Page 36 of Mile High Daddy

But there’s another truth I can’t ignore.

This marriage—this alliance—wasn’t just about strategy for me.

It started that way, of course. Keeping track of enemies and their families is a necessity in this world. That’s how I first saw her—Lila Evans, her picture tucked away in a file alongside the usual intel on her father. I’d studied her the way I study every piece of information that crosses my desk. Coldly. Objectively.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

But the moment I saw her face, something shifted. She wasn’t just a name on a page anymore. She was real. Tangible. And for the first time in years, I wanted something for myself.

It’s dangerous, letting yourself want. In this life, it’s the surest way to lose everything.

But I couldn’t help it. And when the opportunity came to turn this alliance into something more permanent, I didn’t hesitate.

Not that she’d ever know. To her, this marriage is just a cage—something forced upon her. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a bastard for doing this to her.

But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ll protect her with everything I have.

Torres clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts. “What’s the move, boss?”

I glance at him, my expression unreadable. “We stay the course,” I say finally. “Alexei will push, but we’ll push harder.”

“And Evans?”

I hesitate for a moment, then shake my head. “Not yet. Let’s see how far Alexei’s willing to go before we bring him into this.”

Torres nods, but I can see the question in his eyes. He doesn’t press, though. He knows better.

11

LILA

The windowpane is cool against my forehead as I lean against it, the outside world a blur of green and gold. The sprawling gardens stretch far beyond what my eyes can take in, meticulously maintained. Nothing is ever out of place here, not even people.

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since my life was yanked out from under me, since I was taken away from everything I knew. My job. My friends. My mom.

My mom.

The ache in my chest sharpens, and I clutch the piece of paper on my lap. The letter is half-written, the words scrawled in uneven lines that I can barely read through the blur of my tears.

Dear Mom, I don’t even know where to start. I miss you so much. I?—

The pen shakes in my hand, and I stop, pressing it against the paper to steady myself. I’m not sure what I hope to accomplish by writing this. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get it to her. But it’s the only thing that keeps me tethered to her right now.

The rest is illegible, my thoughts tangled in the ache of missing her. I fold the paper carefully, my hands trembling slightly as I tuck it into my pocket. I don’t know how I’ll get this to her. The staff here watch everything, report back to Mikhail or his mother.

A sudden wave of nausea rises in my throat. My stomach clenches painfully, and I drop the pen as I lurch to my feet. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m doubled over, the contents of my stomach forcing their way out in heaving, painful waves.

The cold tile presses against my knees, my arms braced on the edge of the toilet as I try to catch my breath. My head spins, and for a moment, I just stay there, letting the stillness of the bathroom envelop me.

My entire body feels weak, every muscle trembling from the effort.

The sound of footsteps makes me glance up, and I freeze when I see her.

Mikhail’s mother stands in the doorway. She doesn’t move to help me, doesn’t even flinch at the sight of me curled up on the bathroom floor.

“You’re sick,” she says simply, her voice as cold as the tile beneath me.

I manage to push myself up slightly, leaning back against the wall. “Must have been something I ate,” I mumble, my voice hoarse.

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