I reached for my phone and pulled up Alina Volkova’s social media profile, then scrolled to a post I’d seen there the day before: Alina beautiful and glamorous in a skimpy black top, her blond hair blowing in the breeze at a rooftop restaurant, the Eiffel Tower in the background.
I looked at Jagger. “I know where Alina is going.”
“Where?”
I held out my phone and knew he was reading the caption.
Au revoir, Paris! Ci vediamo dopo!
“The last part, it’s in Italian.” He met my gaze. “She’s going to Capri.”
I nodded. “She’s going to Capri.”
42
BRAM
Headedacross the Atlantic in the Kings’ jet all I could think was how the fuck did I end up on a private jet to Capri with my little sister and the three guys she was fucking?
The fucking Hawks no less?
It wasn’t where I wanted to be. That would have been at home with Maeve in the loft, preferably wrapped up in her sweet-ass body, or maybe eating one of her homemade Snickers cupcakes.
Or both.
But here I fucking was, watching Vigo toss a rubber ball into the air and catch it (over… and over… and over) while Hawk Cruz eyed my sister like he wanted to undress her right there and bend her over one of the jet’s plush leather seats. Jagger was more circumspect at least, gaze focused on his laptop, working on whatever fucking nerd spreadsheet he’d come up with to try and figure out how to get to Dimitri Kaprolov.
And that was really the only reason I was here.
I wanted Kaprolov’s head on a spike.
And I wanted to be the one to tear it off his body.
I wanted it for Maeve, who’d lost her sister to a boyfriend radicalized by a manosphere douchebag that had been financed by Kaprolov. I wanted it for my parents, who’d been murdered by Kaprolov for doing the right thing. I even wanted it for myself — wanted it for the kid I’d been when I’d gone over the side of the mountain with my parents — although I wouldn’t admit it to anyone but Maeve.
But most of all I wanted it for Cassie.
Sweet, shy Cassie, who had our mom’s hair and eyes and our dad’s smile. Who’d had the great misfortune to be raised by me. Who’d let me shield her from anything and everything, even when it had been slowly strangling her, who’d let me hide her from the world, not just because I’d wanted to keep her safe, but because I’d been so fucking scared to lose her.
I wouldn’t have chosen the Hawks for her.
Hell, I don’t know if I would have chosen anyone for her, if I was being honest. Didn’t know if anyone ever would have been good enough.
But she’d chosen them, and she deserved to have the life she wanted.
Not the one I wanted for her or the one I chose for her.
The oneshewanted.
Kaprolov had painted a target on her back, hired bad people with worse weapons to try and hit that target not just once but twice.
They’d run her off the mountain. They’d tried to kill her at the paper mill. Stalked her at the coffee shop.
They’d gone into her fuckinghome.
And I was done fooling myself: the HawkswereCassie’s home now. I saw the way she looked at them, saw the same thing I felt in my fucking chest when I looked at Maeve, like she was the sun, moon, and stars rolled all into one.
My fucking world.