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“Yeah,” another colleague chimes in, voice hushed. “Luke’s uncle on his mom’s side. Dangerous as hell. Word is he basically runs half of New York’s underground. You do not mess with that man.”

Shock crashes through me like ice water.

I slept with him. And he’s Luke’s uncle.

My ex’s uncle.

The irony hits me so hard I almost laugh. For the first time in my life, I decide to let loose, to have a reckless, no-strings one-night stand with a stranger… and I pick the most dangerous man in the city. The Bratva devil everyone whispers about. The one who’s taken lives, broken empires since he came into the city.

Luke once told me his mom was Russian—she passed away years ago—and that he had an uncle on her side who split his time between Russia and the States. I never met the man.

What are the odds?

“Rosie? You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out,” a colleague comments.

I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “I… I don’t think I’m feeling too well.”

My supervisor appears at my elbow, concerned. “We’ve got everything covered here. Go back to your room. Rest. You’ve been on your feet since dawn.”

I nod numbly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I walk away from the reception—away from the laughter, the clinking glasses, the man whose touch is still branded into my skin—and head straight for the hotel.

In the elevator, I lean against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor.

What the hell did I just do?

I slept with the uncle of the man who broke my heart. With a man so dangerous that even saying his name out loud feels like tempting fate.

Thank God I never told him my name. He doesn’t know who I am. After this wedding ends, I’m done. I’m staying as far away from this family, from Luke, from Sharon, from my father and Sarah, and every toxic thread that ties them together, as humanly possible.

And I will never, ever run into Andrei Popov again. I tell myself that over and over, like a prayer.

It’s been three weeks, and Andrei’s memory has finally dulled. Most days now, I can go hours without replaying our encounter. The thought of him hasn’t vanished, it sits quietly in the back of my mind like a shadow that never quite leaves, but it’s smaller. Manageable. I tell myself I’ll never see him again. New York is huge.

I reach for my phone as it rings. It’s Mabel.

“Hey, May,” I answer.

“Okay, quick question,” she says without preamble. “Chocolate fudge cake or red velvet?”

I blink. “What?”

“For your birthday,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Pick one.”

I sigh, already knowing where this is going. “Mabel…”

“Pick. One.”

“Red velvet.”

There’s a pause. Then, satisfied, “Good. That’s all I needed.”

“Wait—what do you mean that’s all you—”

“Bye, Rosie.”

And she hangs up.