Chapter 1 #2
This is psychological warfare at its finest. I've negotiated with federal agents, rival organizations, and corrupt politicians. None of them are as effective as my sixty-eight-year-old mother with tears in her voice and love in her heart.
"I didn't agree to come to Severny Harbor."
"I know! I know! Is my fault! I tell them you are coming because... because I want so badly for you to be happy! I want them to see you are not just scary man who breaks bones! You are good son! You deserve love!"
"I don't break bones anymore. I have people for that."
"SEE? THIS IS PROBLEM! You make jokes about terrible things! This is why you have no girlfriend!"
"I thought I did have a girlfriend. According to you."
"Don't be smart mouth! Is not attractive! Listen—you come to Christmas. You bring girl from coffee shop. Everyone is happy. Simple!"
I laugh. It's not a pleasant sound. "You want me to bring a woman I've never spoken to—"
"So you DO know her!"
"—to a family Christmas gathering in Severny Harbor, pretend she's my girlfriend, and somehow not have this blow up in both our faces?"
"Yes! Exactly! Finally you understand!"
"That's insane."
"Is not insane! Is perfect! You like her already! She must feel something too, yes? What girl don't notice handsome man who comes every day, leaves big tips?"
"Mama—"
"Please." Her voice breaks. Actually breaks, like something cracking under too much pressure.
"Please, Kostenka. I promise you already.
I tell everyone. If you don't come... I look like liar.
Like fool. Like mother who makes up stories because her son is so lonely she has to invent girlfriend for him. "
The knife slides in expertly. She's had forty-five years to perfect her technique.
"You should have asked me first."
"I know. I know I should. But you never tell me anything! You keep everything locked up here—" I can practically see her tapping her chest, "—and I worry! I worry you forget how to be happy!"
I close my eyes. "Mama."
"Just five days," she pleads. "Come for five days. Christmas Eve is day after tomorrow. Bring the girl. Pretend. Make your mama not look like crazy woman. Then you go home, back to your lonely penthouse, and I never ask you for anything again."
We both know that last part is a lie.
But she's crying, and she's my mother, and somewhere in the tactical part of my brain that runs my organization and keeps me three steps ahead of my enemies, a plan is forming.
A completely insane plan.
"I'll think about it."
"You'll think—KOSTENKA! What is to think about? You come or you don't come!"
"I said I'll think about it. Goodnight, Mama."
"Wait, wait—you will really think? You will maybe come?"
"Maybe."
"With girlfriend?"
I look out at the city. Somewhere out there, in a small apartment she probably can't afford, is a woman with a crooked name tag and a smile that makes me feel human.
"Maybe," I say again.
"Bozhe moy, is miracle! Yes! You think! You come! You bring beautiful girl and everyone is happy!" She's back to full volume now, tears forgotten in her excitement. "I tell Dimitri you are coming! I tell—"
"Don't tell anyone anything yet."
"But—"
"Mama. Let me think."
She sighs, long and dramatic. "Fine. You think. But you call me tomorrow, yes? You tell me answer?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Good boy. I love you, synok. Even when you give me heart attack with your stubbornness."
"I love you too."
I end the call before she can start crying again.
The penthouse is silent once more. But it's not peaceful this time. It's the silence of a predator deciding whether to hunt.
I pick up my phone again. Open the security app that shows the feed from cameras I installed three months ago. Outside the coffee shop. In the parking lot. Covering the exits.
Just to make sure she gets to her car safely. Just to know she's okay.
I'm a dangerous man. I've built an empire on violence and fear and the kind of control that breaks most people. I don't do uncertainty. I don't do maybes.
But for eleven months, I've let her be uncertain. Let her be a maybe. Let her be the one thing in my life I don't control.
My mother just gave me an excuse to change that.
Five days. A fake relationship. Protection and money and my undivided attention.
It's insane.
It's perfect.
I pull up my contacts. Find Andrei's number.
He answers on the first ring. "Boss?"
"I need you to find out everything about Jemma Dean. Everything. Work history, family, friends, debts, dreams, fears. I want a complete profile by morning."
Silence. Then: "The barista?"
"Yes."
"You're finally making a move?"
"Something like that."
"About fucking time," he mutters. "The guys were starting a pool on how long you'd—"
"Andrei."
"Right. Complete profile. By morning. Anything else?"
I think about my mother, crying in Severny Harbor. I think about Dimitri and his perfect family. I think about Jemma's smile and the way she looked at me like I was worth something more than fear.
"Clear my schedule for the next six days."
"Six days? Boss, we have the shipment coming in from—"
"Handle it. I'm going to be unavailable."
Another pause. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. I'm going to Christmas."
"You're going to—" He stops. Recalibrates. "With the barista?"
"Yes."
"And if she refuses?"
I smile. It's the smile that makes grown men nervous. The smile that built my reputation.
"I'm not going to give her a choice."
Silence on the other end. Then, carefully: "Boss…"
"I'm not going to hurt her. But I am going to take her." I drain the vodka. "She's been mine since I first laid eyes on her. She just doesn't know it yet."
"You're kidnapping her."
"I'm claiming what's mine. There's a difference." I set down the glass. "Have the car ready. And Andrei? Make sure there's nothing in her life that can't wait five days. Clear any obligations."
"You want me to?"
"Pay her rent if it's due. Handle her bills. Make sure her friend at the coffee shop doesn't call the police when she doesn't show up for her shift." My voice goes cold. "I want her to have no reason to run back to her old life. Understand?"
"...Understood."
"Good. I'll see you in the morning."
I end the call and pour myself another vodka.
Tomorrow, I'm going to take what I've wanted for eleven months.
I'm not going to ask permission.
I'm not going to negotiate.
I'm going to put her in my car and drive her to Severny Harbor and by the time we get there, she's going to understand exactly who she belongs to.
Maybe she'll be angry. Maybe she'll be scared.
But I've seen the way she looks at me. I've seen the dark romance novels she reads on her breaks—the ones with possessive men and reluctant heroines who always, always end up exactly where they're meant to be.
She wants this. She just doesn't know it yet.
Outside my window, Vancouver sleeps.
But I'm wide awake.
And I'm done waiting.
Tomorrow, Jemma becomes mine.
Whether she's ready or not.