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We can’t frisk these men. I know that immediately. But this woman, whoever she is, is making a good point. I need the men to feel comfortable enough to speak. But I also can’t put innocents at risk. Again. But maybe this is just the same old crap, me wanting to be a savior… What would Maksim do? Be ruthless? Put the business first?

X: I’ll see what I can do. But remember what this number is for.

Iris: Um, excuse you? You started this conversation again.

X: It’s a text, Iris. You don’t have to type ‘um’.

Iris: And you don’t have to be a jerk. But I guess some habits are tough to shake.

X: Are you forgetting I’m your boss?

Iris: Are you forgetting this is anonymous?

I laugh aloud. Anton glances at me, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me now. Whoever Iris is, she’s intriguing. People don’t speak to me like this. Even a fallen Bratva prince is still a prince.

X: Touché. But you don’t want to make me too curious.

Iris: Calm down, sir. If you stop texting me, I won’t be forced to reply.

X: Maybe I just couldn’t resist texting you first.

Iris: Don’t make me take this to HR.

I smirk, then tuck my phone away.

“Do me a favor, Anton.”

“Yes?”

“Put a bullet in my head if I ask for a beer.”

Anton laughs darkly. “You have a deal.”

I chuckle with him. But it’s no laughing matter.

It’s time I got a grip, time I stopped running away and started living this life, this exile, this whatever-the-fuck. I made some bad mistakes. I had some good reasons. It’s complicated and messy. But I can do this. I can make Miami into another DC. Better, even. As long as I work on saving myself. And that starts with getting my act together.

CHAPTER 3

SERENA

Iwake with Pico curled up on my chest, the sounds of breakfast – or maybe lunch – coming from downstairs. Guilt grips me tightly when I think about missing breakfast with Zoe. I didn’t get in until six AM, since I stayed behind to help with the cleanup. Then Tiffany was shaken up and wanted me to walk her home. I wasn’t going to say no to that.

After that, I had to get the bus here. My car’s in the shop… for the fifteenth time. Pico grumbles as if sensing my mood. He turns and sticks his caramel snout in my face, then gives that classic Chihuahua grumble, almost a purr. I laugh, and he takes that as his cue to lick my face.

He runs around my feet as I get ready for the day. Well, semi-ready. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and I’ve got work later. I don’t want to miss any precious time with Zoe or Rosa. Pico grumbles when I think this, the little mind reader.

“Or you,” I say, scooping him into my arms and kissing the top of his head.

Rosa freezes when I walk into the living room. She’s standing at the cupboard, her hands on the bills. She looks at me like she thinks she’s done something wrong. Rosa is Zoe’s abuela. She chose me over her own son after what he did. The credit cards, the stealing, the lies, until he dug us into a pit, then disappeared to prison to leave us in the dirt.

“Don’t look so scared,” I say, putting Pico down. He rushes over to Zoe. “I know you’re concerned. It’s no big deal.”

She takes my hands. “We’re going to handle this. Together.”

“I know.” I touch her arm and then join Pico in his rush to Zoe. She laughs and cuddles into him, then says, “Hey, Mama. Do you want toast? We had toast. The best-ish toast.”

My six-year-old grins widely.