Chapter 15
TERESA
Bryant Park sparkles with lights dripping from every kiosk, Christmas music bounces off the rink, and my breath shows in perfect little cartoon puffs. For some reason I’m laughing—truly laughing—while Trina waves an enormous pretzel under my nose and puts it into my hand.
“Cinnamon sugar,” she says, but her words blur at the edges, like the speakers suddenly lost half their volume.
“What?” I lean closer. The crowd noise dips too, as if someone pressed mute on the whole scene. I can still see people talking, mouths moving, but the sound is muffled, distant.
Trina’s lips form one clear syllable, “Jack.”
My stomach tightens. “What about Jack?”
She gestures toward the vendors, and there he is. Same copper hair, same bomber jacket. This time there’s no doubt; the air seems to sharpen around him. He meets my eyes, shock flashing across his face, then bolts toward the carousel.
“Jack!” My voice finally breaks through whatever weird sound barrier was stifling me.
I drop the pretzel and sprint after him.
The fair blurs—candy-cane stripes smearing, lights streaking like comets.
My boots pound the pavement, heart smashing against my ribs.
I round a corner between gingerbread stalls and—
He’s standing there, breath fogging in the glow of a single overhead bulb. No more running.
“Jack.” I slow, palms up. “It’s me.”
His expression softens into… relief? Guilt? It’s hard to read in the colored haze. I take one cautious step. Another. And then he pulls a gun from his jacket pocket. The barrel rises, slick and black.
“Jack, no!” I lunge but the muzzle flashes before I reach him.
BANG.
I shoot upright in bed, lungs dragging air like I’ve been underwater.
The room is dark except for the blinking router light beneath the TV.
Sheets tangle around my legs, sweat cools on my spine.
Just a dream, it was only a dream. I press shaky fingers to my racing pulse, breathing in and out until the shadows stop spinning.
The space beside me is empty, and stupidly I wish Vlad were here—solid, warm and armed.
I swing my feet to the floor, and pad toward the kitchen for water.
The apartment is silent but for the hum of the refrigerator.
I fumble for the switch, bright light flooding the sleek counters, polished and impersonal. I grab a glass, fill it, gulp twice.
“Hey, sis.”
The voice behind me scrapes every nerve raw. I spin, and the glass slips from my hand and shatters, water splashing across my bare feet.
Jack sits at the little breakfast table, the same bomber jacket slung over the back of his chair. A half-smile tugs his mouth, but his eyes are restless.
This is no nightmare. He’s here—real, breathing, ten feet away.
“Miss me?” he asks, casual as an afternoon phone call.
My throat locks. All I can do is stare at the brother who vanished, the brother who just shot me in a dream, now sitting in my supposedly secure apartment like he owns the night.
Jack tips the chair forward and plants his elbows on the table, like this is any random midnight catch up. I step over the broken glass, pulse banging in my temples.
“Jack—”
“It’s me.” He grins and shrugs. “In the flesh. How you been, Teresa?”
Where do I even begin? I stammer, trying to figure out where to start. “Why are you here? Was that really you at Bryant Park?”
He grins. “Guilty. I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me, but you’re as observant as ever.”
“You ran.”
“Had to,” he says, shrugging again. “Crowds, security cams, Vlad’s goons probably lurking nearby. Didn’t want to bring trouble to your doorstep.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Jack chuckles then taps his forehead. “I keep tabs, sis. Your real place is in Queens. I saw it on Zillow. Quite a downgrade from this.”
“How did you get in here?”
He looks away.
“You said you didn’t want to bring trouble. What kind of trouble, Jack?”
He exhales dramatically. “I guess it’s time you knew. After the gala, all those years ago, when Maxim… I went dark. I had to. I had no freaking idea if whoever killed Maxim had me in their crosshairs too, if they were going to come back to finish what they’d started.”
“You left me behind. Alone.”
“Listen, I didn’t say I made the right call.
I panicked. Left the country, went on a bit of a year-long bender.
OK, maybe a few years. Burned through what little bit of money from Mom and Dad I had left.
But I’m clean now, checked into GA, then NA.
Eleven months sober next week.” He flashes jazz hands. “Redemption arc, baby.”
“Congratulations,” I reply flatly. “Where does stalking me fit into all that recovery?”
“Hey, I wanted to see my sister.” His jaw tightens, momentarily sincere. “Not to mention that Aleksander Volkov has a kill order on both of us. Heard it through the grapevine. Guess he still thinks we’re the ones behind what happened to Maxim.”
I cross my arms. “Only my name made the Naughty List. Yours didn’t.”
That rattles him for half a beat, and he clears his throat with a cough. “You serious? Why not?”
I feel a little annoyed. “How should I know? Maybe because I’m the one still here. Maybe he figured you’d run off and out of the country and were out of his hair for good.”
He takes a moment to process it before speaking again. “Anyway, I got a theory. It’s what I’m here to talk about.”
“Theory? What theory?”
“That your boss, Vladmir Angeloff, or somebody inside his crew, took out Mom, Dad, and Maxim.”
“What?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Are you serious?”
He lowers his voice. “Think about it. Plane crash that’s never fully explained. Ballroom hit carried out with military precision. Smells like elite contractors—Angeloff’s specialty.”
“And why the hell would he do that?”
“You kidding me? Our family and Maxim’s were merged—almost. Just needed an heir to completely seal the deal.
Then we’d be fully joined, too powerful to take on for the Angeloff Bratva.
Vlad couldn’t stand for that. So he took out Maxim before he could have a kid, then pinned the blame on you, on us. That way, he stays on top.”
A cold thread weaves down my spine. If Vlad’s syndicate had a hand in those deaths, there’d be proof. I’d have to see it myself.
Jack softens his tone, big-brother mode in full swing. “Look, sis, I don’t trust Angeloff. You shouldn’t either. Come with me tonight, we’ll disappear together.”
I let the words hang there for a few seconds then laugh—a bitter, small sound. “You vanished for years, Jack. I’ve been alone. Now you waltz in playing protector?”
Regret—or something similar—tugs at his features. “I made mistakes. I’m trying to fix them.”
“By breaking into my apartment?”
His shrug is maddening. “Security needs tightening, I guess. Anyway, this is all too big for us. Our family’s gone, your ex-father-in-law has our birthright. The game got played, and we lost. You ask me, best you can do is get out of New York with your life, start over somewhere else.”
I spot my encrypted phone half-hidden behind the coffee canister on the counter. Jack’s line of sight is blocked by the hanging pot rack. He sighs then stands, sauntering to the window, whistling softly at the view of the East River sparkle. Perfect.
As he turns, I catch a glimpse of a gun tucked under his jacket. Jack’s my brother. But I’m not ready to trust him, not yet. I want Vlad here.
My face is carefully neutral as I sidestep toward the counter, crunching a shard of glass for cover noise. My heartbeat crashes in my ears as I slide the phone free, thumb flying over the keypad under the edge of the island.
Jack’s here. Inside the apartment. Possibly compromised. Need you.
Message sent. The indicator ticks green. Twenty seconds, tops, before Vlad sees it.
Jack’s still talking, back turned. “You and me, Teresa, we should bail to Montreal. Fresh IDs. I got a guy.”
I grip the phone, hiding it in my sleeve. “We’ll talk about all that,” I say calmly, keeping a safe distance so he can’t see my shaking hands. “But first, explain why you’re armed.”
He turns, brows rising. “You noticed.”
“I notice a lot. Start explaining.”
I imagine the elevator dinging out in the hallway, the thud of heavy boots. I just have to keep him talking until Vlad or his angels arrive. Because right now, the only thing scarier than Jack’s sudden re-appearance is being alone with him.
Jack’s eyes flick toward the entry hall, then back to me.
He sighs. “God, I can’t believe this. We were supposed to be rich, you know?
Mom and Dad built a shipping empire for us, but you,” he jabs a finger towards me, “handed control to sweet little Maxim. And what did he do? Let Daddy Volkov consolidate the holdings.”
I grit my teeth. “Mom and Dad were gone. I sure as hell didn’t know how to run things.”
“Yeah, well, look how that turned out.” Jack paces, agitation buzzing off him. “We could’ve been in Saint-Tropez by now instead of hiding from Bratva psychos.”
“It’s in the past,” I snap. “There’s still a chance to get the assets back legally.”
He grins, predatory, pleased. “Funny you say that. I might have a plan in motion. Maybe I’ll loop you in, maybe not. Depends how loyal you are.”
Cold dread creeps up my spine. He’s not here for reconciliation; he’s here for leverage. Before I can reply, three rapid knocks hammer the door, followed by Dmitri’s bass rumble. “Ms. Winslow, you all right?”
Jack’s face darkens. “Seriously? You called the heavies on me?”
“I can’t trust you yet.”
He mutters a curse and throws a look toward the kitchen window. “Fine. We’ll talk later, sis.” He unlatches the window and swings a leg over the sill.
“Jack—”
Too late. He disappears down the fire escape just as the front door bursts open. Vlad strides in first, coat flaring, two armed bruisers at his back. Dmitri sweeps the room, gun drawn.
Vlad crosses the space in three long steps and grasps my shoulders. “Teresa, what happened?”
My pulse races. I hear a motorcycle howl to life in the alley. “It was my brother,” I whisper. “He went out the fire escape.”
Dmitri darts to the window and leans out. “Motorbike heading east. Black Triumph.”
“Stand down,” Vlad orders. “No street chase.” He pulls me close. “Pack whatever you need. You’re coming home with me.”
“Vlad—”
“You’re mine to protect, and this apartment’s compromised.” The finality in his tone brooks no argument.
Dmitri holsters his weapon and starts giving orders to the other men about securing the perimeter.
I’m reeling. I’m about to move in with the man who literally bought my life, and if Jack’s suspicions hold any truth, might have my family’s blood on his hands.
I open my mouth to protest, to ask questions, but nothing comes out.
Vlad’s thumb traces my jaw. “We’ll sort everything, kotenok. But first, you’re going somewhere Aleksander and your brother can’t walk into uninvited.”
I nod. The safe-house was never really home. Now I’m trading it for a gilded cage in a penthouse fortress, and the only keys belong to the man whose protection feels as dangerous as the threats he’s saving me from.