Page 119 of Inked Athena

He nods slowly. The fire illuminates his cheeks but casts the pits of his hollow eyes in shadow. “Your father would be proud.”

“My father was an idiot who created the mess I’m cleaning up.” I head for the door, then pause. “But he was right about one thing: this is the life I was born into. I was a fool for ever thinking there was a way out.”

As I stride away, I feel sick and hollow and light-headed all at once.

I need to find Nova. Need to hold her. Need to remind myself why I’m choosing this path.

Need to make her understand that sometimes, the monster is exactly what she needs.

And as I emerge, there she is.

But one look at her face tells me it’s not how I wanted this moment to be.

She stands frozen in the hallway, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other curled protectively over her belly. Her tears glisten in the lamplight, and for a moment, all I can think is how fucking beautiful she is, even when she’s breaking.

I understand in an instant. What she overheard. What she must have understood. The deal she thinks I turned down.

“You could have gotten out.” Her voice wobbles, wavers, shatters like glass. “You… you could have saved us.”

I reach for her, but she jerks away, bumping against the stone wall. The tapestry behind her shifts. Dust motes go spiraling in the air between us.

“Iamsaving us.” My hands clench at my sides. “By my fucking self. The feds can’t protect shit. The moment I flip, every two-bit thug with delusions of grandeur comes gunning for what’s mine.”

“What’syours?” She laughs, bitter and sharp. “What do you mean—your empire? Your reputation?”

“I mean my family.” I step closer, crowding her against the wall. “You. Our child. Everyone we love. They’d all be targets.”

Her chin lifts. “We already are targets, Sam.”

“And I can protect you.” I press my forehead to hers, breathing in the vanilla-honey scent of her skin. “I know every player. Every move. Every weakness. But we can only win if I stay in the game.”

“That was a ticket out of this game, Samuil.” She shudders. “That was our chance to… to… Fuck. Fuck! I told you, Sam: I don’t want our baby growing up in this world.”

“Then we’ll make a better one.” I cup her face as tenderly as I know how to do. “But we do it my way. The smart way. Not by throwing ourselves on the FBI’s mercy and hoping they can keep their promises.”

Nova’s eyes search mine, and I see the moment she realizes I won’t bend on this. Won’t risk everything on Boyko’s honeyed words and empty guarantees.

“You really mean it,” she whispers. “You really think you’re the only one who can win this.”

I sigh. I nod. “I know I am.”

She tears away from me and swallows hard. “I need some air,” she mumbles. “One more breath of outside before you lock us all back in the cages you love so much.”

41

SAMUIL

The screens covering my war room’s walls show my father’s empire dripping in red.

Casualties. Compromised assets. Security breaches.

Each alert represents another crack in the foundation that Leonid Litvinov spent fifty years building. I’ve been staring at these screens for hours, watching dominoes fall, calculating moves and countermoves until my vision blurs.

I glance out of one window. A black Range Rover is exiting the grounds. I know that in the back of it sits Angelo Boyko, bandaged like a fucking mummy and accompanied only by what little he brought in his pockets, the Glock I found in his car, and my refusal of his deal.

Good fucking riddance.

I check the other window, the one with a view into the library. The room is dark. The fireplace is cold. The couch is empty. No Nova sitting alongside Hope, laughing and oohing and ahhing over bodice ripper romance novels.

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