Page 61 of A Life Betrayed

“She’s young, blond. Probably desperate to lock him down. I remember Ethan was keen to have kids. He waited for you long enough.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, Frances. I believed you this time. I thought what happened with Ethan was enough for you to take stock and figure out what really mattered. And I thought me and the kids were part of that. But it’s the same as always—you get so caught up, so obsessed, you can’t cut yourself loose. You know, at the end of the day, no matter how many cases you solve, you still have to come home to yourself—”

Frances hung up the phone, reached for her beer, and drained it. Then she stood and walked to the window, goose bumps prickling across her skin.

In those horrible weeks of fighting before they finally broke up, Ethan had accused her of choosing work over him. “You’re not your job, and until you realize that, there’s no room in your life for anything else.” She hadn’t disputed it. After all, he was right.

And then it hit her—what had almost happened tonight. Frances felt her chest tighten and her breathing go shallow. She placed a hand on her stomach and tried to pull the air into her lungs, long and slow, but it kept catching in her throat. She stared out the window at an unfamiliar city, standing in an empty apartment that wasn’t her own, completely alone.

Mathias drove to Laval, navigating the route through the city streets from memory, his thoughts elsewhere. He’d talked a big game to Truman about the family’s backing, but the truth was they’d already begun to distance themselves from him. Mathias had become too dangerous, a man with a target etched onhis back. It wasn’t just Allen and her rabid pursuit of him-—he’d now made an enemy of the Red Reapers. And with Giovanni’s lofty plan to convert Collections into another faceless corporation, Mathias found himself pushed even further to the periphery. He’d been reduced to what he’d always despised among the bloated ranks of family elite: deadweight.

Disappear with me.Rayan’s words circled his mind.

Leaving was not an impossible prospect logistically. The question wasn’t whether he could do it but what it would mean if he did. He’d left the city before when he’d been reassigned to Hamilton, and the experience had been seared with humiliation.

Why doesn’t this feel the same? What exactly am I fighting to hold on to in Montreal?Mathias reached for the desire that had fueled his ambition from the very beginning, when he had first started out with the family and refused to take no for an answer. But he couldn’t find it.

And then there was Rayan. After tonight, it was clear that he was no longer equipped to live in this world, and Mathias was doing him no favors by keeping him here. Rayan was stuck in limbo, torn between Mathias’s life and his own.

Mathias pulled the car up outside Château Suzdal and cut the engine. A Russian soldier led him into the front of the restaurant, where the tables were strewn with the remains of a large gathering. Belkov sat at a booth in the corner, drinking.

“Eightieth birthday,” he announced when Mathias sat down across from him. Belkov flipped over an empty glass and poured him a drink. “Can you imagine getting to be that old?”

“I’d rather take one to the head,” Mathias said, picking up the glass.

“Likewise,” the Russian replied. They lifted their glasses in unison and downed their shots.

“Truman’s cut off. Thought you should know, in case he decides to start something.”

“Let him try.”

“Give Gurin a heads-up. The Reapers have more weight to throw around in Hamilton.”

Belkov nodded. “While I appreciate the warning, what does this mean for everything else?”

Fuck all.Mathias felt the shift in him then—the slow admission of defeat. “Allen’s not backing down.”

“And the family?”

“What about the family?”

Belkov gave him an indulgent look. “Come on, Mathias. I know how they get when the cops start sniffing.”

Mathias fixed the man with a hard stare.

Belkov returned a knowing smile. “And so do you. Seems you’re backed hard into a corner, my friend. Not much left to do except—” He laughed, shaking his head in awe. “No, could it be? I never thought I’d see the day when you’d hightail it out of Montreal.”

“I’m not running,” Mathias snapped. Yet wasn’t that exactly what he was considering? “But perhaps it makes sense to leave for a while, see if the heat dies down.”

“What does the big boss have to say about that?”

It’s nothing personal, just self-preservation.“I imagine he’d be relieved.”

“His loss,” Belkov grunted. “So you came here to plead for my cooperation? Make sure as soon as your ass is gone, I don’t slam my boot down on Bianchi’s throat?”

“No. Though maybe you’d consider that basic courtesy on account of our history.”

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