Chapter 45 KNIFE’S EDGE
Tristan Clarke slides into the seat across from me at Arcana & Bloom. His gaze pinballs around the place as Scarlett sets a cup of tea in front of him.
He frowns. “I didn’t order anything.”
“It’s on the house.”
She eyes the fed in his black suit and tie and mouths, Do you want me to stay?
I shake my head, and she nods and walks away.
He takes a sip, his brow cocked high. “What’s this?”
“It’s magic.”
Tristan huffs an amused breath. “You know, for a moment there I thought you’d ghosted me.”
He motions to the hydrangeas cascading from the ceiling. “This is the world you belong in. Flowers. Beauty. Safe, cozy cafés. A life with Elias Kent will never end well. Men like him don’t get happy endings.”
A thousand pinpricks hit my chest. Visions of him lying in a pool of his own blood at the hands of his enemies curdle my veins. I grip the cup in front of me, trying not to let my nerves show.
After seeing Elias’s secret room and realizing his scrupulous plotting, panic seized me.
What kind of mind scripts a stabbing, executes it without a flicker of guilt, and turns my entire life into a puppet show with him pulling every string? “Dark” doesn’t begin to cover it. This is deranged.
A smart person would run. A sane one wouldn’t crave this kind of attention.
But as I sit here in front of the FBI agent—the person on the right side of the law—I can’t help feeling how wrong this is.
I didn’t see Elias when I dashed out, and true to his word, he didn’t stop me. Ren waved from a window on the second floor and held up his phone.
Ren
Good luck, Lana. It was a pleasure.
The guards stood aside, a car already idling at the curb to take me away.
No one expected me to stay.
I should be happy. I should be thrilled. This was what I wanted—to get out of the devil’s grasp. To go back to New York City and be with my family.
I should be relieved.
A dark chuckle reaches my ears, and I look up, finding Tristan staring with pensive eyes. He scratches the scruff along his jaw and gives me a soft, sad smile.
“I’m probably shooting myself in the foot, but that look on your face—it’s different from when I saw you last.”
I bite my lip. I have things I could tell him now. I know what The Association is, who The Six are, and Elias’s endgame. I’ve seen him kill someone. I could be a material witness.
But instead, the next words out of my mouth are, “Can you protect my husband? Or at least make him a deal?”
“What?” His tone sharpens.
“If there was a good reason—if he really was just trapped in a dangerous position—can you protect him? Or give him immunity if I help you?”
Silence. Tristan holds my gaze, clearly weighing the cost.
“You want The Association,” I say. “That’s why you contacted me. That’s why you were watching me, right? Your target isn’t Elias Kent.”
He remains silent. It’s an admission.
“I can tell you everything I know. But if I do, you make sure my husband stays safe.”
“Even after everything you’ve seen?” he asks. “Don’t bother lying—I’m good at reading people. The Lana Anderson I met that day wasn’t aware. But the woman sitting here knows. You know what he’s capable of, what laws he’s broken. And after all this, you still want to protect him.”
His words rattle inside my head.
And suddenly that tight, breathless feeling finally makes sense.
“You love him,” Tristan murmurs.
I hitch a sharp breath.
“Excuse me.” I shoot up, grabbing my purse.
Tristan looks at me with resignation.
“I’m sorry,” I add.
I glance at the clock on the wall—quarter to six. The dinner with the Berishas starts at seven. Elias should already be getting ready.
I need to run.
“Think about it,” I tell Tristan. “I’ll help you nail The Six. My condition is immunity for Elias. That’s the only thing I want. Him safe and alive.”
Without waiting for his response, I dash out of the café with Scarlett hollering after me, “Already called you a cab—it’s at the curb!”
“Thank you!”
I need to find him.
Despite everything, I can’t leave him behind.
The clock chimes six times.
I pace the foyer, clicking my lighter. Behind me, soft footsteps reach my ears.
Ren signs, “Why are you still waiting? You let her go.”
His words dig into my chest—like he’s reached inside, fisted my heart, and given it a hard twist.
“She’s innocent. She deserves a good life.”
“Then why are you still here?”
I don’t answer because we both know the truth.
Deep down there’s a kernel of hope, a selfish desire, that Lana will choose me despite everything.
“Life is too short not to go after what you want. One day,” he presses a hand against his chest, “the ticker’s going to give out. And when that happens…all you’ll have are regrets.”
Ren clasps my shoulder, then motions toward the door. “I’ll get the car ready.”
He walks outside.
I stare at the music box she left behind—twelve petals of glittering gems. I wind it and let our song play.
Beethoven was deaf, and he defied the world’s expectations and composed masterpiece after masterpiece, like this stunning melody, “Für Elise.”
I was lucky twice in my life. First, as a boy who had one unforgettable year with the girl of his dreams. Second, as a murderer who could make her dreams come true, even if it was only for a few months.
An anvil presses down on my lungs.
I snap my lighter shut, slide it into my pocket, and head for the door.
But before I can reach for the handle, it swings wide open, slamming hard against the wall.
I freeze.
A gust of frigid air blows inside. But no cold can stop the sparks racing up my spine.
Because she’s standing there.
Lana.
She’s still in the same outfit she wore earlier—sweatpants, sweatshirt, hair in a messy bun, jacket half-zipped.
“Lana…” My voice catches.
She’s never been more beautiful.
And she came back for me. Choosing me.
Again.
“Elias. Kian. Whatever you want me to call you,” she says, breathless. “I can’t leave. I know you want me to. I know I should. I know it’s stupid for me to stay…”
Tears shine in her eyes. The sight makes me want to rip my heart out and offer it to her as proof of my devotion.
“But I can’t leave you,” she whispers. “I love you, Elias. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone else.”
Ragged breaths rip from my lungs. My fingers tremble around my lighter, but I can’t move.
I’m afraid that if I blink, she’ll disappear.
“Please don’t come back if you’re going to walk away again,” I rasp, my voice thick.
She shakes her head, her face crumbling.
Then she hurls herself at me.
I catch her and hold her tight, drowning myself in her scent and warmth.
Slowly, I brush the hair from her face. “You came back for me.”
She nods, a tear-streaked smile breaking through. “Whatever it is—The Association, revenge—I’m staying. I’ll be here every step of the way. Because you’re my husband.”
Her words echo through me. They’re alive and magical. They’re light—chasing away every shadow.
“My wife,” I whisper. “I love you.”
Then I kiss her, even as the wind howls an ominous wail outside.