Chapter 40
FORTY
RAVEN
Present
Iswear, cooking would be the death of me one day. Whatever I put on the stove always seemed hell-bent on revenge.
“What possessed me to even try again?” I muttered, blinking against the sting of smoke.
It curled up from the pan in ghostly gray ribbons, thick enough to blur the afternoon light spilling through the kitchen window.
My throat burned and my eyes watered until the world shimmered.
The butter I’d melted a few minutes ago was long gone and its golden promise reduced to a charred, sticky black crust.
I grabbed a wooden spoon, poking at the mess as if it might resurrect itself. It hissed in response, a spiteful sound that made me flinch. I waved my hand frantically beneath the smoke detector, praying it wouldn’t—
“Paris or New York,” came a familiar voice from behind me, calm and amused. “Some things never change.”
I turned to find Aiden leaning against the column that separated the kitchen from the living room—sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms crossed, and a smirk tugging at his mouth. The faint blue of the TV flickered behind him, a quiet contrast to the chaos unfolding here.
As if offended by his nonchalance, the smoke detector shrieked to life with an ear-splitting wail that made me wince.
“Oh, come on!” I shouted over the noise, snatching a towel and flapping it wildly, like a white flag of surrender. “I should’ve known better than to try.”
The pan crackled suddenly, butter popping like miniature fireworks. A flame leapt up, licking the edge of the pan. I yelped and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a spatula that had somehow migrated to the floor. The acrid scent of burning fat filled the air, heavy and sharp.
Aiden sighed, then pushed off the wall and moved toward me with infuriating calm.
“It helps,” he said, “to turn off the stove first.”
I shot him a sharp glare. “I was getting to it.”
He didn’t bother responding. With what seemed like one swift motion, he turned off the burner, grabbed the pan, and dumped its contents into the sink. The hiss that followed as the water hit the hot metal filled the air, letting out a steam cloud.
I leaned against the counter, chest heaving, hair plastered to my forehead, the kitchen now reeking of burnt butter and humiliation. The room shimmered with residual heat.
“Disaster averted,” Aiden said, rinsing the pan clean. “But please, for the love of God, don’t cook anymore, Raven.”
“Gladly.” I let out a shaky laugh, sliding down the cabinet until I sat on the cool tile floor. “Although, I’m not sure how I’ll feed a baby if I can’t manage a simple thing like melting butter.”
He crouched beside me, the amusement softening from his expression as he slipped an arm around my shoulders. The warmth of him contrasted with the cool tile beneath us.
“The baby only needs milk for the first six months,” he said lightly. “No cooking involved.”
I smacked his arm with what little dignity I had left. “I know that much.”
“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And after that, I’ll cook for both of you.”
The smoke detector gave one last defiant chirp before falling mercifully silent, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The kitchen was a disaster—so was I—but somehow, with him there, it didn’t feel quite so bad.
He eased down beside me fully, his back sliding against the lower cabinets. His arms were draped around me while both of us sat on the kitchen floor with our legs stretched out, backs against the wood while the smell of burnt butter slowly faded from the air.
For a long moment, neither one of us spoke until he nudged my knee with his.
“You know,” he said in a casual, low voice, “I really like the pseudonym Cuishle you use for your art.”
I gasped. “How did you learn about that?”
He studied my face, his expression soft. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m intent on learning all I missed over the past five years.”
I swallowed. “Some things you might not like.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe, but it won’t change how I feel about you.” I hesitated, then leaned into his shoulder lightly and his arm tightened around me. “I hope you won’t change your pseudonym now that you’re no longer hiding.”
“I won’t.”
He smiled. “Why did you pick that one?”
I flashed him a shy smile. “It made me think of you. Or maybe it was my way to repay for that substantial withdrawal I took from your account before disappearing.”
“My money is yours. It’s been yours from the moment we got married.”
I chuckled. “The words every woman loves to hear.”
“Don’t care about other women or what they think,” he deadpanned. “Only you.”
I turned my head so I could see his face and expression better. “Aiden?”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you back then,” I murmured. “I should have trusted you to keep my mom and me safe instead of disappearing and letting you believe I was dead. It was cruel, and you deserve better.”
He shook his head, his voice rough when he spoke his next words.
“I won’t lie and say it didn’t upset me, but I’m not angry. Not anymore. I understand why you did it.” My shoulders sagged with relief. “What I don’t understand is how you managed to remain invisible while still living normally?”
I took a deep breath and released it slowly.
“Well, you know my mom was the reason Duncan ended up behind bars for a decade.” He nodded, his eyes steady on me.
“Incredibly, she had our whole lives lined up in case things went bad,” I continued.
“Turns out she negotiated some kind of contingency deal with the DEA’s protection program.
If Duncan ever came after us, they’d trigger a protocol to wipe our data, our digital footprint, everything. Like we never existed.”
“What?” He seemed to be shocked, or possibly impressed. “Did they use Nico Morrelli’s software?”
I shrugged.
“I really don’t know the details,” I admitted. “My mom left me a set of instructions. I followed them. I called a number, and after that, they handled the rest.”
“Wow, I’m impressed.”
My lips curved into a smile. “My mom handled it all, so she deserves all the credit.”
“She surprises me,” he murmured. “I thought she failed you when, in fact, she ensured your protection all along.”
“Yes. She’s amazing, but Duncan hurt her.”
The worst part was fear clawing at my ribs.
The thought that he was hurting her right now too.
It was enough to hollow me out from the inside, gutting me alive.
But I couldn’t fall into despair. I trusted Aiden to get her back, and thanks to his brothers and my endless questions, I knew he was already lining up a plan.
“We’ll get her back, Raven,” Aiden vowed, and I believed him.
After a beat, he straightened and stood up, offering his hand. “Come on, let’s eat out.”
“I won’t argue with you,” I retorted, taking his hand. “No smoke, no explosions… I should have suggested it myself.”
AIDEN
Outside, the air carried the faint hum of an accordion drifting down from somewhere along the block. Inside Le Petit Chardon, conversation, laughter, and the soft clinking of cutlery wove through the warm haze of candlelight.
The bistro smelled of roasted garlic and fresh bread, comforting, familiar, and blocks away from the chaos we’d left behind in the penthouse kitchen. Raven exhaled as we stepped inside, her shoulders finally relaxing, the golden string lights reflecting in her dark hair.
“Maybe I’ll burn food every day if it means you’ll take me to places like this,” she said, shooting me a sideways glance. “How did you even get a table here? This place is booked out for a year.”
I smiled, leading her to our table. Pulling out her chair, I said, “The owner is a friend.”
“Thank God for that,” she murmured, sinking into the seat. “Restaurants hand you food without torching it. Unlike me.”
I reached across the table and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I’ll gladly eat your burnt food,” I said softly, “because it means you’re here to make it.”
Her smile faltered as a shadow passed over her face, her shoulders dipping again.
“What is it?” I asked.
She swallowed hard, her throat working around the words. “I’m starting to realize how much pain I caused by my supposed death.”
The waiter appeared then, all polite timing and crisp white linen, setting down our drinks and taking our order. I waited until he was gone before answering.
“You’re here now,” I said. “That’s what matters.”
“Just like that?” she whispered. “We forget the past?”
I shook my head slowly.
“The past is part of us, but it doesn’t have to define us. You and I… Our story started rough. But we found something rare, something priceless. You call to something inside me, Raven. You always have. Because you belong to me, and I belong to you.”
Her brow furrowed, the corner of her mouth lifting in disbelief. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I gave a faint shrug. “My father loved only one woman. I’m bound to do the same.”
Her eyes widened, uncertainty flickering there. Maybe it wasn’t easy for a man—a ruthless criminal like me—to say something like that. But what was the point of pretending otherwise?
“Were your parents very much in love?” she asked, her voice tentative.
My jaw clenched and my expression hardened.
“My mother betrayed my father,” I said quietly, “and it cost him his life.”
Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “That’s their story. Not ours.”
She smiled faintly, but the question still lingered. “Aren’t you worried, though? About how we could end up like them? Both our parents’ stories are tragedies. It’s hard—some might even say impossible—to find real soulmates.”
“I don’t think soulmates are born,” I said after a moment. “I think people become them over time, through the choices they make. It’s about showing up, choosing each other, standing together no matter what.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I didn’t. I abandoned you… and my mother.”