Page 8 of Cashmere Ruin

Which is why, when I wake up to absolute silence, I just knowthat something’s wrong.

I don’t hold my breath. Instead, I pretend I’m still deep asleep, coaching the rise and fall of my chest. Inwardly, I’m freaking out, but I force myself to swallow it down.Don’t you go into hysterics now, Flowers. If you start screaming your head off, there’s a non-zero chance it’ll get your headblownoff.

That’s when I hear it: a creak in the floorboards.

I was never a big fan of firearms. Call me delicate, but I just don’t like the idea of something made specifically to kill.

But when Yuri offered me his spare gun, I took it.

Now, I’m glad I did. I wait for the creaking to reveal the intruder’s position, all the while forcing my breaths not to speed up.

Then I act.

I whip the gun out from under my pillow and aim. “Get out or I shoot.”

It’s too dark to see much, but by the single ray of moonlight in the room, I see the intruder put his hands up. But the gesture is too slow for fear. Somehow, it feels mocking.

“I just want to talk,” a male voice says, not at all concerned.

It sends a chill down my spine—that unfazed tone. So utterly out of place. “So talk, and then get out.”

When the intruder speaks next, I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time, Ms. Flowers,” he says. “I must compliment you on your getaway. It must have been far from easy, shaking off the infamous Matvey Groza.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Let’s see if I can jog your memory: Bratvapakhan, all-around dangerous guy… and of course, your baby’s daddy dearest.”

The second he mentions my child, I freeze. I throw a quick glance at the crib, still safely tucked on my side of the room. But it won’t be safe for much longer—not with this man standing between us and the door.

Who is he?I can’t help but ask myself.Why does he know us? Why does he knowMatvey?

And most importantly…What does he want?

“Oh, the tricks our hearts can play on us. The allure of the bad boy, right?” he jokes. “Absolutely irresistible. No wonder a good girl like you got roped in.”

“I hope you didn’t come all this way just to tell me how badly I need therapy. Believe me, I’m aware.”

A sonorous chuckle. “And she’s funny, too! All the more reason that sourpuss doesn’t deserve you. You’re wasted on him, my dear.”

“And let me guess: I should pick you instead?”

“You flatter me,” the intruder demurs. “But I’m afraid I’m old enough to be your father.”

Another chill, this time stronger. Whoever this man is, he isn’t half as harmless as he pretends to be. All the jokes, the façade—it’s just another one of his weapons.

Just like the gun in his grip.

It’s so dark, I almost didn’t notice it. If the clouds hadn’t shifted and let the moon pick out the glint of steel concealed in his hand, perhaps I never would have. Not until it was too late.

But he keeps pretending not to have it, so I keep pretending not to see it. “Then I’m afraid I fail to see the point of our conversation.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Flowers: I believe we can help each other.”

Buy time. Whatever happens, just buy time.“How?” I ask, using my free hand to reach for my phone under the covers.

“Let’s see,” he hums. “First off, you need protection. After all, you’ve got a bone to pick with the most dangerous man in New York.”

“I don’t have a bone to pick with him.”

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