Chapter 11
Roxy
On the drive to Cambridge, I almost got into an accident…or two.
First, a deer steps lazily out onto the two-lane road and turns its large unblinking eyes to my car. My brain lags for a second before I pound on the brake, cursing quietly, dragging into the opposite lane.
In the rearview mirror, a deer’s tail flaps, then it is gone; it’s not dawn yet, and I can barely see through the early-morning darkness.
When I called out of work sick, Lauren didn’t question it. There’s no way she knows, right?
About what happened in the cabin.
About how I let Makari Medvedev, Bratva leader and ruthless criminal, put his hands on me and make me come like I haven’t in years.
You liked it.
I push the thought away, shaking my head. Four more hours and I’ll be at Kat’s house, hugging my little girl. A few days ago I got the news that my offer on the little riverside house in Bar Harbor was accepted.
That was before I gave in to the undeniable attraction I'd been fighting for weeks.
How did I not realize it was him?
The Bear.
The mask.
But how could I have known? That night in the bank we didn’t exchange names or numbers. We were strangers to each other, lost in one another.
The interstate stretches out in a gray blur, trees flashing past like the ribs of some giant creature swallowing me whole. Rainwater still clings to my hairline, tucked under the collar of my jacket, but most of the storm is inside me now.
A storm named Makari Medvedev.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and try—again—to breathe normally.
It doesn’t work.
Every time I blink, I feel his hands again. His mouth. The way he’d kissed me—like he already owned every breath I’d ever taken.
My cheeks heat. God. Get a grip.
But my body remembers him far too well. All of him.
He’s the nightmare that’s been pursuing me for years, the one I’ve prayed would eventually catch up—and now he has.
My skin is a traitor, humming at the memory of the way he pressed me against the cabin wall, his breath rough, his voice low and ruined in a way I’d never heard before.
I squeeze my thighs together. That doesn’t help either.
The worst part—the part that makes me want to scream at myself until I’m hoarse—is that I want him. Badly. Even now, even knowing full well what he is, who he is, what he’s capable of.
You shouldn’t look at me like that. He’d said it like a warning.
How exactly am I looking at you?
Like you’re finally admitting just what I do to you.
I curse under my breath. The GPS announces another twenty minutes until the next exit. I swallow hard, pulling my attention back to the road. I need to focus. I need to shake him off. I need to see my daughter. That’s the only thing that matters.
Andrea. Think of Andi.
But the universe—or my own stupidity—has other plans. I almost blew right through a stop sign, mind torn between memories of the bank vault and just the other day. The way the orgasm felt like a storm rolling through me after years of drought.
A massive petrol tanker blares its horn, the sound tearing through my skull, and I jerk the wheel so hard my tires screech. “Jesus Christ!”
My heart slams against my ribs. I pull over, hands shaking uncontrollably on the wheel.
Focus, Roxy. Makari is not worth dying over. Not worth crashing over. He’s not worth losing everything you’ve built. I’ve spent the last six, almost seven years without him and been fine. But… something inside me echoes at that statement.
I inhale. Exhale.
When I pull back onto the road, I keep both hands locked at ten and two like a panicked driving-school student.
I concentrate on the lines of the asphalt, the hum of the engine, the familiar skyline as Cambridge eventually rises in the distance like a sigh of relief.
I don’t let my thoughts drift back to the cabin.
Or his mouth. Or what we did on that table.
But the moment I turn onto Kat’s street, everything shifts. This is why I came. This is what matters. And it also complicates things—because Andi is Makari’s daughter.
Inside, I hear voices—my mother’s low hum and Andi’s excited chatter. Just like that, every nerve in my body softens. I opened the door.
“Mommy!” A small blur rockets toward me.
“Andi—oh baby—” I catch her mid-run and pull her into my arms, burying my face in her hair. She smells like crayons and cocoa butter and everything good in the world. My throat tightens painfully.
“Mommy, you’re early! Nana said next week! Why are you here?” Her little hands grip my cheeks, a bit sticky, but it grounds me. “Did you miss me too much? ’Cause I missed you soooo much.”
I laugh weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart. I missed you that much. And I have some good news. Where’s Grandma? Where’s Auntie Kat?”
My mom appears at the end of the hallway, her brows knitting in confusion. “Roxanne? Honey, what—did something happen? You said you weren’t coming until—”
“Hey, Mom. I need to talk to Katherine.” My voice comes out sharper than intended.
My mother’s eyes widen—because I never cut her off. Ever. She glances toward the kitchen, worried. “She’s home, but—”
A few seconds later, Katherine steps out of the kitchen with her arms already crossed, as if she’d been preparing for a battle she didn’t expect to happen this soon.
“Wow,” she says, flicking her eyes over my rumpled clothes, my messy hair, my clenched jaw. “You look like hell. Bad day in Bar Harbor?”
I set Andi gently down and straighten. “Katherine. What the hell did you do?”
My mom quickly grabs Andi, whispering to her and carrying her upstairs. Andi watches over Mom’s shoulder with a serious, worried expression.
Katherine’s eyebrows lift a fraction. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I step closer. “I asked you what the hell you were thinking, getting me a job with the Bratva.”
Her expression shutters, but not fast enough. “So he told you?” she asks, voice flat.
“He? You mean Makari Medvedev? The Bear?” My voice cracks. “You got me hired by a literal crime syndicate without telling me?”
She tilts her head. “Roxy, don’t be dramatic. You asked if it was the mafia, and it’s not.”
“Dramatic?” I laugh—a sharp, disbelieving sound that stings my own ears. “I’m working for a man who stores weapons in bunkers, runs illegal routes through the forest, and terrifies every person who comes within ten feet of him—”
“Terrifies you?” she cuts in, arms folding tighter.
I open my mouth. Close it. My silence is answer enough.
Katherine smirks. “Didn’t think so. You know, it was him at the masquerade.
When you were in college?” She can tell by the lack of a reaction that I already realized and nods.
“You didn’t seem too terrified of him back then, Roxy.
He probably doesn’t even remember you; you left the party early, remember? ”
I want to scream. Because Kat is wrong—Makari definitely remembers me, and what happened in the vault. Kat saw me leaving early, but she wasn’t there when he demanded the vault be locked down. When he took me in a way no man ever has before.
I step closer, finally managing to ignore the history between Makari and me. “What were you thinking?” I whisper. “What about Andi? What about keeping us safe? You didn’t think this through at all.”
“I did,” she snaps. Her tone is sharp as broken glass. “I thought it through better than you ever have. You needed a real job, Roxy. A steady one. Something that pays. Something that gets you out of your fantasy of working at some cute nonprofit making peanuts while Mom bankrolls your life.”
The words hit like a slap. That’s a lie; I’ve never taken money from Mom. But the guilt still roots deep. I feel it like heat rising from my chest to my cheeks.
“My only goal is to be a good mother,” I manage, voice cracking.
“And good mothers make sacrifices.” Katherine’s tone hardens. “Good mothers do what it takes. Good mothers don’t waste time chasing idealistic nonsense. Plus, Ursa Arcane does just as much good as it does bad. Right? That’s how Medvedev manages to stay legitimate.”
“Idealistic—?” I stare at her. Disbelieving. “You think wanting a job that isn’t criminal is idealistic?”
She sighs long and theatrically. “You’re na?ve, Roxy. Always have been. That’s why I set this up. Because you weren’t going to get anywhere on your own.”
My fists clench.
“And now,” she adds, “you’re in it. So you either keep that job and do what’s necessary…or you walk away from all of us. Because The Bear won’t just let you go.”
Her words thud into me like stones. I suddenly feel cold. Empty. Like she’s just stripped me bare in front of my own reflection.
“Kat…” My voice is barely a whisper. “How could you say that?”
“That’s reality,” she says simply. “Grow up.”
My mouth clamps shut. There’s nothing left to say, nothing she would hear, anyway.
Andi wanders back in from the living room, clutching her teddy. “When can we live together again, Mommy?” she asks, tiny voice full of hope.
My heart breaks clean in half.
“Soon,” I whisper, kneeling and gathering her into my arms again. “I promise, my love. Soon.”
She squeezes me tight. I look over her shoulder at Katherine. My sister stands stiffly, arms crossed, jaw set, eyes judgmental and cold as polished stone.
I pull away just enough to smile at Andi. “Do you want to see pictures of our new home?”
Her whole face lights up. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”
I pull out my phone. She climbs into my lap as I flip through photos of the cabin that I’ll be signing the documents for next week—my new home, her new home. A real one.
But is it safe? The question makes my stomach knot. It’s only a few miles from Makari Medvedev’s compound, which might itself be the safest place on the east coast…but a man like The Bear doesn’t exist without enemies.
Do I want my daughter that close to danger?
She squeals when she sees the photo of which room will be her bedroom. “Mommy, it’s purple! And so big! Is that my window?”
I smile through the ache in my chest, a chuckle slipping out. The room is purple, and I’d be thinking of repainting, but I guess not. “All yours.”
But as she babbles excitedly, I feel my stomach twist—not with joy. With dread.
Because in every picture, from every angle, in every feature of her little face, I see him. And I know, with a certainty that makes my blood turn to ice, that Makari Medvedev will figure it out. He’s a dangerous man and a smart one.
My mom, who has been looking at the photos over our shoulders, gives me a one-armed hug. “You did good, Rox,” she murmurs.
It should reassure me, but all I feel is the pounding of my heart and the draining worry that The Bear might be furious once he puts the pieces together.