CHAPTER 21
SLOANE
The lights of Las Vegas twinkle like artificial stars beyond the penthouse windows.
It's Friday night, and for the first time in weeks, I feel almost normal.
Almost like the old Sloane from Brooklyn, the one who didn't have to worry about FBI conspiracies or Russian mobsters groping her in dressing rooms.
Harper and I are curled up on the giant living room sofa, surrounded by soft blankets and fluffy pillows, with a huge bowl of popcorn between us. On the giant wall screen, Julia Roberts is arguing with Richard Gere in Pretty Woman , one of our favorite girls' night movies since high school.
"I'll never understand why rich people don't eat popcorn with butter." Harper reaches into the bowl and shoves a handful into her mouth. "It's the best part."
I smile, watching her slyly. Her hair is up in a messy bun, an old Ramones t-shirt stretched over her five-month baby bump, and yoga pants. No trace of the elegant woman Alexei shows off at public events. This is my Harper. The real one.
The baby seems especially active tonight. Every few minutes, I watch her instinctively place a hand on the side of her belly, as if soothing a kick.
"Is he restless today?" I ask, chinning toward her tummy.
"You have no idea," she replies with a mix of exhaustion and maternal pride. "Alexei says he's going to be a fighter like his uncle Dimitri. I think he just inherited his father's impatience."
Dimitri's name sends a familiar shiver down my spine. It's been several days since the incident in the dressing room, and I can still feel the phantom sensation of his fingers on my throat. Inside me. The memory wakes me up at night—panting, wet, confused.
"How's everything going with him?" Harper asks suddenly, as if she could read my mind.
I choke on the popcorn I was chewing.
"With who?" I manage to wheeze between coughs.
Harper rolls her eyes, passing me a bottle of water.
"With Dimitri, obviously. There's so much tension between you two, you could almost cut it with a knife."
Heat creeps up my neck to my cheeks. Am I that transparent?
"There's nothing between us," I lie, taking a long swig of water to buy time. "He's an arrogant asshole who drives me crazy."
Harper studies me with an intensity that reminds me why it's always been impossible to lie to her. She's always had that ability to see right through my excuses.
"Mmhmm," she murmurs, clearly unconvinced. "And that's why you look at each other like you want to devour each other every time you're in the same room."
The memory of Dimitri licking his fingers after making me come flashes through my mind. Devour is an all-too-accurate word.
"It's... complicated," I finally admit, lowering the volume on the TV with the remote. "I shouldn't feel what I feel for him."
Harper settles in, turning to face me directly, excited for this confidence.
"And what exactly do you feel?"
The million-dollar question. What do I feel for Dimitri Morozov? Attraction? Undeniably. Frustration? Stratospheric levels. Something deeper? That's the part I'm terrified to explore.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "He confuses me. He irritates me. And at the same time..."
"He turns you on like no one else," Harper finishes with a mischievous grin.
I can't help but laugh.
"You're terrible."
"I'm observant," she corrects, popping more popcorn into her mouth. "And I know that look. It's the same one I have when I look at Alexei."
Her words open a door I've been dreading crossing. It's the perfect moment to ask the questions I really need to. To hear the truth from her own mouth.
"Harper," I start, trying to keep my voice casual. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"More personal than admitting my brother-in-law gets you hot and bothered?" she jokes, but then her expression softens. "Sure, anything."
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.
"Are you truly happy here? With Alexei, with all this?" I gesture to encompass the luxurious penthouse. "Sometimes it seems like everything happened so fast..."
Harper stays silent for a moment, her hand absently rubbing her belly in circular motions. When she speaks, her voice has a quality I've never heard before: absolute certainty.
"I've never been happier in my entire life, Sloane."
The sincerity in her eyes hits me like a physical wave. There's no doubt in them, no shadow of fear or coercion.
"I know it seems crazy," she continues. "Meeting someone, falling in love, and expecting a baby in less than a year. If you had told me, I would have thought it was stupid."
She pauses, a soft smile lighting up her face. On the forgotten screen, Julia Roberts is trying on expensive dresses, but neither of us is paying attention to the movie now.
"But from the moment I met Alexei, I knew he was different.
That what we had was special." Her eyes shine when she talks about him, with a devotion that can't be faked.
"I never thought such a wonderful man could exist. He's protective without being controlling.
He's powerful, but he never abuses that power with me. He's... my partner in every way."
Something tightens painfully in my chest. Every word Harper speaks crumbles the narrative the FBI had presented to me a little more. She isn't talking like a victim. She isn't showing signs of being trapped. She's describing true love.
"But his world is dangerous," I say softly. "The casino, his business..."
Harper nods, her expression turning more serious.
"I'm aware that being a casino owner comes with... moral complications. The temptations, the gambling, the easy money." She pauses, as if weighing her next words. "I know Alexei isn't a saint, Sloane. There are parts of his business that are... questionable."
My heart races. Is she going to admit it? Is she going to confirm that she knows her husband is a mobster?
"But I love him," she continues, with an intensity that almost burns. "I love him with all my heart, with all his flaws and his darkness. And he loves me. He sees me, Sloane. Not someone's daughter, not a decorative object, but me. Harper."
Tears glisten in her eyes, and I feel my own forming in response. There's a purity in her statement that can't be denied. There isn't a shred of acting, nor an ounce of doubt.
"If you love him like that, then I'm happy for you," I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I just want you to be happy."
"I am," she affirms with a radiant smile. "And you could be too, if you stopped fighting what you feel for Dimitri."
My laugh sounds strangled, even to my own ears.
"It's not that simple."
"Love never is," she replies with the wisdom of someone who has fought her own battles. "Especially with a Morozov."
We spend the rest of the night watching the movie, eating popcorn, and talking about lighter things: baby names, designs for the nursery. But my mind is miles away, processing what I've just discovered.
Harper loves Alexei. Genuinely, deeply, completely. She isn't trapped, she isn't manipulated, she isn't forced.
The FBI lied to me. Or at least, they gave me a distorted version of reality.
Which means everything else could be fake, too.
Is Alexei really a dangerous criminal? Is Dimitri really the monster they described? Or are there more layers, more nuances that they've hidden from me?
As I say goodnight to Harper and head to my room, a decision crystallizes inside me. I need to discover the truth for myself. Not for the FBI, but for me. For Harper. For whatever is unfolding between Dimitri and me.
Who is Dimitri Morozov, really? A ruthless mobster, or the man who defended a vulnerable waitress and looked at me with desire and something deeper in his eyes? A criminal, or a man with a complex moral code? The enemy, or...?
I don't dare finish that thought. It's too terrifying to consider the alternative.
I collapse onto my bed, emotionally exhausted. I stare at the ceiling, where the city lights cast dancing shadows.
I'm really fucked. Because every minute that passes, every interaction, every revelation, pushes me further from my original mission and brings me closer to a truth that could destroy everything I thought I knew.
And the scariest part of all: a part of me wants it.