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“Yeah, you know, ordon’t,” Annika mutters from behind us. “Not like you both just almost died or anything.”
I pull away from Mal just long enough to grin at her. She grins back.
“Right, well, guess that’s my cue.”
When she’s gone, I moan and slam my mouth back to Mal’s. He kisses me fiercely and desperately, possessively and entirely. Like he always does.
And always will.
EPILOGUE
FREYA
I sitacross from Kir in his office in New York, nervously drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. The room is filled with the hum of the city below, the neon lights gleaming through the tall windows. He’s in his usual dark charcoal gray three-piece, I’m in my go-to of black jeans and a big black hoodie, Doc Martens, spiked choker, and…if it matters…an especiallygorgeousnew set of pastel peach demi-bra and thong from Honey Bridette that I treated myself to.
It’s a surreal moment, both of us staring at the envelope sitting on the desk between us.
Some mysteries, we still don’t have answers to. Like if the Grigorov Bratva had any ties to William Lindqvist, and if they may have helped in his murder of the Ulstäd family. That’s the real reason Kir had me hacking into Orlov Financial Solutions that night that seems like a million years ago, now. It’s also the same reason Mal was there that fateful night.
But other mysteries, we’re about to solve right now, simply by opening this envelope.
Kir’s looking a lot better now, two and a half weeks after what happened in Norway, but he’s still a little pale. And he’s walking with a cane, at least for the next month or so, which I know he hates because he says it makes him look old.
It doesn’t. The guy is forty-four and could pass for early thirties, easily. If anything, the cane just makes him look distinguished—or like he’s about to break out in a vaudeville act, but something tells me he doesn’t want to hear that. Ever.
“Whatever it says in that envelope,” Kir says quietly. “William’s crimes and evil deeds are notyours.” His eyes harden as they lock with mine. “I need you to hear that, Freya. What he did to Mal’s family, and to Damian’s parents…” he shakes his head grimly. “Those arehissins. Not yours. No matterwhatis inside of this,” he growls, tapping the envelope.
I nod, swallowing a lump.
“I was barely eighteen when I met your mother. Both of us were.”
He’s still looking at the envelope between us as he speaks.
“William and I had gotten into business together, though Mal’s uncle Lars warned me against it. He was right, in the end,” Kir adds with a touch of darkness in his tone before he shakes his head. “William was a prick. Though that’s not why I…”
Had the affair with my mother.
Kir gazes at me, his blue eyes clashing with my own. “I think we were both looking for a way out. I had plenty going on in my life that I was running from, but knew I could never entirely escape. She was trapped in a marriage she’d never wanted, to a man who…well…was a fucking monster. We never meant for it to happen. But then…it did…and it wasgood,” he sighs. “Weweregood. And, by the way, I always meant to take her from William. Permanently, I mean. I cared for her deeply, Freya.”
I nod, swallowing before I glance back at the envelope that holds the truth. Kir follows my gaze and takes a deep breath.
“Whatever it says in this envelope,” he says quietly. “It doesn’thaveto change anything between us.”
“What do you think your odds are?”
He smirks, lifting a brow. “Odds?”
“Of, you know…being my dad.”
I feel my face burn as I say it. It’s weird. I’ve always thought of Kir as almost a father figure, or maybe a cool, fun uncle, but that envelope might make that more real than I ever imagined.
“I don’t gamble, Freya. You know that.”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Freya—”
“Oh, just fucking open it already,” I blurt. “Jesus.”
