Chapter Forty-One
Ilona
I wake up in a golden haze that feels almost dreamlike.
I’m still wrapped in the soft sheets, my body humming with a satisfaction so deep it feels like it’s rewired my nervous system. Every nerve ending is still singing from last night— from Osip’s hands, his mouth, the way he consumed me like I was his last meal.
God, what did he do to me?
I stretch, feeling the delicious ache between my thighs, the tender spots where his fingers gripped my flesh, where his teeth marked my shoulder.
My skin still carries the phantom heat of his touch, and I can’t stop the smile that curves my lips.
Best sex of my life doesn’t even begin to cover what happened last night.
But then reality comes crashing back.
The contract.
The papers I signed with a trembling hand while my body was still buzzing from orgasm after orgasm. Five hundred thousand. For six months of… this. Of being his. But not his.
What the fuck did I just do?
I sit up abruptly. The weight of what I’ve agreed to settles on my chest like a stone. I sold myself. There’s no pretty way to dress it up, no romantic spin that makes it anything other than what it is. I’m a kept woman now. His kept woman.
The butterflies in my stomach feel more like ravens now, dark and ominous.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. Mom’s name flashes on the screen, and I almost let it go to voicemail. Almost. But guilt wins out— it always does with her.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Ilona, sweetheart.” Her voice carries that forced cheerfulness that means she’s been crying. “I have news about your father.”
My stomach plummets. “What kind of news?”
“I spoke to a private investigator yesterday. A really good one— acclaimed, with connections everywhere in the world. He thinks he can help us find out what really happened to your father.”
The hope in her voice is like a knife twisting in my chest. “That’s… that’s wonderful, Mom. What did he say?”
“Well, he needs a retainer. Twenty-five thousand to start, and then more, depending on what he finds.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I know it’s a lot of money. Even with my new job, I can’t… I just can’t afford it right now.”
Twenty-five thousand?
The irony is almost laughable. I have access to more money than I’ve ever dreamed of, sitting in an account that will be mine tomorrow. Money I’ve traded my soul for.
The urge to tell her everything— about the contract, about Osip, about the fact that I can solve this problem with a single phone call— suddenly burns in my throat.
But I can’t. Won’t. She’d think I’m some kind of high-end escort, selling my body for money.
And maybe… maybe she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
“Please, Mom,” I manage, my voice surprisingly steady. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“But honey, how can you possibly—?”
“I said I’ll handle it.” The sharpness in my tone makes me wince. “I have some savings, and I can figure out the rest. This is important. Dad deserves the truth.”
There’s a long pause on the other end. When Mom speaks again, her voice is smaller, more fragile.
“Ilona, you know I never believed it was suicide. Not for a second.”
My throat tightens. “I know, Mom.” It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. She can’t let it go. I can’t either.
“Your father was… he was struggling with something near the end. Something he couldn’t tell me about. But suicide?” She lets out a bitter laugh. “The man who used to lecture me about wearing my seatbelt, who made me promise to never walk alone after dark? He would never have done that. Never.”
The pain in her voice mirrors the ache in my chest, but I don’t say anything. I’d just be repeating what we’ve both said a thousand times.
“The police barely investigated,” Mom continues, her voice gaining strength as anger overtakes grief.
“Ruled it suicide within forty-eight hours. Case closed. But there were too many things that didn’t add up.
We’d been talking about taking a walk through Blue Hills that weekend.
He’d made plans for the following week— bought tickets to that medical conference in Philadelphia, already paid for the hotel.
Why would he do that if he didn’t intend to be around? Why, Ilona?”
I rub the ache that’s forming in the center of my forehead. We’ve been over this ground a thousand times, but hearing it again only reinforces what we both know: none of this makes sense.
“This investigator,” I say, my voice thick with unshed tears. “He really thinks he can find something?”
“He has contacts in Moscow, in the Russian medical community. He thinks Dad might have been involved in something… something that got him killed.”
Involved in something…
The words are heavy with implication. What could my father— gentle, healing hands that brought babies into the world— have possibly been involved in that would get him murdered?
“Ilona, I’m worried about you. You sound different. Are you okay? Is everything alright in Budapest?”
The sudden change of subject takes me a moment to process.
“I… uh… Everything’s fine, Mom. I just… I have to go. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“Wait, honey—”
“I love you, Mom. We’re going to find out what happened to him. I promise.”
I hang up before she can protest, my hands shaking as I set the phone down, avoiding questions I can’t answer. Questions that would lead to more questions, and more lies, until the web becomes so tangled I can’t find my way out.
Twenty-five thousand dollars to find my father’s killer.
The thought sits in my mind like a poisonous seed, growing roots. I have the money now— or I will, as soon as the contract is fully executed.
But then another thought strikes me: Jason. My former boss Jason Mulholland. He’d been my anchor during those terrible weeks after Dad’s death, the one person who’d looked me in the eye and said what everyone else was too polite to voice: this stinks to high heaven.
My fingers are already dialing his number before I’ve fully made the decision.
“Ilona.” His voice is warm with genuine pleasure, that familiar gravelly tone that used to calm me down when cases got too heated. “How are you holding up, kiddo?”
The nickname gives me a sudden rush of comfort. Like maybe I’m doing the right thing.
“I’m…” I pause, trying to figure out how to explain without explaining. “I’m surviving. But Jason, I need to ask you something. About Dad.”
The warmth in his voice shifts, becoming more focused. More professional. “What about him?”
“I want to hire a private investigator. Someone good. Someone who can dig into what really happened.”
There’s a long pause, and I can picture him in his office— probably leaning back in his chair, running his hand through his silver hair while he processes.
He’d stepped down as captain shortly after I left, but I know he’s still involved in investigations, and I doubt he’d ever be able to slide totally into retirement.
“Ilona, we’ve been over this. The Boston PD—”
“Did a terrible job.” The words come out sharply. “They asked a few questions, got the official suicide ruling, and called it a day. You know it, I know it, and anyone with half a brain who looked at that case file knows it.”
Another pause. When Jason speaks again, his voice has that edge I remember from when he was interrogating suspects who weren’t being entirely truthful.
“What’s brought this on? It’s been a year since your father died. Why now?”
“I can afford it now,” I say. “I’ve been saving, and I finally have enough to do this properly.”
“Ilona.” His voice softens, taking on that paternal tone that used to make me feel like everything was going to be okay. “I know you loved your father. I know you need answers. But you also need to be careful about opening old wounds. Sometimes the truth is worse than not knowing.”
“I can handle the truth.”
“Can you? Because from where I’m sitting, you sound like someone who’s been through enough already. When you left Boston…” He trails off, and I know he’s thinking about Stanley.
“That’s exactly why I need this,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. “I need to know that someone who mattered to me didn’t just give up. And if someone did this to him, I need to know that they won’t just get away with it.”
The silence stretches between us.
“Alright,” he says finally. “But not some stranger with fancy credentials who’s going to take your money and feed you false hope.”
My heart jumps. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ll do it myself.”
I feel a flood of gratitude that’s probably unreasonable. “Jason, you can’t—”
“Why can’t I? I’m semi-retired, not dead. Still got my license, still got connections throughout the department. And more importantly, I knew your father. I liked him. He deserved better than what he got.”
Tears threaten, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak. “You’d really do that?”
“Already decided to, kiddo. Soon as you started asking questions. Been thinking about your father’s case for months now, actually. Something about it never sat right with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the whole investigation was rushed. Sloppy. Your father’s death gets called in, and within hours they’re already talking suicide.
No real examination of the scene, no follow-up on his recent activities.
” Jason’s voice turns grim. “Hell, they barely interviewed you and your mother. That’s not how we handle suspicious deaths. ”
My breath catches. “You think someone influenced the investigation?”
“I think someone wanted that case closed fast and clean. No questions asked, no loose ends to tie up.”
Rage burns through me, hot and clean. “You’re saying the police were bought off?”
“I’m saying there were pressures I didn’t understand at the time. Phone calls from downtown. Orders to wrap things up quickly and move on to other cases.” His voice hardens. “Your father was involved in something before he died, Ilona. Something that may have gotten him killed.”
I close my eyes, feeling tears threaten. “Thank you. God, Jason, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This kind of thing… when corruption goes that deep, when people with real power want something buried…” His voice trails off. “Are you prepared for what we might find? And are you prepared for the possibility that whoever killed your father might not want us digging around?”
Am I?
“Yes,” I lie before I could second-guess myself. “I need to know the truth.”
“Alright then. We’ll find it. But Ilona?
” His voice turns serious again. “I want you to promise me something. If I find anything that suggests you might be in danger— if your father’s enemies are still out there— you’ll let me protect you.
No arguments, no heroics. You’ll trust me to keep you safe. ”
The promise sits heavy on my tongue. “I promise.”
“Good girl. Now, I need you to send me everything you have— death certificates, police reports, anything your mother might have kept. I’m going to start by reviewing the original case file, see what details got conveniently overlooked.”
After we hang up, I sit in silence, staring at my phone. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve signed away nine months of my life to a man who might be more dangerous than I can imagine, and now I’m about to use his money to expose some potentially dangerous secrets.
The butterflies in my stomach have definitely turned into ravens now, circling carrion.
But there’s no going back. The contract is signed, the money will transfer, and Jason will start digging into my father’s death.
What the hell have you gotten myself into, Ilona?
Are you ready to find what’s at the end of this?
To be completely honest, I don’t think I am.
But it’s too late to back out now.