nice to focus on your career, of course, but don’t wait too long to settle down.”
I smile politely, already feeling the heat creeping into my cheeks.
“I just don’t want you to miss your window,” she adds.
“This isn’t the sixties, Aunt Judy,” I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “The window is a myth.”
She chuckles. “You young girls always say that, but there’s definitely a window. It’s just easier to ignore when you’re young. But one day you wake up and realize that the window has passed and you’ve missed your chance to have a family.”
“Are we seriously talking about ticking clocks right now?”
She shrugs. “I’m just saying, you’re smart and beautiful. You should be sharing that with someone who’s going to stick around.”
My throat tightens. I picture Damien, all sharp angles and dark intentions. He’s methodical and precise. He has his sweet moments too, but he’s not someone I can picture in a cardigan posing for a Christmas photo or holding a screaming toddler.
I force a laugh. “God, you sound like a Hallmark movie.”
She smiles, completely unbothered. “At least Hallmark movies have happy endings.”
“Yeah,” I say. “If you ignore the parts that would never happen in real life.”
The check arrives a minute later, saving me from further commentary. I pay before she can argue. Her rule is that whoever picks the place doesn’t pay, but truthfully, she’s picked up the tab most of my life. When it’s all settled, we bundle up to head outside. The air is brisk enough to make my nose run and my fingers stiff. She kisses my cheek, promises to text me a casserole recipe I’ll never make, and waves as she disappears into her building.