Chapter 5 – Present Day
CHAPTER FIVE
FIONA
PRESENT DAY
The morning sun slips through my blinds, far too bright for the kind of thoughts I woke up with.
Two days. That’s how long it’s been since Aleksei Marinov pinned me against my car and reminded me exactly why I can’t stand him and why I can’t stop thinking about him either.
In his eyes—in the way he looked at me, touched me—it was as if he was reminding me that I was already his. As though it’s been decided by some divine prophecy.
I’d laugh if it wasn’t for this strange tingling in the back of my neck, like a warning of some kind.
I’ve replayed that night more times than I’ll ever admit. The heat of his breath against my skin. The slow drag of his fingers over my thigh.
I tell myself it’s over. That maybe he got whatever sick thrill he needed and now he’ll vanish back into the darkness he crawled out of.
But I know better. He’s not done with me. He never will be.
I pad across the hardwood floor, the familiar dread curling in my stomach as I near the front door, wondering if there will be another letter waiting for me in the mailbox.
Sliding into my slippers, I walk out into the cool morning air, my fingers hovering over the latch to the mailbox just outside.
It’s been like this since the middle of the trial. The anonymous letters that keep me on edge.
It has to be Aleksei messing with me. It would be like him. The psychological games. Shadow warfare. I’ve seen the way he and his family operate. Always two moves ahead. Always circling, never striking. Until they want you to bleed.
But the thing that keeps me awake at night is the gnawing possibility that it isn’t him. That there’s someone else out there. Someone far more dangerous.
And they’re coming for me.
With my line of work, though, there’s always a chance of that.
When I open the mailbox, a handful of envelopes waits inside, innocent at first glance. Snatching them up, I head back into the house, heart pounding as I sift through the stack.
I know it’s here. I can just feel it.
Then I see it. There’s no name. No postage. No return address. Just a plain white envelope with my name and address printed in big, blocky letters. Nothing to go on at all.
It sits heavy in my hands like something rotten, like it might bite.
I’ve gotten six others just like it, all meant to rattle me. The last one was the worst.
Think you’re safe? It’s not over yet. Your time is coming.
And now, between Aleksei watching me and these anonymous threats, I can’t even tell which monster to fear more.
If this is Aleksei’s idea of a game, though, I swear to God, I’ll kill him. Who the hell does he think he is?
With a sigh, I run a hand down my face. I probably need to tell my boss about this, though it’s not like he’ll do anything. No one’s assigning me a bodyguard over some letters, and the cops won’t have a damn thing to go on. This is on me to figure out.
I stare at the envelope again, hesitation thick in my chest, then tear it open before I can talk myself out of it, already bracing for whatever fresh hell waits inside.
Do you know what happened the day you were attacked? Do you want to know why?
The words blur, a rush of fear spreading through my limbs. I haven’t let myself think about that night in months. I buried it deep, so deep it almost stopped feeling real.
The fear. That cold, breathless certainty that I was about to die. Then…darkness.
Six months ago, I came home after a late court session. Just another ordinary day. The plan was to reheat some leftover pasta, maybe fall asleep on the couch with the TV still on.
I never made it that far.
I’m starving the moment I walk inside and lock up behind me. But as soon as the latch clicks, something pulls at my attention.
My vase in the foyer has been moved. Not by much, just a few inches to the left, but enough to make every instinct in me go on alert.
I reach for the knob again, ready to step back outside and call someone, anyone, but before I can turn it, a man steps out from behind the wall. Ski mask. Gloves. A gun held low.
My heart drops.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says, almost too calmly, while I’m surrounded by pure panic.
My fingers hover over the handle, every part of me screaming to run out onto the porch and yell for help, but something tells me I won’t make it three feet.
The moment his eyes bounce from the door back to me, I run toward the stairs, not even sure what the hell my plan is. I take off toward the bedroom because that’s the only place that feels like an option.
But I only make it halfway up before he’s behind me, his boots hitting the stairs with a pounding rhythm. I grab the banister and try to haul myself faster, but he catches my ankle and yanks.
I fall hard. My forehead smacks the step, and light bursts behind my eyes.
My fingers scrape for something, anything, but he drags me down the stairs, my body slamming against each step, palms burning as I try to claw free.
The gun clatters somewhere behind us when he switches his grip, his gloved hand fisting the back of my shirt.
I twist, shove, kick, but he’s stronger. He pins me on the floor, one knee on the wood, the other pressing into my stomach while he reaches into his pocket and pulls out duct tape. The sight of it knocks the air out of my lungs.
If that tape touches my wrists, I’m not getting out of here alive.
Pure survival takes over. I dig my nails under the edge of his mask and find skin, clawing through as I let out a scream.
“Bitch!” He slaps me.
Instead of backing down when he draws closer, I lift up and bite the side of his cheek through the fabric, tasting blood. My legs kick wildly, and I knee him in the balls, slipping out from under him before rushing toward the front door like every inch of my life depends on it.
I get my hand on the knob, turning it halfway before he reaches me again. A scream sticks in my throat as his fist tangles in my hair, pain lancing through my scalp so fast my vision blurs.
The blow comes next. A hard, brutal crack to the side of my head that sends the world tilting away from me.
The door slips from my grip. The floor rushes up. Everything folds into spinning shapes and fading sound, darkness swallowing the hallway.
And the only thought that comes next is that I’m about to die.
But I didn’t. I woke up on the floor, and he was gone. No sign of him either. No blood except my own. It was like someone had wiped the whole place clean.
The only proof left behind was the gash on my forehead and the terror still lodged in my throat.
When the cops arrived, they found nothing. No forced entry. No weapon or prints. They called it a failed robbery attempt, but I knew better.
Whoever he was, he didn’t come for my things. He came for me. This wasn’t random. It was personal.
The next day, I turned my home into a fortress. Alarms on every door and window. A camera by the entrance. Reinforced locks. Paranoia made tangible.
Then, several weeks later, the letters started coming. At first, I didn’t think they were connected to the attack. But now? I’m certain.
The letter slips from my fingers and lands on the counter with a soft flutter, but the sound is deafening in the quiet. My nerves buzz as I pinch my temple and head toward the electric kettle to make some tea, needing something to calm me.
My cat winds between my legs, his soft meow tugging me from my thoughts. I scoop him up, burying my cheek in his black fur.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
He meows again, as if calling me a liar.
“It’s really not cute being such a know-it-all, Poe.”
He flicks his tail and jumps down just as the kettle clicks off behind me. I reach for a mug when my phone vibrates across the counter.
Emilia’s name appears on the screen. Or should I call her Mrs. Marinova now, being that she’s the wife of a Mob boss?
The thought alone makes me sick. My best friend married to a psychopath. Aleksei’s whole family is crazy.
I swear, I think she lost her mind when she decided to stay with Konstantin. Every day, I worry that something will happen to her or she’ll get caught up in whatever illegal dealings he’s involved with.
She used to walk the straight and narrow, a damn good agent for the Bureau, until her brother got arrested and everything spiraled. It’s hard for me to get over it all. I can only imagine how hard it’s been for her.
But if she’s truly happy with that crazy motherfucker, I guess I can be happy for her too.
Having Aleksei as a brother-in-law has to be hell, though. The man walks around with a permanent stick up his ass.
That is, unless he’s busy tormenting me with mind games or filthy innuendos. Then, of course, he’s smiling.
Smug, infuriating bastard.
“Hey, Em,” I answer.
“Hey. How are you?”
Not well. I possibly have a second stalker. And the one you’re related to, he’s making it real hard not to commit murder.
“I’m good. Got a hair appointment in a bit, then stopping by my parents’ later. What are you up to?”
She sighs. “How are they holding up?”
“They’re managing as best they can.”
What else can I say? Their life is imploding too.
“I wish there was something I could do to help, but I know you’d never accept Konstantin’s money.”
“Absolutely not. You know I love you, Em, but when it comes to the Marinovs, I want no part.”
“I know. I get it. But can you at least come over for dinner and get to know him? I’m sure you’ll like him once you do.”
I bite back the truth. That’ll never happen. The only way I’d sit down to dinner with that family is if someone forced me.
As in tied me to a chair and gagged me.
“I’ll think about it. But how are you?” I deflect. “How’s life as a…Mob wife?”
That’s so hard to say out loud.
My best friend, the Mob wife. What the fuck…
“Oh, you know. Between all the sex and the money, I’m actually exhausted.”
“Tragic, really. I’ll light a candle for you.” An easy laugh falls out of me.
“No, but for real, it’s been good. I’ve been helping Konstantin with his company, which has really helped distract me from…you know…”
My heart squeezes. Emilia’s been through hell since she married Konstantin. Betrayal, danger, trauma. But she’s the strongest person I know.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I wish it hadn’t all gone down the way it did.”
“Me too.” Her words break a little, and all I want to do is hug her.
A woman’s muffled words interrupt on her end.
“Ugh, sorry. I’ve gotta go. Apparently running an empire means I never get to finish a goddamn conversation.”
“Go, boss lady,” I tease, forcing lightness I don’t feel.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay? I really miss you.” Emilia’s voice catches just a little at the end. Barely noticeable, unless you know her like I do. “Let’s get lunch soon, okay?”
I press the phone tighter to my ear. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Okay. We’ll plan something later.”
“Alright. Bye.”
She hangs up, and I’m left staring at nothing.
The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It’s dense, heavy, creeping around the edges and settling over me like a fog I can’t push through.
I should be thinking about the letters. The masked man. The possibility that he’s still out there. But my mind doesn’t go there. It goes somewhere worse.
It goes to him.
The monster. The ghost. The devil incarnate. The man who’s found a way to slither under my skin, leaving pieces of himself there like splinters I can’t dig out.
And buried under all that, a dark, treacherous part of me wants to know exactly what he’ll do when he finally decides to take what he wants…and how long he’ll make me beg for it.