Page 219 of Wicked Proposal
Trust Brad. Trust Yulian.Are those really my only options?
“One.”
I open my mouth to speak…
66
YULIAN
It takes me all night to search Baldwin’s properties across the city.
He’s got his name on deeds everywhere—company buildings, construction sites, condos. My men are too busy handling the aftermath of the shooting to do the legwork, with Nikita filling in for me, juggling thevoryand organizing funerals. And Maksim is with Kallie at the hospital, so there’s no question of dragging him in.
Tonight, for the first time since I becamepakhan,I’m on my own.
I kick down every door with the Baldwin name on it. I keep my gun drawn, my fury fresh, and don’t forget for a single second what I came to do.
Get my family back.
I was an idiot. I ruined the only good thing I had. But fuck me, if it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll earn Mia’s forgiveness. I’ll put a ring on her finger again—for real this time. I’ll adopt Eli, givehim everything he needs, treat him as my own.Lovehim as my own.
And love Mia, too, the way she deserves to be loved.
It’s nearly dawn when I get to the last property on the list—a vacation house in the Hamptons.
This time, I don’t kick down the door. I don’t need to. There’s nowhere else he could be, and I don’t want to frighten Eli uselessly.
His Garfield plushie is on my backseat, waiting to be reunited with its owner.
I swear on all that is fucking holy in my life that I’ll get it back to him.
“Open up, Baldwin,” I snarl, banging on the hardwood with my fist. “Or else I will.”
Seconds tick by. I grip my gun with both hands, forcing them to steady. All night, behind the wheel, all I could think about was Brad’s sick smile, his hands on my woman. I could read it in his eyes every time we met—what he wanted to do to her.
What if I’m already too late?
That thought is too much to bear. I take a step back from the door, ready to kick it down with all my strength?—
“Hi.”
—and it opens.
Only, it’s not Baldwin on the other side.
“Mia.”
My stomach drops at the sight of her. She’s wearing a white pianoforte dress, fastened tight at her throat. It’s not one of mine. It’s not one of hers, either.
Her eyes meet mine. Blue, rimmed with red—she’s been crying. No, she’s been holding back. Her tears are still there if you know where to look, trapped behind long lashes and recently refreshed makeup to hide the bags under her eyes and any bruises Brad might have gifted her.
The mere thought is enough to send my blood pumping, seeking blood in return.
Fuck me, she looks like a doll. A cold, lifeless doll, perfect in its emptiness.
When she returns my stare, there’s nothing there. “Yulian.”
I used to love the way she said my name. It sounded so much gentler on her tongue.
