Life is a pinball machine. You bounce from one thing to another, always hoping this one will hold you there for good, that this is the safe haven, or at least the most certain one. But you’re always wrong. There’s always another bounce coming, so that just when you’re getting settled in, you get flung in a fresh direction.
Just days ago, I was convinced my husband was planning his escape without me and Sofiya.
Now, I’m lying naked in our bed, his promises still fresh on my lips, my body bearing the marks of him proving just how wrong I was.
Bounce, bounce, bounce. I’ve been through so many of them since that day in Vince’s office. Since before then, even. Five years of fantasizing about this man, followed by months of fearing him, hating him, loving him until my bones ached with it.
And somehow, despite everything—despite the blood on his hands, on mine—we’re still here. Still clawing our way toward something that feels suspiciously like happiness.
Would my mother recognize me now? This woman who speaks the language of violence so fluently? This woman who spreads her legs for a killer and calls it love?
I’d like to think she would. I’d like to think Mom would understand that sometimes, the darkest places are where you find your light.
The phone rings, shattering my thoughts. Vince answers it before the second ring, his body instantly alert beside me. I watch the hard planes of his face as he listens, the way his jaw ticks—once, twice—before relaxing into something approaching satisfaction.
“When?” he asks, eyes meeting mine. “Send me the details. And Arkady? Good fucking work.”
He ends the call, setting the phone down carefully, deliberately—the calm before a storm I’m not sure whether to fear or welcome.
“That was Arkady,” he says, unnecessarily. “Agent Carver called. The Bureau is officially redirecting all resources to the Solovyov investigation.”
My breath catches. “And us?”
“We’re off their radar. For now.” His mouth curves into something too predatory to be called a smile, but it warms me up nonetheless. “Your strategy worked, Rowan. Better than we could have hoped.”
I sit up, sheet falling away from my naked body. “So that’s it? They’re really leaving us alone? Just like that?”
“Not out of the kindness of their hearts.” Vince’s fingers trace my spine, sending shivers across my skin. “But because you gave them bigger fish to fry. The Solovyovs are going down hard, and Carver’s going to make his career on it, and we have you to thank, my little doe.”
The relief hits me with unexpected force. “So we’re safe? Really safe?”
“As safe as people like us ever get.” Vince’s phone vibrates again. He checks it, and then his grin ticks one notch wider. “Costa Rica just came through, too. The development has secured new investors—legitimate ones, with no ties to either the Petrovs or us. Clean money, Rowan. Clean fucking cash.”
I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. After months—years—of living under the shadow of violence and fear, these victories feel almost surreal. A fever dream I might wake from at any moment.
“It’s really happening,” I whisper. “Everything we talked about. Everything we fought for.”
Vince pulls me to him, crushing my mouth with his. “Because of you,” he says again against my lips. “Your mind. Your strategy. Your fucking genius plan to feed the FBI exactly what they needed.”
His praise sinks into me and warms me from the inside out. I didn’t think I had a praise kink until the first time Vince called me his good girl. Now, it’s like I can’t get enough of the stuff. Because of you is borderline orgasmic.
“We did it together,” I correct him, my fingers tangling in his black-and-silver hair. “Your strength. My strategy. Peanut butter and jelly, baby.”
He laughs, a sound I will never stop loving. His hand slides up my thigh to find the wetness between my legs and turn my laugh into a strangled moan. “We make quite the team, don’t we?”
Before I can answer, a soft knock interrupts us. Vince growls in frustration, his fingers reluctantly withdrawing as I scramble for my robe.
“What?” he barks toward the door.
Anastasia’s voice filters through. “Sorry to interrupt. Daniil and I were wondering if you two might want an evening to yourselves? We could watch Sofiya.”
I glance at Vince, surprised. Anastasia and Daniil have been living under our protection for weeks now, but they’ve largely kept a careful distance from Sofiya. Whether out of respect or uncertainty, I’m not sure.
“Give us a minute,” I call back, searching Vince’s face for his reaction.
His expression is contemplative. “Do you trust them?” he asks quietly.
The question catches me off-guard. Not because it’s unexpected—Vince trusts no one—but because he’s asking me. Deferring to my judgment.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I do.”
He nods. “Give us an hour,” he calls through the door. “We’ll bring her to you.”
Anastasia’s footsteps retreat, and I’m left staring at my husband, curiosity piqued.
“What exactly are you planning?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Vince smirks, that dangerous curl of his lips that still makes my stomach flip after all this time. “Get dressed. Wear something nice. I’ll take Sofiya to them, and I want you ready when I get back.”
“Ready for what?”
“A celebration.” He rises from the bed, magnificently naked and unashamed. “We’ve earned one, don’t you think?”
An hour later, I’m dressed in a simple black slip dress, waiting for Vince in our bedroom. When the door opens, I expect to see him—not what I actually find, which is Arkady holding a garment bag and a suspicious smile.
“Boss’s orders,” Arkady explains, hanging the bag on the closet door. “You’re to change into this and meet him on the roof in twenty minutes.”
“The roof?” I echo, bewildered. “What the hell is Vince up to?”
Arkady just winks. “Don’t be late.”
When he leaves, I unzip the garment bag with trembling fingers. Inside is a dress I never expected to see again—the green silk I wore to my first official dinner with Vince.
The dress that changed everything.
I slip it on. To my total shock, it still fits perfectly, even one real and one fake pregnancy later. My hands shake as I apply makeup, as I fasten the tracking necklace Vince gave me before Sofiya’s christening. I curl my hair into loose ringlets that cascade down my back, the color of cedar and Vince’s whiskey.
When I look at my reflection, she grins right back.
The roof access is normally restricted, part of Vince’s elaborate security protocols. But tonight, the door stands open, waiting for me.
I step through and freeze. The breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
The space has been transformed. White lights twine around a pergola draped with sheer fabric that billows in the gentle evening breeze. A table for two sits at its center, covered in fine linen, crystal, and silver. Candles flicker in hurricane lanterns, creating pools of golden light against the encroaching darkness.
And Vince—God, Vince stands at the edge, silhouetted against the wooded skyline, a champagne bottle in one hand, looking like an angel in Tom Ford.
“What is all this?” I ask, moving toward him as if pulled by invisible strings.
He turns, and the look on his face steals what little breath I have left. Hunger. Pride. Something that might be love, if monsters like us could claim such an emotion.
“This,” he says, gesturing to the setup, “is an overdue celebration.”
As I draw closer, I notice more details—a chef discreetly preparing food at a makeshift station, a string quartet positioned in the corner, playing softly. The champagne is Dom Pérignon, glistening with condensation like miniscule diamonds.
He pops the champagne and fills two crystal flutes with golden liquid that catches the candlelight. “To my beautiful, dangerous wife,” he toasts. “The mother of my child. The architect of our empire.”
I clink my glass against his. “And to my terrifying, brilliant husband. The father of my daughter. The man who showed me darkness could be beautiful.”
We drink, the expensive champagne sharp and sweet on my tongue. Vince pulls out my chair and I sit, still awestruck at the transformation of our secure rooftop into this fantasyland.
The chef serves our first course—oysters on a bed of ice. “You’ve thought of everything,” I murmur, running my finger along the rim of my glass.
“I had help.” His eyes flick meaningfully toward the door, beyond which Anastasia and Daniil are playing with our daughter. “Our houseguests were surprisingly eager to assist.”
“They care about us.”
“They care about you,” he corrects. “They tolerate me because I keep them alive.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true. You’ve given them sanctuary when their own families wanted them dead. That earns more than tolerance, Vince.”
He considers that as he tastes an oyster. “Perhaps. But I didn’t do it for them. I did it for you.”
I turn down my face so he can’t see my pleased blush. “Either way, we have allies now. Real ones.” Then I smile and lean forward, emboldened by the first sizzles of the champagne in my veins. “Question for you.”
“Uh-oh. That’s dangerous.”
“When was the last time you had friends? Not subordinates. Not people who fear you. Friends.”
He’s silent for a moment. He twists the stem of the champagne glass in his fingertips, rolling it back and forth, forth and back.
“Not since before my mother died,” he admits finally. “Maybe never.”
“And now?” I press.
“Now, I have you.” His hand captures mine across the table. “And that’s enough.”
The chef serves course after course, each one a memory of ours but elevated and reimagined—the risotto from the night I moved into his penthouse, the sea bass from our wedding reception, the chocolate soufflé from our last evening before Sofiya’s birth.
We talk for a while, Vince describing how the Costa Rica project has risen from the earth and is poised to make us millions in legitimate revenue. I like hearing him excited about something. I like seeing him make his mark on the world, turning a dream into a reality. I could listen to him describe hotels and highways for the rest of our lives, I think.
If we’re lucky, that’s exactly what I’ll get to do.
“It’s working,” I say with quiet wonder. “Everything we’ve fought for. Everything we’ve sacrificed for. It’s actually working.”
Vince’s eyes are dark in the candlelight. “Did you doubt it would?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I doubted everything. Especially us.”
He nods. “How about now?”
“Now, I think we might actually pull this off.”
The string quartet downshifts to a slow, haunting melody. Vince stands, extending his hand to me. “Dance with me.”
I allow him to pull me to my feet and lead me to a small space cleared for this purpose. His hand is warm at the small of my back, guiding me into the familiar steps of a waltz he taught me before our wedding.
“Do you remember the first time I saw you?” he murmurs against my ear as we sway together beneath the stars.
“How could I forget? I walked in on you fucking your secretary. Not exactly a file-it-away-and-forget-about-it kind of thing.”
His chuckle rumbles through his chest. “And you stood there, frozen. Those big green eyes wide with shock. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment—and something else.”
I’m less ashamed than I once was, but my face goes hot nonetheless. “I was mortified, but I couldn’t look away.”
“I knew then. Something changed that day.” His hand slides lower, possessive at the curve of my ass. “I saw you and recognized something in you that mirrored something in me. A hunger. A desperation. A refusal to settle for less.”
“You manipulated me from the beginning,” I remind him, but there’s no heat in the accusation. We’re long past that now.
“I did.” His mouth brushes my temple. “And then you turned the tables. Manipulated me right back. Made me fall in love with you—something I never thought possible.”
The words steal my breath. Vince says “I love you” rarely, preciously. I memorize every single occasion.
“I was so scared of you,” I confess, pressing closer, hips sealed against his. “Terrified of what you represented. Of what loving you would turn me into. Then I was terrified of losing this.” My fingers curl into the lapels of his suit jacket. “I used to think your world would corrupt me. That I’d lose myself in your darkness.”
“Did you?”
I consider it, the woman I was versus the woman I’ve become. “No. Your world didn’t corrupt me—it revealed me. Showed me parts of myself I’d buried so deep I didn’t know they existed. The darkness was always there, Vince. You just gave me permission to embrace it.”
He spins me out, then pulls me back against his chest, our bodies moving in perfect sync. “You’ve done the same for me, you know. I wish there were words better than thank you.”
The music swells, and Vince draws me closer until I can feel his heartbeat against mine. Over his shoulder, I see the world sprawled beyond us, treetops wreathed with fog. I like being above it all with him.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he teases, nipping at my ear.
I look up at him and laugh. “Two pennies for yours.”
“I was thinking about what you said the other day.”
“That you shouldn’t wash colors with whites?”
He chuckles. “That you want another baby someday.”
I’m instantly flushed. My thighs press together like that’ll bottle up the desire there. “Emphasis on the someday part of that.”
He backs me into the table. I realize suddenly that the music has stopped, the clank and bustle of the makeshift kitchen has quieted, and all the plates that were on the table are gone. We have the rooftop to ourselves.
“Agree to disagree,” he says. “I think ‘someday’ should start right now.”
His teeth scrape the sensitive skin beneath my jaw, making me gasp.
“Here?” I ask breathlessly. “What about the chef? The musicians?”
“Gone.” His hands push my dress up around my waist. “I dismissed them when you were dancing with your eyes closed.”
A growl of satisfaction rumbles through his chest as he slides two fingers inside me, his thumb pressing against my clit and releasing pulsing waves of dangerous deliciousness.
“Mine,” he growls, his free hand pinning my wrists above my head. “This body, this pussy, this womb that’ll carry my child again… all fucking mine.”
“Yours,” I gasp, my body quivering beneath his demanding touch. “No one else will ever feel how wet I get for you.”
He replaces his fingers with his cock in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. I cry out, the sound lost in the vastness of the night sky above us.
I lock my ankles behind the small of his back to seal him deeper into me. It’s funny that there was a time that I was terrified of his size. Now, it feels like the key to a lock that opens a door deep inside me, a door for us and us only.
When he fills me, I cry tears of happiness.
When he withdraws, I just want him back again.
The table shakes beneath us, but it manages to hold up to the job as Vince pulls me onto him by my thighs, fucking deeper and deeper and harder and harder.
My eyes flutter halfway closed as the first tendrils of the orgasm start to spread through me. I clamp down on his forearms to keep him close as little sighs and moans go pouring out of my parted lips.
“Look at me,” he commands. “I want to see your eyes when you come.”
I obey, my gaze locking with his as pleasure builds higher at the base of my spine. I’m still in my dress, but I’ve never felt so naked or so thrilled about it.
“Vince,” I gasp as the tension coils tighter. “I’m close. I’m close. I’m—”
“Not yet.” He slows, torturing us both. “I want to remember this moment. The night we decided to expand our family. The night we claimed our future.”
I didn’t think I could come with him going this slow, but his words push me over the edge. I come hard and fast. As I do, I say the only words that make sense anymore.
“Come in me, Vince. I want your baby.”
