Bonus Scene
TEN MONTHS LATER
Ten months.
Ten months of running from shadows and pretending I wasn’t looking over my shoulder every time I left our apartment. Ten months of Priscilla’s private investigators lurking behind tinted windows and following us through grocery store aisles.
And now, finally, after months of Caden playing chess against a woman who never played fair… We are free. At least for a few hours.
The jet engine’s hum beneath my feet as Caden guides me down the steps of his plane into the cool New York air. Until two hours before takeoff, I hadn’t known where Anna was. Not the city, not the state, not even if she was in the country.
Caden had been adamant. “The fewer who know, the safer she is.”
I agreed every time he said it. But agreeing didn’t make the wait easier. Didn’t soften the ache of not seeing my sister for ten long, terrifying months.
Now, standing outside an unmarked gray building tucked behind a row of warehouses, the air burns cold in my chest. My nerves tangle with something like hope—raw and sharp and almost painful.
Caden’s hand slides down my arm until his fingers thread through mine. “You ready?” he asks softly.
I nodded, even though I’m not ready at all. “Take me to her.”
Inside, the facility doesn’t look like a hospital.
It looks like a fortress.
The hallways are wide and immaculate, lit by recessed ceiling panels that give off a soft white glow. Everything smells faintly of antiseptic and citrus. It’s silent, except for the low beep of distant medical machines.
And the guards.
I stare at the first one as we round a corner—a broad-shouldered man with Slavic features and a jaw that could probably crack concrete. He stands outside a locked door with a stance that screams military or something worse.
As we walk deeper into the facility, I notice more of them. Some with tattoos peeking out from beneath their sleeves, others wearing expressionless calm that is more chilling than aggression.
I lean closer to Caden. “Is Anna really safe here?”
A low voice answers behind us—not Caden’s. “She’s safer here than she has ever been.”
I turn. And nearly stumble into Caden’s back.
The man approaching is enormous.
Not just tall—towering.
Over six-and-a-half feet tall, built like he could bench press a car, he’s dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that somehow makes him even more intimidating. His skin is a tawny golden brown and his chiseled jaw leads to a jagged scar along his throat.
His eyes are pale icy grayish-amber—piercing, watchful.
Caden greets him with a nod. “Zykin.”
Ah.
The Don. The leader of the Russian Bratva in Little Odessa.
The man Caden owes two favors to. And me, I owe him everything.
Zykin’s gaze sweeps over me—not leering, just assessing. “Kamiyah, yes?”
My mouth goes dry. “Yes.”
He inclines his head. “Your sister is safe. No one would dare infiltrate our safe zone.” He says it as casually as someone promising the weather would hold. But as my gaze flickers to the nearest guard—silent, immovable—I believe him.
Zykin gestures for us to follow. His stride is long, and Caden matches it easily, though he keeps his arm around my back, steadying me. I try to keep up as my heart thrums painfully in my chest.
Every door we pass has someone guarding it.
Each hallway watched. And then—finally—Zykin stops at the last room on the wing. He keys in a code, then pushes the door open.
The room was stunning.
Lavish, but serene.
Soft lighting, white walls with pale gray accents, an enormous bed with crisp linens, and an entire wall of glass that overlooks a private enclosed garden. From hidden speakers, calming, peaceful music drifts into the room as if to keep my sister company.
“Take your time,” Zykin says quietly. “She’s receiving the best care.”
I swallow hard. “Thank you, Zykin, this is beautiful.”
He steps aside, giving me a clear view of the bed. Of Anna, and my knees nearly buckle.
A soft braid rests along her nape. Her skin looks warm, healthy. Her breathing is steady beneath the blanket tucked up to her chest. A quiet hum sounds from the machines as their lights blink steadily, creating a steady pattern.
She looks peaceful.
She looks more like my vibrant sister.
I take one shaky step closer. Then another. Until my hand hovers over hers and I finally close the distance, grabbing her fingers with both of mine.
“Anna,” I whisper, and my voice breaks on the sound of her name. “Oh, my God.”
Warm.
Soft.
Real.
My breath shatters into a sob.
Behind me, Zykin murmurs something in Russian. Then the door closes quietly as all three men step out, leaving me alone with my sister.
I press her hand to my cheek, tears spilling freely.
“I missed you,” I whisper. “More than you’ll ever know.
” My voice wavers, echoing in the quiet room.
“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry you had to be hidden like this.
But I swear, I will not abandon you. This was the only way to protect you.
The only way to keep Priscilla from using you. ”
I brush my thumb over her knuckles, feeling the soft give of her skin.
“I promise you… you aren’t alone. I carried you with me every single day.”
My stomach twists with emotion.
Fear.
Love.
“And there’s more,” I whisper, smiling. “Something I need to tell you.” My heart pounds loudly in my ears. “I’m pregnant.” The words tremble out of me, so soft I barely hear them.
I take her hand and guide it to my stomach—the barely there swell beneath my dress. “Three months, Anna. You’re going to be an aunt.”
And then her fingers move.
I freeze, staring downward at her small hand against my stomach. Her hand—not twitching involuntarily, not spasming—but gripping mine.
A true squeeze.
“Anna?” My voice cracks.
My breath catches as her fingers tighten again—weak but unmistakably intentional.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside her bed. “Anna—Anna, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids don’t flutter.
Her breathing stays steady.
Her face doesn’t change.
But her hand holds mine.
Firm.
Purposeful.
A choked laugh breaks through my tears. “You’re still fighting. You’re still in there.” Emotion explodes through me—joy so sharp it hurts.
“I love you,” I say fiercely, pressing her hand to my lips. “And I’m not leaving you again. You hear me? I’m right here.”
Her fingers tighten once more. And for the first time in ten months, hope didn’t feel like a fragile dream.
It feels real.
It feels certain.
It feels like Anna is coming back to me.