I can’t help it. I actually feel sorry for the devil.


    Maybe because now I sort of understand him, and a part of me hurts for the child that died the night he lost the girl he loved.


    His story is heartbreaking. The blood. The violence. The brutality carved into his bones since childhood.


    It’s no wonder Konstantin Marinov became the man he is. We’re all shaped by what raised us, aren’t we? Twisted by it. Hardened by it. At least partly. And from what I’ve seen, he and his brothers were born in fire and forged in hell. That, I can appreciate.


    My mother enjoyed beating me too, the few times she was sober enough to actually realize I existed. The uninvited twinge in my chest resurfaces, but I shove it back down. Lock it in the box I always keep sealed.


    Now isn’t the time. I have a job to do.


    Getting close to Konstantin is working. Too well.


    The silence between us stretches like an open wound that refuses to close.


    I haven’t said anything else since he told me what his father did. Since he let me glimpse into the darkness still clinging to the corners of his soul.


    Lying against him, curled into the crook of his body, my head on his chest, I listen to the thuds of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, and for a second, I imagine it tethered to mine. Like we’re two people born into hell, connected in that way.


    I let out a sigh, enjoying the feeling of his arms around me, forcing myself to forget who he is and let myself sink into it, pretending this is something real. Something good. Something that won’t end in disaster.


    At the very least, I got multiple mind-blowing orgasms out of it. Small victories.


    “I’ll have to meet your brother sometime,” Konstantin slices through my thoughts. “To thank him for teaching you to shoot like that.” He looks down at me, intensity brewing in his eyes. “When will I get to meet him?”


    I shrug, keeping my tone easy. “Not sure. He’s not around much. But next time he visits, I’ll be sure to let you know.”


    Good luck with that…


    “Please do.” His gaze pins me. “I’d love to know more about him…and the rest of your family.” His fingers trace a slow path along my arm, sending a pulse of heat through my veins. “Seems only fair I learn more about yours.”


    Shit.


    Of course he’d want something from me in return. A man like him always wants more.


    I don’t want to tell him anything. But I have to give him something true, something that makes him feel like he’s connecting with me.


    Pulling back just enough to stare up at him, I start at the beginning.


    “I never met my dad. Not even once. Just knew him from stories my mom told when she was drunk. Which, spoiler alert, was most of the time.” I let out a wry chuckle.


    But he doesn’t return my dark sense of humor. His brow tightens instead, and I don’t like to see that look in his eyes, the one that tells me he actually cares.


    “She wasn’t a good mother.” I clear my throat. “Alcohol turned to pills. Pills turned to drugs. And I learned pretty fast how to stay quiet and disappear.”


    He takes my hand in his, and it would be sweet…if he wasn’t also a psycho killer.


    Who’s also got a romantic side, Emilia. You can’t forget that.


    “What else?” His question pulls me back.


    “She’d hit me sometimes. Maybe not as bad as your dad. Still, it hurt.” My lips lift, soft and strained, shaped by the ache of the memory. “I cried. A lot.”


    His palm cups the side of my throat, a thumb tilting my chin up when I nce away. Those deep eyes search mine, and my stomach flips, my heart beating faster. My body drowns in this sense of warmth and affection.


    I hate this. It shouldn’t feel this good to have him care. The way he touches me, stares into my eyes, it forces me to continue.


    “She’d scream over things I didn’t do just to have a punching bag. And the men she brought home…”


    My throat closes, and I have to look away. But he doesn’t let me, holding my jaw prisoner and forcing the eye contact I want to avoid. It’s too much.


    “What did they do?” The words escape him like a threat, and a sane person would fear him right now, but I don’t.


    He wouldn’t hurt Tessa.


    Now, Emilia? She doesn’t stand a chance.


    I drag in a long, tired breath. “Some would hit me. Others…tried worse.”


    His nostrils re, jaw clenching.


    “Don’t worry. I learned how to fight back. Not always well, but enough to escape.”


    “You never should’ve had to, katyonak.” Leaning in, he presses his lips to my forehead, and something cracks open in my chest.


    The sting behind my eyes is instant, sharp. I bite it back, but the warmth of him remains like a promise I don’t know how to trust. When he pulls away, his gaze finds mine again—fierce, unwavering, like he’s holding the weight of my past with me and daring me to keep going.


    “When things got bad, I’d sneak out. Crash at friends’ houses until whoever she had there left, only to be reced by someone else the following day.”


    His eyes grow lethal, carved from fire and ice. I can feel the heat radiating off him.


    “My life was a mess,” I say with a dryugh, flicking my hand like I’m tossing the truth away before it can sting.


    But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t let up. Just keeps watching, waiting. So I exhale and give him more.


    “My mother was arrested a few times, and I thought maybe I’d finally be free of her, but after being sent to foster care, the system dumped me right back into hell. To say I don’t trust the system is an understatement. It wasn’t until I turned fourteen that my brother took me in. He left as soon as he could, but I think…I think he always meant toe back for me once he could take care of us both. He was the only safety I ever knew growing up. When we were kids, he’d stand between me and her, take the beatings so I didn’t have to. He was my shield. My anchor. My rock.”


    Konstantin’s face twists into something haunted and raw. He cradles my face in both hands and kisses my cheek. My eyes drift closed, and I soak it in like it’s the only moment that’s ever felt real, like it’s something to treasure.


    “Do you know the names of any of the men who hurt you?”


    The question stuns me. Of course I can’t tell him that. If he decides to go on a little expedition and find them, he’ll also find Emilia. Can’t have that.


    I push back, trying to read his expression, but all I see is rage.


    “No, but there was this one guy. He was a real asshole. Lasted months with my mother when the others were gone in days or weeks. He’de into my room when I was sleeping….” I choke on the rest of it. Hate that I’m giving him this part of me.


    “Did he…” He can’t finish the sentence.


    “No, but he definitely tried.”


    He grinds his teeth, his entire body stiff and ready to break something.


    “My brother gave him a beating thest time he attempted to touch me, and that’s when I left for good.”


    “And you don’t remember his name?”


    I shake my head.


    His lips curl into something cold and predatory.


    “Whatever you’re thinking…” I press my hand to his chest. “Don’t. You’re never gonna find him.”


    Not that I’d mind if you actually killed Lloyd…


    “Of course I will.” His eyes burn into mine. “No one gets to hurt you and live, Tessa. That’s a promise.”


    A chill shoots down my body.


    God help me, some twisted part of me likes it. Not just the possessiveness, but the ferocity. The certainty. The way he says my name like it’s already tattooed on his soul.


    If only this was real. If only he wasn’t the reason my brother is rotting in prison.


    Maybe in some universe, we could have been something.


    I force the thought down.


    Don’t be stupid, Emilia. He’s the enemy. The man you’re here to take down. He doesn’t even know who you are.


    Still, the words echo in my head.


    No one gets to hurt you and live.


    God, why does that sound so damn sexy?