My birthday is marked with a red heart.
The week before my birthday is Valentine’s Day, which I celebrate by eating an entire pint of ice cream for dinner alone on the sofa while watching TV. Sloane’s out with Brad Pitt, Jr., probably getting stuffed to the gills with his pretty dick.
Kage sends one hundred red roses and a diamond necklace I won’t be able to wear out of the house because it’s so huge.
I don’t care. I wear it around inside with my bathrobe and slippers, feeling like a queen.
A lost, lonely queen, pining for her besotted lion.
Twice when I go outside to leave for work or take out the garbage, I see footprints in the snow around the house. I can tell by the size they’re a man’s. I know who they belong to.
But I won’t tell Kage that Chris is still sniffing around, because I know what will happen, and I don’t want blood on my hands.
A thousand years later, my birthday arrives.
It’s a Saturday. I’m up early, brimming with excitement. Kage’s text from last night said only “See you soon,” so I’m not sure what time he’ll be arriving. I want to be ready whenever he gets here, though, so I shower and shave all my parts, get dressed, tidy up the house, put fresh sheets on the bed, then wait.
And wait.
And wait.
By eight o’clock that night, I’m wilted.
I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom, staring dejectedly at my reflection. I’m wearing the red sheath dress Kage admired that evening at Michael’s restaurant months ago, along with the necklace he sent me for Valentine’s Day. My hair’s up, my makeup’s perfect, and my face looks like someone just told me the dog died.
I know it’s not fair to be disappointed that he isn’t here yet. He usually comes very late. Plus, there’s a five-hour flight time to consider, along with the war he’s dealing with and everything that goes along with running a mafia empire. He’s got a lot on his to-do list.
I just wish I were a little closer to the top.
Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I pick at the cold filet mignon I made earlier, trying hard not to feel sorry for myself.
It’s a losing battle.
When the house phone rings, it startles me so much, I drop my fork. It hits the plate with a clatter. My heart beating faster, I jump up to answer it, hoping it’s Kage.
“Hello?”
A prerecorded electronic voice says, “Hello, you have a collect call from Green Haven Correctional Facility. To accept the charges, press two. To decline the charges, press nine.”
My heart stops dead in my chest.
Kage has been arrested. He’s in prison.
Hands shaking, I press the number two.
The electronic voice says, “Thank you. Please hold.”
I hear a series of clicks, like the line is being transferred.
Then: “Hello, Natalie.”
The voice is male, raspy, and heavily accented. He sounds like a two-pack-a-day smoker. It’s definitely not Kage.
“Who’s this?”
“Maxim Mogdonovich.”
I lose the ability to breathe. In a state of shock, I stand frozen, gaping at the kitchen cabinets.
“I assume by your silence you know who I am?”
My hands shaking and my stomach in knots, I whisper, “I know who you are.”
Kage. Oh god, Kage. What’s happened to you?
Because something must’ve happened. Something terrible. The head of the Russian mafia wouldn’t be calling from prison to wish me happy birthday.
“Good. You’re probably wondering why I’m calling.”
He pauses, waiting for me to say something, but my lungs are frozen. All of me is frozen in pure, cold terror. Except my heart, which is now beating frantically like a hummingbird’s wings.
He continues in a calm, conversational tone.
“To be honest, dorogoy, when I first discovered what was going on, I couldn’t believe it. My own Kazimir, like a son to me these past twenty years, would never disobey me. He would never lie to me. And he definitely wouldn’t betray me. Especially for a woman.”
Disobey? Betray? What the hell is he talking about?
“But all those unexplained trips to the West Coast made me curious, so I sent a little birdie to have a look. When I saw your picture, it made slightly more sense. So pretty. All that black hair.”
The footsteps in the snow. The night I thought someone was outside my kitchen window. All those times I felt like someone was watching me—it was him.
“You look so much like your mother. How is Naomi, by the way? Enjoying golf course living? Personally, I could never live in Arizona. It’s so dry. All those ugly cactus plants. But I suppose Scottsdale is good for your father’s health.”
He knows all about my parents. Is he threatening them? Oh god oh god oh god!
I start to hyperventilate. I’m going to be sick. The steak I ate will come up any second, and I’ll puke it all over the kitchen floor.
Gripping the phone hard, I say in a shaking voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but my parents have nothing to do with anything. Please—”
“Of course they do. They gave you life. You, the woman who turned Kazimir against me. They’re complicit. They’ll pay, just as you will.”
“I didn’t turn him against you! I don’t know what you mean! Please, listen to me—”
“It will be cold comfort, dorogoy, but you may be interested to know that Kazimir has never been serious about a woman before. They were always disposable to him. Forgettable. Until you. I hope you were worth it.”
He chuckles. It’s an awful sound, like sandpaper scraping wood.
Hopefully that unhealthy rattle in his lungs is cancer.
My voice high and desperate, I demand, “Where is Kage? What have you done with him?”
“Nothing yet. But if my timing is right, he’ll arrive soon, to find you dead. On your birthday, no less. How tragic. I wish I could be there to see his reaction, but Viktor will tell me.”
On the verge of hysteria, I shout, “Who’s Viktor?”
“I am.”
I spin around to see a man standing in the middle of my kitchen, smiling at me.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a black suit with a black wool overcoat and black leather gloves. His hair is gunmetal gray, shaved close to his head. His eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen.
The gun he’s pointing at me is enormous.
Over the line, Maxim says, “He’s very good at what he does. Almost as good as Kazimir. If you cooperate with him, it will be much better for you. It will go quicker.”
His voice lowers. “And believe me when I tell you that you don’t want him to go slow.”
I drop the receiver.
Smiling pleasantly, Viktor gestures to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit down. Let’s have a chat.”
I’ve never been so terrified in my life. It’s not only the gun pointed at me, or the phone call I just received, or the obvious fact that the head of the Russian mafia has put out hits on me and Kage both.
It’s also the smile on Viktor’s face.
That warm, eager smile, like he’s about to engage in one of his favorite hobbies.
When I remain frozen in place, clutching the kitchen counter and hyperventilating, Viktor says, “Sit down, Natalie, or I’ll fuck your corpse after I’m done with you and send the video to your parents.”