Chapter 22
22
Elise
T he next morning I head out to confront Shauna.
I’m not convinced I’ll get anything out of her, but I have to try. Despair is too powerful a force when I can feel the Konstantinov shadow looming over me.
Carefully, I get out of the Ford, which I parked a half block down and across the street, so she wouldn’t see me coming.
“There you are,” I mutter, watching her as she arranges dark pink peonies in a large scarlet container in the window. I cross the street and head straight for the door, determined to get some answers.
“Crap,” I say to myself when she sees me. Her eyes go wide and I hurry forth, but she’s faster.
By the time I reach the front door, it’s locked. Shauna smirks at me from inside as she turns over the sign in the window that says “Out to lunch. Back in an hour.”
“It’s early morning, you bitch!” I shout, banging my fist on the door to no avail. All I can do is watch as she goes into the back, disappearing from my sight altogether. I could call, turn the shop’s phone line red hot. I could spam her website with negative reviews. Anything to get her attention, to get her to come out and talk to me.
“Dammit, Shauna, I need to know who keeps sending me flowers!” I snap and smack the door again.
I’m bawling my eyes out, slapping the glass and calling her every name in my urban dictionary, turning some pedestrian ears red as they decide to cross the street to get farther away from me.
“Oh, God,” I sob, embarrassed as I wipe the tears with the sleeves of my coat.
I must look like a crazy, raving lunatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody calls the sheriff. The last thing I need is for my name to go on any public record in this town.
Shauna is a dead end. She was always a dead end.
I drive around town for a while letting my thoughts run amok while I look around, wondering if I might spot Igor.
If he’s here, then I’ll know for sure who’s been sending the flowers. Otherwise, I will just continue to be uncertain.
As I pull up outside James’s house, the uncertainty turns into a gut-wrenching realization. I’m sick to my stomach, anguished and heart broken.
“There she is,” James says when I come into the living room.
It’s already dark out, the night settling quietly over the mountains. Tricia and Ainsley are dozing off on the sofa, a jack-o’-lantern-shaped bucket at their feet.
“Did they have fun trick or treating?”
James smiles. “They did. And they got into the candy before I could hide it. They are now crashing from their sugar high.”
I look at the sleeping girls and feel my heart breaking all over again. I already love them like my own and now I have to leave them.
“Are you okay?” James asks, giving me a worried look.
He gets up as I step closer. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a heartfelt kiss, pouring all the love I have in me into this one, simple gesture, making the most of every second I’ve got left with him. “I’m just tired,” I say. “Where are Oliver and Roman?”
“They should be back later,” he replies. “They’re finishing up some contract renewals in town.”
“Can I help you tuck the girls in?”
“Sure,” he smiles softly.
I can’t get enough of the warm green of his eyes, of the honey-like sweetness that his voice fills me with, or the sense of strength and security that his presence alone gives me. I’ll miss it. All of it. But I swallow the pain back and smile as I scoop Tricia into my arms.
“I’ll get the other scoundrel,” James says as he picks up Ainsley. They both stir and grumble.
“Mama,” Tricia whispers, hiding her face in my sweater. It feels like a punch in the chest.
“What did she say?” James asks, eyes wide with muted shock.
“Mama,” Tricia says again, sluggishly looking up at me.
“Oh, honey,” I reply with a soft smile. I kiss her forehead as I carry her up the stairs, James following closely with Ainsley. Once we’re in their bedroom, we gently set them both in their beds.
“Read us a story?” Ainsley mumbles, though barely awake.
“An automated request,” I giggle.
James kisses her forehead then pulls the thick covers over Ainsley and her sister one at a time. “Tomorrow night, I promise. You’re both exhausted. You’ll be dreaming better stories in a minute or two, don’t worry.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“I love you both to the moon and back, you know that, right?” His voice trembles ever so slightly whenever he says those words. I know he means them with his sweet, innocent daughters.
“Now and forever,” Tricia mutters, eyes closed, lips curling into a delicate smile.
From where I’m standing, they look like angels from a Renaissance painting. Creamy skin, cute freckles scattered about their round cheeks, playful, copper-colored curls splayed across the pillows.
I’ll miss them more than words can say.
James comes over and takes me in his arms. “Have you had dinner?” he quietly asks.
“I nibbled a bit, yeah,” I reply. “I could eat, though.”
“Good. We’ve got plenty of leftovers from earlier.”
We head back downstairs and into the kitchen. James watches me while I eat, occasionally grabbing a bite for himself with a childish smirk as he twirls his fork through the spaghetti. “This came out really good,” he laughs.
“You used fresh tomatoes for the sauce?”
“Greenhouse produce, but yeah.”
“They still make all the difference.”
“Did you talk to Shauna about the flowers?” he asks.
My appetite flies out the window. “She wasn’t available. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“I can call her, you know.”
“No, it’s okay. I need to handle this on my own.”
James inches closer, carefully eyeing me. “Why, Elise?”
“Because whoever sent those flowers, they sent them to me. I should be able to figure something so simple out on my own, don’t you think?”
“If you want my help—”
“I know,” I reply with a soft smile. “Want another bite?”
The front door opens and closes with a thud. I hear their boots as they head into the kitchen. Oliver and Roman join us, both smiling with radiant satisfaction.
“I take it you signed all the renewal extensions today,” James concludes.
“Mrs. Phelps from the drugstore even got her cousin with the bridal shop involved. We’re looking at a new client in Rustic for next year,” Oliver says. “It’s a small contract, but the whole town is switching to our agency. I reckon we’ll have all the local businesses by the end of next year.”
We laugh and talk as we eat. They drink wine. I stick to lemonade, pretending I have a mild headache and that drinking alcohol would probably make it worse. They tell me about their day, I lie about mine. It’s warm and comfy; it’s home.
Every minute I spend in James, Oliver, and Roman’s company feels like torture.
I don’t know how to say goodbye to them.
So I make love to them instead.
Once they’re fast asleep, I slither out of bed like a snake in the grass and rush to my room. I pack just enough for the road, then grab my wallet, my phone, and the few precious belongings I have left. I sold the wedding band and a handful of jewels I got from Igor’s father when I needed a security deposit for Mr. Ronald’s cabin.
Light on my feet, I head downstairs, carefully fishing the Ford keys out of the catchall bowl without a single jingle resonating through the house. It tears me apart on the inside, but they’re better off with me as far away from them as possible.
I reach for the door…
The hallway light comes on.
“Elise?” James’s voice travels down the stairs, making my whole body stiffen with shame and dread. Slowly, I turn around, keys in my jacket pocket, phone in one hand, bag slung over my shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Five minutes later I’m sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace.
Embers still glow from the earlier fire in a pile of dark ashes, the warmth radiating and softening my red cheeks.
James stands by the window, wearing nothing but boxer briefs. His arms are crossed, and each breath he takes sounds louder than usual. “I need to understand what the fuck is going on here,” he says.
“You have to talk to us, Elise,” Oliver pleads, equally distraught.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, trying to breathe as tears sting my eyes.
“Make me understand,” Roman replies. He’s taking it the hardest. His blue eyes are dark and stormy, his jaw locked, and he can’t even look at me. I can almost feel the anger coursing through his veins. “You were going to do what, exactly? Disappear in the night? Like nothing ever happened?”
“You don’t understand! I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice!” he snarls, startling me.
The tears flow freely down my cheeks. Oliver gives him a nudge, quietly demanding that he restrain himself. I let my gaze wander over their bare chests, taking in as much detail as possible.
Who knows if I’ll ever see them again.
“I don’t want to leave, and certainly not like this, but—”
“Dammit, Elise, whatever the matter is, you can tell us. Make it make sense, please,” James interjects, emotions flaring brightly in his tormented gaze.
“You owe us the truth,” Oliver adds.
“The truth is ugly!” I cry out. “The truth shouldn’t be your problem. I can’t saddle you with any of it.”
James shakes his head. “We’re the ones who decide that. Tell us. Everything.”
“Start at the beginning,” Roman says. “And don’t fucking lie.”
I’m guessing he must’ve figured out at least a couple of lies I’ve told so far. I can’t blame him for feeling so angry and betrayed.
I shudder, running a hand through my hair. My palms are clammy. “It all started when I was eight years old. My brother was just a toddler. He’d barely turned two when our parents died. My father was an accountant for Lev Konstantinov, head of the Chicago Bratva.”
The blood drains from their faces but they remain quiet as I take a deep breath and tell them my story before I shut down completely.
“When my parents died, I thought it was just another terrible random act of violence, a shooting in the neighborhood where my parents were collateral damage. Mikey, my brother, was too little to understand. Turns out, I was too little, as well. Lev took us in.”
I continue. “We were never officially adopted but Lev became our legal guardian. We had a home, a family, clothes on our backs, good food on the table. We were never without. His eldest son, Igor, was twenty at the time. About eleven years later, we were engaged, then married.”
“Fuck me sideways, you’re married?” Oliver blurts out.
“It wasn’t really my choice. I mean, yeah, I had choices,” I say, giving Roman a heavy sideways glance, “but the Konstantinovs were all I ever knew. I understood who they were and what they were capable of, and I pretended I didn’t have anything to do with that. Lev made sure that Mike and I were kept out of it.
“Igor was kind and sweet. As soon as I turned eighteen, he made his feelings known. Honestly, he was the first man I ever let get close to me, the only man I knew besides Lev. Lev put the thought in my head over the years that, someday, Igor and I would be married, that I’d have a home of my own, that I’d become a Konstantinov. I believed him. I believed them , and for a while, it was okay. Mike was able to receive a premium education, just as I was. We were never without, and a life away from all of that didn’t make sense. We’d already lost our parents. I stayed and I tried to love Igor; I really did.”
“What happened?” James asks, his brow furrowed.
“As the years went by, doubt kept growing inside of me. I started to feel like nothing was really what it seemed. Maybe it was my intuition, maybe my subconscious was finally seeing the signs that had been there all along—signs that I, as a child, couldn’t have spotted. Maybe it’s why I was so careful not to get pregnant while Igor and I were together. I saw how cruel he could be to others, including his brother Andrei and his sister Kara. Slowly but surely, the mask came off.
“Igor is a fucking monster. Always has been. And my father found out.”
Roman scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re telling me that twenty-year-old Igor killed your parents?”
“Not with his bare hands, but he orchestrated the assassination. There were rumors. I picked up on them here and there. A dinner with the Grinkovs. Brunch with Dmitri Jr., the Gorov boss. I was always present by Igor’s side, smiling and looking pretty along with the other Bratva wives. Then I started paying attention, really paying attention. Listening. Watching. And everything became painfully clear. I’d married a monster.”
“And your brother?” Oliver asks.
“He’s at college now and still in the Konstantinov fold. He doesn’t know the truth. I figured it would be safer for him. I couldn’t fight those bastards alone, and the law is crooked in Chicago. I couldn’t trust anybody. I tried and It almost killed me.”
“And?” James prompts me to continue.
“Igor realized that I was picking up on the truth. He got violent with me. He thought it would be enough to terrorize me into submission. I played my part because I needed the truth. I had to know. So, every morning, right after he’d go out for his meetings, I’d sneak into his home office and rummage through his papers, all of his bookshelves and cabinets. Eventually, I found a secret safe. It took me a while, but I managed to get it open.”
“What did you find in there?”
I can still see it, as if I’m still holding it in my trembling hands.
“A handful of ledgers and other accounting books all bearing my father’s handwriting, each carrying proof that Igor had been pilfering from Lev’s businesses. A couple of thousand bucks here, a hundred grand there. He’d amassed quite the fortune by the time he was twenty. Problem was that when my father first reported the issues, Lev was furious, and the wrong guy was pinned for it, a lieutenant of his. Somewhere in the ledger, my father recorded the issues until it became obvious and impossible to deny that Igor didn’t just steal from his father—he let an innocent guy die screaming in agony.”
“Jesus,” Roman mutters, lowering his gaze.
“Lev Konstantinov is not a merciful man, especially if you steal from him,” I continue as I get up from my seat, moving closer to the fireplace. I get restless whenever I look back into my past. “I had proof against Igor, and I confronted him about it. He got violent. Worse than before. Then he said that his father already knew, telling me if I tried to push this any further, I’d disappear, and he’d do the same to Michael.
“One morning, we were all at Lev’s house for breakfast. They were all so happy, getting along great. It made me feel like the odd one out. I tried to talk to them about my dad, but Lev cut me off. He said the past should stay in the past and that I shouldn’t scratch that old wound. I suppose it was his subtle way of telling me to shut up.”
James turns toward me, arms still crossed while a muscle ticks furiously in his jaw. “What happened next?”
“I made a plan. I tried to go to the authorities, but I wound up unknowingly talking to one of the cops on the Konstantinov payroll. It got me a ride back to the house in the back of a police car and a promise I’d end up like my mom and dad if I didn’t leave well enough alone. I tried talking to Mike about the whole thing, but he idolizes Igor. I couldn’t get through to him. The mere mention that Igor might’ve had something to do with our parents’ murder… he rejected it. I had no choice but to find a way out in a manner that might ensure my survival. Igor kept a close eye on me, but I knew our house better than he ever did. I was the one who took care of it after all.
“Over the following weeks, I gathered evidence: pages from the ledger, photocopies of the books. I even managed to sneak one of the actual accounting books out of his safe. I cut the original cover and wrapped it around a Dostoyevsky novel so Igor wouldn’t notice. I took as many photos as I could with my phone of anything I thought might be incriminating at some point, and I set aside money and jewels just in case.”
Oliver takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Then you ran away.”
“I snuck out of the house one night. Mike never understood why, and like I said, I figured he was safer not knowing the reason. Turns out, I was right. Lev has kept him close while Igor has been out looking for me.”
“It’s why you came all the way out here to the middle of nowhere,” James realizes. “You wanted to get as far away from them as possible.”
Roman is on his phone, probably googling their names. He needs to put faces to the people of my past, which I completely understand. But there’s something unspoken between the men, something very much present in their stolen glances. “Shit,” Roman says. He looks at me. “Have you spoken to or seen Igor since you came here?”
“No,” I shake my head slowly. “I thought I saw him once, but—” I pause as he shows me a photo of him on his phone. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“He’s in town, Elise,” he replies. “Has been for at least a couple of months.”
“What?” I mumble, my blood running cold.
It’s not what I wanted to hear but it is definitely what I had dreaded all along and what made me decide to leave this place in the dead of night. Even so, having my fears confirmed makes my stomach tighten.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, sitting down, my knees suddenly feeling weak. “I kept a low profile. I only called Mike from a burner phone, never mentioned where I was or what I was doing. I didn’t contact anyone else from my old life, from Chicago. Nobody.”
“Did they ever file a missing person’s report for you?” James asks.
I shake my head again. “I doubt it. Igor wouldn’t want the federal authorities involved, which is most likely what would happen since I crossed state lines. I came to Rustic because it was far away and the complete opposite of where I came from and where I expected him to look for me. I hoped Igor would assume I was somewhere on the coast. West or East, it didn’t matter. I made sure he heard me talking about the ocean a few times before I left.”
“Planting the seed in his subconscious,” Oliver nods with appreciation. “Smart girl.”
“Clearly, not smart enough,” I sigh deeply. “When did you see him? Where?”
James gives me a troubled look. “At a coffee shop in Rustic. I was with the girls. We even talked for a bit. He told me his name was Carl, then gave me a sob story about how his wife left him and he would never find anyone else. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Elise, you should’ve told us about all of this long before now.”
“Sure, because that would’ve gone over so well,” I say sarcastically.
“You thought you were safe here,” he says.
I lower my gaze, sadness adding bitterness to my tone. “You made me feel safe, all of you. But then those flowers came to my place and then to yours—”
“Wait. You got flowers before the ones that arrived here the other day?” Roman asks.
“Yeah, a while back. Shauna wouldn’t tell me who sent them. ‘Client confidentiality,’ she called it. I tried to get her to tell me more, but she obviously hates my guts and gave me nothing but a hard time.”
James curses under his breath, trying hard to keep his anger contained. “Will you let one of us talk to her? We might be able to get more out of Shauna this time.”
“What’s there to get out of her? I know it was Igor. It had to be him. You confirmed that he’s been in town for a while. He must’ve followed me, though I don’t understand why he hasn’t come after me yet.”
A heavy silence falls over the room.
“I’ll leave now and get out of your way. Nobody gets hurt if I leave.”
“What are you talking about?” James asks, giving me a rather confused look.
“Igor is after me . You have no dog in this fight whatsoever. Plus, the girls—”
“Elise, you leave the girls’ safety to me. Trust me, he will not get anywhere near them. But I don’t want you going anywhere, especially not now, not after everything we’ve learned.”
“I don’t understand how can you say that. James, this is the Chicago Bratva we’re talking about. Old-school Russian mob. They don’t take prisoners; they just simply make people disappear. And there is always collateral damage when they come after someone. I don’t want any of you getting hurt, including Janice. Anyone who I am close to is in potential danger. If I leave now, it’ll be better and safer for everyone.”
“ This is the safest place for you right now,” Oliver says, agreeing with James. “We’re former Army Rangers, remember?”
Not that it had slipped my mind, but I didn’t really consider it either. “Oliver, please. This is hard enough for me as it is. I’m sorry, I just… as soon as I saw those flowers yesterday, I knew it was time to go. I have evidence against Igor. I’ve saved enough money to get ahead of him, and once Mr. Ronald releases my deposit on the cabin, I’ll have him wire it to a post office box near wherever I end up.”
“No,” Roman says. “Absolutely not. You’re staying here so we can talk this through and figure out what’s what. You’re not going anywhere. You’ll be safe here.”
“Roman.”
He gets up and walks over to my chair, his brow still furrowed but his gaze a tad softer. He kneels before me and takes my hands in his. “While I’m furious that you kept so much from us, I can’t exactly blame you either,” he says. “It’s a messed-up situation, and it pisses me off that we didn’t know about any of it sooner. We might’ve been able to avoid him finding you. But it’s not too late to come up with a plan that gets you out of harm’s way without you having to leave Rustic.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why are you willing to go to such extreme lengths for me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” James blurts out. “All that talk earlier about a relationship… did you think we were just going with the flow and having our fun? Elise, dammit, I’m in love with you, and I’m not letting anybody take you away from me. From us.”
“We all are,” Oliver chimes in.
“Huh?”
“ We’re in love with you, Elise,” he says. “I thought you already knew.”
Heat rushes to my face and I’m unsure of how to react. Such words would have sounded much sweeter under different circumstances. “I–I don’t know what to say.”
“Is it mutual? Or are we just three idiot mountain men in love with a woman who doesn’t love us back?” Roman snaps.
“I’m in love with all of you, too,” I quickly reply, meaning every word. “I just wish I could’ve said it under different circumstances, you know?”
James stays by the window as Oliver comes closer. He cups my face in his hands and pulls me into a kiss. “You’re staying here until we come up with a plan,” he says.
“We run an elite private security company, remember?” James adds. “We can—and we will—protect you.”
“Okay, okay,” I concede albeit with a bit of fear and doubt. “I’ll stick around if you think it’s best.”
I attempt to stand but Roman gently pushes me back down. “There’s more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Igor isn’t the only Konstantinov in town,” he says.
“Kara,” I sigh. “I saw her, too.”
“Jesus, Elise. You should have told us,” he says and exhales sharply.
“But I don’t think she saw me. I’m not sure she knows I’m here.”
“But Igor knows,” Oliver frowns. “He has to be the one who sent both bouquets of flowers if for no other reason than to toy with you.”