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My eyes landed on the framed photograph on the edge of my desk—a black-and-white snapshot of a younger Kir Yezhov, my grandfather, with a firm hand on the shoulder of a smiling ten-year-old Nikolai. I stood beside them, with a grim line for lips, and remembered how my grandfather had tried to threaten a smile out of me. He’d said family photographs were rare, and we were only ever the same age once. It was best to capture rare moments like those when we could.
It had been taken in the Yezhov mansion back in LA, surrounded by stacks of papers and books. The same mansion that had been passed down to Uncle Boris when my grandfather decided to move back to Moscow. The same mansion I’d entered with a duplicate key, where I’d shot Uncle Boris in his study.
Arlo’s voice brought me back to the present, and I refocused on the screen, my mind sharpening when he delved into one specific option that could solve the legal battle. I straightened in my seat, becoming fully engaged in the conversation.
“What was that?”
He paused. “About Ronan?”
“Yeah, what about him?” I leaned forward. “Any word on him?”
“There could be.” He sighed, wearing the look of a man who was grasping onto hope with everything he could. “That’s if we find him first. I was saying, if we got Ronan to withdraw the charges against you, then there’d be no case.”
My brows formed a V at the center of my forehead. “And how do we get him to do that?”
“Korol, you’ve got to give me time to put this shit together, okay? I swear, I’m onto something here, and I will make it work. Just...some time. That’s all I need. I’ll think of something and let you know in a matter of—”
“Three days, Arlo. That’s all you fucking get.”
Before he had the opportunity to respond, I disconnected the call and closed the laptop screen. There was no sign of movement or noise, and the house was as quiet as I’d grown accustomed to. But I could smell her, even from a distance, and I knew she was close.
I kicked up my legs, crossed my feet on the edge of the desk, and leaned deeper into the leather seat.
“How long do you plan on staying there?”
She gave it twenty seconds before stepping out of the dark and into the light, walking with caution in her steps as she approached my desk. She’d changed from my casual baggy T-shirt she wore in the morning, which had exposed her sexy legs, to regular black skinny jeans and a sophisticated-looking beige turtleneck sweater that left all her assets to my imagination.
Her hair, long and silken, was swept up in a shiny ponytail; her face had minimal makeup, enhancing the natural beauty of the goddess, and her brown eyes assessed me guardedly.
My lips curved to the side. I still found it hard to believe that the detective from the Los Angeles Police Department, who was hell-bent on ruining my life in prison, now stood in front of me as my wife.Mine.
I might have laughed if I hadn’t found the entire situation with the police and legal department less amusing. A line replaced the curve of my lips as I interlocked my fingers over the thick hoodie shielding my torso.
“What do you want? Came to try another murder technique? Strangling? Suffocation?”
Freya’s jaw moved the slightest, but she kept her calm. She probably understood by now that her anger made no difference. It changed nothing.
“No.” Her throat bobbed, and without my permission, she lowered herself onto the chair across the desk. “I’m sorry, I, um...I overheard your conversation.”
“Interesting.” I took my eyes away from hers, fixing it on the ceiling instead. I was trying to convince myself that looking at her for that long didn’t hurt so much. “Eavesdropping? Perhaps another scheme of yours to get more information to use against me when you are finally free?”
From my periphery, I saw the muscles on her jaw constrict and her fingers curve into the edge of the wood.
“Despite what you think, it wasn’t intentional. I was passing by when I heard your lawyer talking about the case. He was right about the effect of getting Ronan to drop charges or testify in your favor, and I think I can help. When I was working, um, against drug mafias like yourself, my motive was to bring down the Bratva as well as the Irish mob. They’re as bad as....”
She wanted to sayme, my people, but allowed the unspoken word to hang in the air.
“In the process, I gathered enough against Ronan to prove he’s an evil schemer and a murderer. He planned to get rid of you and your organization, to crumple everything you’ve built over the years. What I have against him is the kind of evidence you need to get him off your back.”
My head snapped from the ceiling to hers.
From the look on her face, I could tell she wasn’t lying, but a laugh rang out of me before I could stop myself. She really did think I was stupid. “You want to helpme? You have evidence against that bastard and want to use it to help me?”
“Yes.” Her head bobbed up and down, and she edged closer on her seat. “It’s a video of him killing someone. It took a lot of work getting that clip. I wanted to use it to make a case against him, to force him out of the United States. It’s in a cloud only I have access to.”
“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” I asked with a smile hanging on my lips. Why would she want to help me? “What’s in this for you?”
Her eager expression morphed to steel, and she leaned back in her chair. The last time she appeared this serious was in the interrogation room, when she gave me ten days to give the order to wrap up our operations in the US and return home. Whatever was coming now had to be good.
