Chapter 1 #2
We move together like we've been dancing for years instead of seconds. Anton's hand is warm and steady against my skin, guiding me through the slow rhythm with an ease that surprises me. For someone so controlled, so careful with his words, he dances like he means it.
When the song ends, the DJ's voice crackles over the speakers again. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's give our newlyweds one final send-off as they begin their honeymoon!"
The crowd parts as Sage and Maks make their way toward the exit, her lovely dress trailing behind her. She catches my eye across the dance floor and blows me a kiss, her face radiant with joy. I blow one back, my heart full watching her happiness.
Anton's hand is still on my back, and I feel him shift beside me. When I glance up, there's the rarest thing, a genuine smile softening his usually serious features as he watches Maks wrap his arm around Sage's waist.
"They look so happy," I say.
"Maks deserves it." Anton's voice carries warmth I don't often hear. "He's been through hell. Seeing him like this..." He pauses, that jaw muscle ticking like it does when he's thinking something he won't say out loud.
"And Sage deserves someone who looks at her like she hung the moon." I watch as Maks dips his head to whisper something in my cousin's ear that makes her laugh. "I've never seen her this happy."
The crowd erupts in cheers as the newlyweds disappear. The reception continues around us, but something has shifted in the air between Anton and me. We're standing closer than we were before, his hand still resting on my lower back like he's forgotten to move it away.
"Fee. Would you take a walk with me?"
My mind immediately kicks into overdrive. This isn't just politeness. You don't ask someone to take a private walk if you're just being courteous. The way he's looking at me, the careful control in his voice, there's intention here.
"I'd like that."
Anton offers his arm with old-world chivalry. I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow, my fingers finding the solid warmth of his muscular forearm through the fabric of his suit jacket. I can feel the might of his arms.
He towers over me as we walk, my heels bringing me up to maybe his shoulder.
We slip away from the crowd, following a stone path that winds behind the venue into gardens illuminated by scattered solar lights. The reception feels like another world as we move deeper into the quiet space, the noise fading to a distant hum of music and laughter.
Anton's pace is measured, unhurried, like he wants to savor this moment as much as I do.
Say something, my mind urges. But I force myself to stay quiet, curious to see what he'll reveal first.
This feels different from our usual careful and brief conversations. There's weight to his silence tonight, purpose in the way he's guiding us away from everyone else.
Six months of observing him, studying him. I've seen he doesn't need many words when each one he chooses can stop a conversation, end an argument, or change someone's mind entirely.
We reach a small alcove tucked between flowering hedges, just far enough from the reception to give us privacy while still catching hints of the celebration beyond.
Solar lights cast everything in soft, romantic shadows.
Flowering jasmine perfumes the air around us alongside the distant sound of the string quartet.
Anton stops walking, and I feel the tension in his arm where my hand rests against him.
When Anton turns to face me, the careful control in his expression has softened into something I've never seen before.
"Fee." He pauses. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"Yes. I'd love to."
Something shifts in his eyes, a warmth breaking through. He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne again, that rich sandalwood.
He gets closer, so close that I'm tilting my head back to meet his gaze.
His eyes drop to my lips, and my breath catches. I let my own gaze drift across his features, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the way the garden lights catch in his pale eyes.
My attention lands on the small teardrop tattooed beneath his left eye, and something in his expression shifts.
It's like watching steel doors slam shut. The warmth disappears, replaced by cold calculation. His jaw sets with finality, and he steps back with the same controlled precision he uses for everything else.
"This was a mistake." His voice carries that deadly calm I've seen him use in business meetings. No apology, no explanation, just a verdict delivered with brutal efficiency.
My heart crashes into my stomach.
"Why?"
His pale eyes meet mine directly, unflinching. "You don't know what you're getting into with me, Fee."
"I think I do." I fight to keep my voice steady. "I know what you do for a living, Anton."
"No." The single word cuts like a blade. "You don't."
He looks at me like he's memorizing my face, and something vulnerable flickers behind those steel-gray eyes. "I can't do this to you."
One tear escapes my eyes.
"I don't understand. Why ask me to dinner? Why dance with me? Why bring me out here for this?"
Silence. Anton Baev, the man whose few words carry the weight of life and death, gives me nothing.
"Go." I step back, crossing my arms. "Just go."
He turns and walks away, leaving me shattered in the garden like it was just another job completed.
Here I am, alone in the garden with the scent of jasmine and the taste of rejection.
I should have known better. He can't ask me out to just fuck me, that's what he "can't do to me." What if I wanted to? I created a fantasy where none existed.
The tears come freely now, and I let them. Maybe I'm crying because Sage got her fairy tale tonight, and for a moment, I thought maybe I could have mine too.
I should have known better. Should have stayed practical instead of letting myself hope for something as rare as what Sage and Maks found.
Well, there's no way in hell I'm going back into the reception. Not with mascara streaking down my cheeks to have him see me like that.
I follow a different stone path that leads away from the gardens, toward the parking area. My heels click against the solid path as I walk. I need to compose myself before I have to face Cillian and ask him to drive me home.
I stop for a moment, wiping my face. Something catches my eye, a shadow in one of the parked cars that looks like a man's silhouette. But when I look again, there's nothing there.
Probably just my imagination, or maybe there's someone. Right now, I don't give a fuck.
I start walking again, but voices drift from somewhere ahead, on the other side of the fence separating this part of the parking lot. I recognize one of them immediately, Shane, with his distinctive, strong voice.
"I'll see you at the hotel lobby later tonight?"
The other voice is also familiar. "Yeah, call when you're ready."
These guys are always making deals, even at weddings. Information, favors, connections, the currency of our world never stops flowing, no matter the occasion.
I keep walking along the stone path, the voices from the other side of the fence growing clearer as Shane and his companion move in the same direction I am.
The path curves, bringing me closer to where the fence ends and opens into the main parking area. That's when I see them clearly for the first time.
Shane walks with his usual confident stride, but the man beside him makes me pause. I know that face from the files I shouldn't have accessed.
Judge Morrison.
He's working on the new Chicago assignment. The same assignment that's been taking Anton to Chicago regularly for months.
Why is he here in New York?
Morrison exists on the periphery of our world, one of those floating figures who broker whispered conversations and handshake agreements in dark corners. The kind of man who facilitates deals but never officially knows anything.
What I couldn't figure out from the digital breadcrumbs was his exact role.
"Tonight?" Morrison says.
"You have everything we discussed?"
"Documentation's ready. Clean as we agreed."
Morrison glances around the parking area, his gaze lands on me, and his expression shifts instantly.
Without a word to Shane, he turns abruptly and starts walking back the way they came.
Shane continues walking toward me, his expression shifting from business mode to something more personal. The concerned protector, a look I've seen him wear before when dealing with family members.
"Ms. Quinn." His voice carries warmth mixed with surprise. "Didn't expect to see you out here. Everything alright?"
I pause, discreetly wiping at my cheeks to ensure no mascara streaks remain. "Just needed some air. The reception was getting a bit overwhelming."
His dark eyes study my face. "I could take you back to the hotel if you're ready to call it a night."
There's genuine concern in his offer, the kind of protective instinct that extends to all Quinn family members. Shane has been with us for three years now, long enough to understand the family dynamics and care about our well-being beyond just professional obligation.
"That's very kind, but Cillian's my ride tonight." I gesture toward the reception area. "I should probably go find him soon."
"He's inside talking to another guard about something." Shane's expression shifts slightly, becoming more guarded. "Looked like business."
"I see." I force my voice to stay level. "Well, I'm sure whatever it is, it's important."
Shane watches me carefully, and I can practically see him putting pieces together. My tear-streaked makeup, me standing alone in a parking lot instead of celebrating my cousin's wedding.
"Ms. Quinn, if someone's upset you—"
"Nobody's upset me," I lie. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day."
He doesn't believe me, I can tell. But Shane's smart enough not to push when someone clearly doesn't want to talk about it. Instead, he nods slowly and pulls out his phone.
"Let me text Cillian, let him know I can drive you."